Page 20

Outside, the early September air hits cooler than I expect. A breeze brushes against my skin like a reminder that the world hasn’t stopped spinning, even if something in me feels like it has.

When I reach the quad, I roll my bottom lip between my teeth, mentally wondering if one of my beloved caramel ice coffees will solve this fog that seems to render my brain useless. I mean, it could happen, right? People swear by all sorts of new age stuff. Maybe coffee that’s so sweet it can give you a cavity is where it’s all at.

I join the line to one of the carts. The line is so long it feels like every student at Georgetown got the same craving at exactly the same time. As I inch forward in the line, the hum of student chatter thickens around me—unfocused and ambient—until a cluster of voices to my right starts to cut through with quiet urgency.

They’re gathered beneath the old oak near the center of the quad, half-huddled in that particular way people do when they have juicy gossip to share.

“Did you hear about Daniel Mullen—”

“Yes, I just heard today,” another interrupts. “Can you believe it? I heard…”

She’s still talking, but I can’t hear her. The name lands like a weight in my chest, cold and inexplicably sharp. I shift slightly, trying not to stare, even though every inch of my skin prickles with attention now.

“Who the hell drops out mid-semester? And especially after landing the internship he did?”

Then someone says, “My dad’s part of the faculty, and he said Daniel was all banged up when he submitted his formal letter of resignation.”

Banged up?

“What do you mean?” one of the girls mercifully asks.

Shrugging, the person explains that apparently Daniel had several bruises and didn’t look like his normal self.

A guy joins the group. “Are you guys talking about Daniel Mullen? My friend used to be his roommate. He told me Daniel got jumped on his way home from Velvet & Rye—”

“Is that why he dropped out? Because he got mugged?”

The newcomer just shrugs. “I’m not sure. My friend said Daniel got a job at a fastfood chain and talked about it like it was his dream job.”

The first girl speaks again. “Who the fuck spends over three years at Georgetown just to ask people if they’d like fries with their order? I bet he was on drugs or something.”

The breath I draw feels too thin and I wobble slightly as the note I received finally makes sense. I take a shaky step back from the line, blinking hard as the words sink into me like ice.

My legs continue of their own volition, taking me away without knowing where I’m going. My shoes click against the stone path, too sharp,too fast, but I can’t slow down. The blood in my veins rushes in my ears, each beat loud enough to fracture the thoughts running rampant through my mind.

Daniel…

The stranger’s warning…

The note I received the next day…

While I move through campus like I’m sleepwalking, that fucking warning plays on my mind like an ominous soundtrack.

“You. Are. Mine. And if you don’t stop him, I’ll have to, Piper.”

But Ididstop Daniel. Even though I didn’t have to since I don’t belong to anyone, especially not some weirdo hiding in the shadows outside bathrooms, but still… I believed him when he said his warnings should be heeded.

So, as soon as the stranger disappeared, I went back to the table and told them I didn’t feel well. Then I went home. Alone, I might add. And despite Daniel’s insistence, I didn’t give him my number.

If it wasn’t for the envelope waiting for me the next morning, reminding me about the one I’d already received, I would never have linked what I just overheard with what happened at the cocktail bar.

The first envelope only contained a black puzzle piece. But the next one, the one I got the day after being at Velvet & Rye, had a note in it as well. I still remember the cryptic words.

He’s alive because you listened, Toy!

Although I’ve received a new puzzle piece daily since then, there’s only been that one note.

I don’t stop until I reach my building. My steps quicken as I walk inside, dreading finding another envelope waiting for me. But there aren’t any. Still, my hand shakes as I fish for my key, the teeth of it scraping the lock once before I finally get it to turn.