They didn’t have to go far. Luke led them just a few doors down to the room Dr. Liu had currently been assigned for chemistry classes—one of the corner units with the most windows, because more windows meant venting smoke out more quickly. Liu wasn’t there at the moment, but the room was unlocked, and with a furtive glance Luke pushed the door open before flicking the light on and making a beeline for the supply closet door in the far corner.
Damon frowned.
What the hell was going on here?
He got his answer when Luke pushed the door open and stepped inside, turning on the dusty, swinging overhead lamp and flooding the long, narrow room with illumination. Most of the room was taken up by shelves and shelves of beakers, test tubes, pipettes, safety goggles, bottles of chemicals, any number of other classroom supplies.
But in the back, a broad, deep bottom shelf had been emptied out.
And a nest had been built there, as if the shelf was a bottom bunk piled with pillows and a rumpled mess of blankets.
Rian drifted deeper inside, leaning around Luke to see, while Damon hovered in the doorway.
“This is where he’s been sleeping?” Rian asked, voice hushed, aghast.
“Yeah,” Luke admitted guiltily. “When he skips practice, he hides in here to get some sleep.”
“...what is with people in this school repurposing supply closets?” Damon muttered, if only to deflect from his own mounting horror, and Rian flashed him a flat look, before sighing and lightly touching Luke’s arm.
“Come with us,” he said. “You’re not in trouble, just... I need your help for a little bit longer, Luke.”
Luke paled, his rich brown skin turning ashen. “What? Why? Where are we going?”
“To do something about this,” Rian said firmly, hazel eyes dark as they locked on Damon. “And talk to Assistant Principal Walden.”
* * *
Even living with Lachlan Walden, Rian had always felt a certain fear around him—or if not fear, at least a healthy respect for his authority, his icy temper, and a certain cold quality around him that said maybe, just maybe, he had killed a man or two in his past life before taking on the role of a boys’ school assistant principal.
But that fear, respect, trepidation evaporated completely as Rian marched his little coterie right up to Walden’s office, and rapped his fist sharply against the door with Damon hovering over one shoulder and Luke nearly hiding behind the other.
Rian was done tiptoeing around Walden’s expectations.
Chris was stealing two or three hours of sleep a day on a shelf in a closet, for hell’s sake.
They should have intervened before it got to this point.
And he wasn’t taking no for an answer.
After a brief moment, Walden’s chilly voice floated through the door. “If you’d like to stop attempting to break the hinges off,” he said, “you may enter.”
Rian glanced over his shoulder at Luke. “Wait out here,” he said. “We’ll call you when we need you.”
Luke sighed. “Seriously, man? Walden? You tryna get me killed?”
“Nobody’s getting killed here,” Damon said, smiling without much humor. “Not if I have anything to say about it.” Then his hand pressed, warm and firm, against Rian’s back, his voice lowering as he bent in close, words kept between them. “It’s okay. I’ve got your back.”
Those words calmed the angry jitters under Rian’s skin more than he had ever thought possible.
And let him take a deep breath, straighten his spine, and push the door to Walden’s office open.
Lachlan Walden didn’t even look up from his laptop; his fingers never slowed, moving across the keys swiftly while behind the bright-lit lenses of his glasses, pale blue eyes darted across the screen.
“I assume,” he murmured without preamble, “you’re here about Christopher Northcote and his current medical condition.”
Rian barely waited for Damon to step in behind him before Rian reached back and slammed the door shut, so Luke wouldn’t have to hear his rising voice. “Oh, so you finally figured out he’s in the infirmary after a week?”
Walden hit the Enter key with a particularly emphatic clack. “I’ve known from the moment he collapsed in class. Who do you think the nursing staff reports to?” A cutting look flicked to Rian over the screen of the laptop, steady and unblinking. “Is there a reason for your tone, Mr. Falwell?”
“You know damned well there is.” Rian wasn’t letting that cold stare cow him this time; he planted his hands on his hips and glared at Walden. “I’m done dragging this out. We’ve tried calling his parents. We’ve tried waiting. The situation is getting worse, and we have a responsibility to do something.”
“We do,” Walden agreed so simply that Rian blinked; he’d been building up to an argument, but that just fizzled as Walden continued smoothly, “I’d be interested in your opinions on what that ‘something’ might be.” Walden’s upper lip twitched. “I’m also interested in how long you’ve been attempting to contact his parents without informing me.”
“Don’t.” Damon’s voice drifted from behind Rian, steely and forbidding. “Don’t turn this on us. We are all responsible for Chris. All three of us.”
Walden inclined his head briefly in acknowledgment. “I take it some new development has triggered this confrontation.”
“You said we can’t do anything if Chris hasn’t been violating the rules, right?” Rian bit off. “Well, his roommate just confessed. Chris is sneaking off campus after curfew every night, but not even his roommate knows where he’s going. In fact, I think I almost caught him when I was out for a walk, but I thought it was a bear.”
“A bear, Mr. Falwell?” Walden repeated.
“A bear. I didn’t get a good look. It doesn’t matter.” Rian lifted his chin defiantly. “We have a confirmed violation. It’s time to do something.”
“Hm. Interesting.” Walden said each syllable slowly, as if mocking Rian’s impatience. “And no response from his parents at all?”
Damon made an irritated sound, deep and growling. “None. We’ve both tried. No emails, no phone calls back. It’s been over a week now, and they haven’t damned well said boo.”
“That is...disappointing.” Walden sighed. “I’ll reach out. Put more pressure on them to respond. Attempt to find any other avenues such as alternate emergency contacts, so they cannot remain unaware of their son’s predicament.” His fingers finally stopped on the keyboard, the rainfall patter of their noise silencing. “In the meantime, what would you like to do?”