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I blink, finally understanding. “He’s dead.”

Dusty gives a heavy nod. “Would you care to say something about your buddy?”

“Harker isn’t my buddy,” I argue, only I end up stuttering into silence.

Wasn’t.

Hewasn’tmy buddy.

Dusty stares before gesturing to the empty seat beside me. “Well, you’re his Prince, aren’t ya?”

I don’t like the way he says it.HisPrince. As if I’m responsible for every guy in our frat. Being a Prince is about creating an heir, not leading.

Only, it kind of is, isn’t it?

Suddenly, I feel too hot, shifting uneasily in my seat. Harker was a prick. He was spoiled and too horny for his own good, and goddamn it, I tried.I brought him here, I want to say. I took him away from the Scratch and gave him an ultimatum. I’m the one who told him how to handle the withdrawals–the one who got him the meds when it got too rough.

“His girl is nine weeks pregnant,” I say, thinking of Kira. I don’t know her, really. Up until now, I mostly just thought of her as that bitch who got knocked up way too easily. Now, she’s the girl who’s going to raise Harker’s kid, and she’s going to do it alone. Briefly, I wonder if that means we have to take care of her now. The Princes. The Ashbys.

“Jesus,” one of the LDZ guys mutters, head shaking. “What a fuckin’ waste.”

Harker isn’t the first person the group has lost, and I doubt he’ll be the last. Maggie chimes in, “Seems like a new one every couple weeks.”

My skin feels pulled tight and I tug at the collar of my button-down. Harker was a prick, but he was East End. He was ours. Looking up, I admit to Dusty, “No one told me.”

The hardness in his eyes is already gone. “I got that impression.”

“I guess I should go,” I decide, standing. I spend a moment wondering where to put my cup of shitty coffee. “Do my duty.”

“Kid…” Dusty starts.

Noticing the ragged worry in his eyes, I scoff. “You don’t have to worry about me using. I can’t.” At Dusty’s unimpressed stare, I explain, “No, really. It’s against the rules.” More bitterly, I add, “It’d solve all of my problems, but it’s off the table. Not even an option.”

Maddox points out, “Pretty sure it was against the rules for your buddy, too.”

But before I can offer a reply, Dusty cuts in, “Even after all these weeks, you’re still on about Scratch being the answer to all your problems.”

“It verifiably is,” I say, growing tense with all their eyes on me. They don’t know. They have no fucking idea. If I had Scratch, I could do it all. The interviews. The workload. The long nights in the dungeon, rubbing gritty eyes as Pace buries his fist into whatever sorry mark we’re extracting intel from this week. I could give my brothers a break. I could ace all my finals.

I could fuck my Princess.

“Jesus, kid.” Dusty pops his cap back on, sighing. “Keep thinking like that and East End’s little section over there is gonna be empty.”

The last glimpse I have before leaving is the disappointment etched into his frown. It doesn’t bother me. Dodging Father’s disappointment takes too much energy to expend any worrying about disappointing someone else.

But I am bothered.

I was Harker’s Prince, and in a way, that makes me responsible. I should have been up his ass more, made sure he was clean, and the irony is that if I’d had Scratch, maybe I could have carved out a chunk of time to do that. School, Father, PNZ, East End,creation.

There just isn’t space for anything else.

Not for life.

Not for death.

When I get home,I find Pace’s room empty.

It’s not a surprise. I already know he’s downtown with Charlie, scoping out a recurring issue with some corrupt congressman.