No one speaks louder than a secret-strained murmur. Everyone glances furtive over their shoulders. We’re quiet terror. Waiting for the next shriek.
“Malcolm ran away,” says Duffy.
Everyone’s eyes hook to him.
“We’re all thinking it,” he says, hurt.
“The whole family’s gone. They’re burying him out east,” says Banks. Talking around the dead king’s name. “Where they’re from.”
“They’re not gone yet,” says Duffy. “Not east, anyway. Just away from the house.”
Piper levels him a look that’s all contempt. “So what?”
His hand hovers away from the table for a second. He wants to hit her. Even here. Even though on a day like this it would bring her hand to her sabre faster than his fist could land. “So Porter ran, too.”
I scoff and scroll down my phone. Text the coven: Go. Glance across the table at Duffy, still second-place even with Duncan dead. “You mean it was Malcolm and Porter together? Baby Malcolm killed his own brother?”
“No—” Duffy stammers. “But—”
“But what?” says Banks, sneering cold.
“Maybe—I don’t know—”
Mack’s phone buzzes first, on the table between us. Then Duffy’s, and he jumps. Then Piper’s and Banks’s, both at once.
We all look down.
A text lights up Mack’s screen: Who’s next?
“God, fuck this shit,” Piper yelps out, loud enough that every face in the room turns toward our table.
Banks grabs his phone and types fast.
“What are you doing?” Duffy’s voice pitches high.
“What do you think? Texting this asshole back,” says Banks.
“It’s a private number,” Mack says.
“So? That doesn’t mean it won’t go through.”
Duffy grips his phone tight, like he’s waiting for the screen to crack open and spill Duncan’s blood across his blazer. “What if you piss them off and—”
Their phones buzz again: Who can you trust?
This time not even Banks punches back.
The third message comes through: What if someone set Connor up?
A picture comes with it: Malcolm running for the locker room, looking over his shoulder. Time-stamped last Monday, during the game. Just before Connor unraveled.
“That doesn’t prove anything,” says Piper.
The fourth message comes through: What if someone set Porter up?
There’s no picture this time. We fill in the space with our careful sideways glances.
“Someone’s fucking with us,” says Banks.
“No shit,” says Duffy. “And it’s working.”
The silence strains tight enough to shatter.
I shatter it.
I laugh.
“What the fuck,” Duffy almost shouts. He drops his phone and it hits hard against the table. All of them stare furious at me. Even Mack.
“You’re nervous,” I say, teasing. “Guilty conscience much?”
“Jade,” Mack hisses.
I face him. “What? Do you have something to be afraid of?” His eyes flash guilt and panic. I turn before he can break. “What about you?” I say to Duffy.
“No—no—” he says too fast.
“God, Duff, go to confession,” says Piper. “Maybe it will help you sleep at night. I’m the one who shouldn’t be getting this shit. I didn’t do anything.”
“You knew what they did. You were with them at Duncan’s house,” Mack tells her. “That’s what it is. It has to be.”
Banks makes a harsh sound that’s half growl and half laugh. “You sure you’re so innocent, golden boy?”
“You know I didn’t do anything,” says Mack. I can feel the fight in him—feel the guilt clashing and rising. Guilt doesn’t work on boys like them, said Mads. But Mack was never one of them. The more his guilt pries him apart—the more he knows that someone thinks he’s the same as his pack—
—the sooner he’ll bring the rest of them crashing down just to prove he’s not.
It isn’t fair.
I don’t care.
And anyway, I’m making him stronger. The boy who always knew enough but never told them no.
“I didn’t do anything,” Piper says again, and she grabs her phone and says it loud and angry a third time as she types in the words.
“Who the hell did you cross?” I ask them. All of them at once, with a baiting smile.
“Nobody,” says Piper.
But Duffy blinks wide and mutters, “We thought.”
“Careful,” says Banks. Still almost a growl.
Little lapdog Duffy laughs nervous. “It’s her. It has to be. We might as well just say it.”
My heart leaps up into my throat. I didn’t think they’d guess it so soon. I thought they’d turn on each other, and leave it like that. At least for now.
“Watch what you’re saying,” says Banks.
“Oh, fuck off,” says Piper.
“It’s not her. It’s some dick who heard too much when everybody was drunk and running their mouths at Mack’s house. That shit got two of us killed already and it’s going to take the rest of us down if we can’t shut the fuck up.”
Piper glares. “Was that a threat?”
“It’s her,” says Duffy again. “It’s the girl from Duncan’s party. God, I never should’ve let Dunc make me—”
“Bullshit,” Piper spits. “You had a choice.”
“It’s not her,” says Banks. “I’ll prove it.” And he types fast and grins up at us. “Asked her who gave her the drink. This is a fucking joke.”
“Jesus, Banks.” Mack pushes back from the table. “No, it’s not.”
“It’s some second-string asshole watching like a creep from across the room,” says Banks, and Piper and Duffy turn and stare. “That’s the damn definition of a joke.”
Mack knocks Banks’s phone out of his hands. “I meant what happened at Duncan’s,” he says. “You fucked up.”
Banks grabs his phone back and swings the screen in front of Mack. “Then text the bitch back and apologize if that’s what you think this is about.”
They all stay caught together. Anger flowing bright and fear snuffing it dim.
So I say, “Maybe it’s her—”
Banks snorts.
“—or maybe it’s some second-string asshole, or maybe it’s Malcolm losing his shit.” I let my gaze wander off toward the doors. Two cops stand like sentries where before we could come and go unwatched. “Or maybe it’s that detective playing you so hard you’ll lock the handcuffs on yourself if you’re not careful.”
Mack finally looks away from Banks. “What do you mean?”
I scroll through nothing. Show them what a beautiful thing it is to be innocent, innocent, innocent. I say, “I mean it’s none of us. Right?”
They nod. Hesitant at first and then too certain. A flagging lie, but it doesn’t matter.
“So let’s make them fuck off,” I say. “Go somewhere they can’t get to you.”