Page 71 of Caged

My mind spins and spins and spins until I’m on the verge of vomiting.

“You can come talk to me anytime, Kasey. I’m here for you, and I won’t let anything happen.”

She manages a pained smile. “Thank you,” Kasey whispers. “I’m going to fix my makeup before going back downstairs, but I’ll see you around? Maybe at Sigma?”

“Of course,” I say as the pangs of regret tear at my chest.

I head downstairs and back to Harrison’s vehicle.

“Can I ask you something?” I begin, pulling the door closed.

“Sure,” he answers gruffly, annoyed I can tell to have to engage in conversation.

“Where did you and Barrett go with the elders after the Ritual was over? You two drove them somewhere, right?”

Color drains from Harrison’s face. His eyelids twitch, but his gaze is locked straight ahead.

“I can’t talk to you about this,” he states.

“Why?” I push.

He refuses to answer or look at me.

“Why?” I ask again, loud and demanding.

His unflinching focus on the road ahead is a bit too forced. Pale hands grip the steering wheel a bit too hard. I don’t ask again. He could have said anything, made up any lie. He could have said they drove the elders back to their hotel, or went to get food, or to do a late-night alcohol run. But he didn’t. He panicked, and his silence gives away his complicity.

Because, what if I’m not paranoid?

What if that unsettling feeling in my gut is subconscious confirmation?

And the worst question of all: What the fuck do I do if I’m right?

32

MONROE

Five Months Prior to Present Day,

Thursday Before Spring Break,

Junior Year,

Sigma

My eyes have gone bleary with exhaustion. Again, I check the time. Nine minutes past midnight. One more question to go before I’m done with this problem set. I mutter silent words of encouragement in an attempt to hype myself up and flip to the next page in my textbook. My stomach gurgles another demand for food, and I curse myself for not stuffing bars and snacks into my purse while I was at DG. Sigma’s chef must have taken cooking lessons at the same school as DG’s chef, Colleen, because the food here is borderline inedible. I grabbed the only two appetizing items from the buffet – an apple and a bowl of plain rice – before Harrison escorted me upstairs and locked me inside Kieren’s room. Fuck, I’m so hungry. The logistics of ordering food to Sigma make it impossible since I can’t even leave this fucking room to retrieve the delivery.

I debate the merits of eating my own shoe when labored footsteps enter the adjoining common room. The familiar sound of a key sliding into a lock tells me this is Kieren, and I brace myself.

We lock eyes when he opens the door. The pungent, sour smell of beer tickles my nose as he closes the distance between us. His biceps flank my shoulders as he leans into me, gripping the edge of his desk where I sit.

“Stop working,” he rasps, nuzzling the side of my neck.

“I wish. I have one more question, and then I’m finished.”

“Grades don’t matter, Monroe,” he growls as he pulls my hair back to kiss the sensitive area directly below my earlobe.

“They do if you’re not a nepo baby and want a career.”