Page 31

CHAPTER 30

“Oh no!” I laugh into the speaker of my phone as I twist the key in my dorm room door. “Did he chase him down and try to exchange him for a ten?”

I pause, hand still wrapped around the doorknob, as Brogan finishes her story about Hayes accidentally tipping their food delivery guy a hundred bucks instead of a ten.

Her voice bubbles through the speaker. “Yes! He tried, but he was on foot and the guy was in a fucking car. Needless to say, he didn’t catch him.”

Still laughing, I push open the door. But the second I look inside, the sound dies in my throat.

My smile vanishes because lodged straight through the comforter, in the dead center of my bed, is an arrow. The echo of Brogan’s voice lingers in my ear, but I don’t hear anything she’s saying.

Frozen in the doorway, I choke out, “I…I have to go, Brogan. I’ll call you later.”

I end the call without waiting for a reply, the phone slipping to my side.

My heart is in my throat as I step forward, every breath shallow, eyes locked on the arrow like it might move.

As I get closer, something else catches my eye.

Tucked just beneath the arrow, partially obstructed by the shaft, is a piece of paper with a handwritten note.

I lean in slowly, heart pounding against my ribs, and squint to make out the words scrawled across the page.

Never trust a Lord who doesn’t pray, and a Devil who doesn’t sin.

My breath hitches, caught somewhere between my throat and my tongue, like I want to scream but know it wouldn’t come out anyway.

The room suddenly feels like it's closing in on me. Like someone is out there, pushing the walls and pulling the strings.

My skin prickles, and for a moment, I swear I can feel breath on the back of my neck.

This wasn’t just a warning. It was a message.

Someone knows something. But why me? None of this makes any sense. Why come after me when I haven’t done anything except help cover up evidence, and even that wasn’t by choice.

A full-blown panic attack slams into me like a freight train. My knees buckle under my own weight, and I slide down the edge of the bed, limbs useless as I land hard against the floor.

Why would someone do this? Who would do this?

The questions spiral, looping through my mind. My body trembles uncontrollably, fingers numb, mind swimming in a sea of terror. I lift my head for a second, eyes locking on the arrow sticking up from my bed like a twisted flag.

Then, second by second, something shifts inside me.

“No!” I shout, my voice raw and my eyes on the shaft.The panic is still there, but now it’s mixed with fire. Callan was right, nothing gets done if I sit here and cry. And I refuse to let whoever this is have a single one of my tears.

“You won’t win!” I scream, pushing myself to my feet as I hear Callan shouting in my head, telling me to anchor myself. “You don’t get to control me!”

This is real. I’m real .

In one swift motion, I reach forward and rip the arrow out of the mattress.

A sharp gasp escapes me. A smear of blood stains the shaft, like the arrow had been pulled from the heart of a deer and not a mattress.

I stumble back, my heart hammering against my ribs. When I toss the arrow down, I notice something new. The arrow has black-tipped steel with barbs that curve backward, designed to cause more damage if pulled out. I got a set of these after winning a tournament. They're my favorite because of the way they whistle slightly when I shoot them. The ones I won had my initials inscribed just above the metal.

This isn’t just any arrow. It’s mine .

I kick it away like it’s on fire, then immediately pull out my phone. My hands are shaking uncontrollably, but somehow I manage to tap on the video icon next to Callan’s name.

It rings, and rings, and rings, then he finally answers.

He’s driving, one arm raised on the wheel, that gorgeous face lighting up my screen.

“Callan,” I cry, breath hitching. “Please come over.”

His smile vanishes, eyes snapping from me to the road. “Avery? What the hell is going on?”

“Can you come to my dorm?” I sniffle. “I need you.”

He doesn’t hesitate. The wheel jerks, tires squeal, and I watch him spin into a full U-turn.

“I’m on my way.”

“Stay on the call with me,” I whisper, “I’m scared.”

“I’m here, baby. I’m not going anywhere.” His voice shakes, terror written all over his face. “I wasn’t far from you. I’m almost there.”

The sound of him flooring the gas echoes through the speaker. “Be careful,” I tell him.

My back presses against the door, and I find comfort in knowing it’s there if I need to escape.Not that there’s anything in here that can hurt me. Nothing except the splatter of blood on the floor and the deranged note beside it.

“Can you tell me what happened, Avery? Are you hurt?” His voice is laced with fear—real, raw fear.

There’s no doubt he cares, and it’s comforting to know I don’t have to go through this alone. Not anymore.

“I’m not hurt,” I tell him truthfully. “Not physically, anyways. But someone was in my room again.”

“Who?” he stammers. “Do you know?”

I shake my head. “No,” I say quietly. “But they left a note.”

“Fuck!” Callan screeches. “Fuck, Avery. I can’t stop.”

My heart jumps, every nerve in my body prickling. “What? What do you mean you can’t stop?”

His back slams against the seat, legs kicking like he's trying to outrun the panic.

“My brakes won’t work!”He stares through the camera, through me, his eyes lit with panic.

“Callan!” I scream, the painful sound ripping out of my throat.

Suddenly, the screen jolts. His world tips sideways, metal screeches, and the phone seems to levitate for a moment as the car flips.

Then the call drops.

“No!” I scream, collapsing to my knees. “Callan!”

This is my fault.

All of it.