Page 38

T he late afternoon sun dips low, smearing gold across the campus like some overly sentimental painting. Normally, I’d appreciate it—the crisp air, the way the frost makes everything feel sharp and alive. But the wind’s a bitch today, cutting through my jacket like it’s got something personal against me.

My phone’s cradled between my ear and shoulder, coffee clutched in one hand.

“Mahal, I’ll be home soon. I just need to pick up a few things from the store.”

“You’ve been running around all day. Why don’t you just come back?” Her voice softens, full of that quiet concern that always makes my chest ache. She doesn’t even realize what she does to me. “I’m cooking your favorite!”

I can’t help the faint smile tugging at my lips, even though she can’t see it. “I’ll be quick. Promise.”

She sighs through the line, and I can practically see her rolling her eyes. “You better be.”

“Love you,” I say, then end the call and slip my phone into my pocket.

The quad is nearly deserted, the weather cold enough to keep people inside. My boots crunch against the frost-covered grass as I cut through the empty stretch toward the parking lot. It’s quiet. Normally, there’s at least some distant chatter or the hum of a passing car.

I notice a black van idling near the entrance to the lot and something shifts in my chest—a tiny whisper of unease.

Paranoia? Maybe. Or maybe not.

I slow my pace, my eyes flicking to the van’s tinted windows. No way to see who’s inside, no hint of what’s going on, but my instincts are screaming now.

“Probably nothing,” I mutter under my breath, but my fingers twitch against the cup in my hand.

The parking lot is close now, just a few more steps to my car. My pulse quickens, each beat louder than the last.

The door to the van slides open.

I glance over my shoulder, and it’s like time slows, each detail burning into my brain. Two figures jump out. They’re masked, dressed in dark clothes that blend too well into the shadows.

Fuck.

Panic slams into me like a freight train, adrenaline screaming through my veins. My coffee tumbles to the ground, forgotten, as I pivot and bolt toward my car. A hand grabs the back of my jacket, yanking me off balance. I twist, my elbow snapping back into someone’s ribs. The grunt that follows is satisfying, but it doesn’t last long.

“Fuck off!” I shout as I stumble forward, nearly regaining my footing. Nearly.

Another figure steps into my path, slamming into me like a goddamn linebacker. The impact sends me sprawling to the ground, the rough asphalt biting into my palms. I roll onto my back, my boot connecting with someone’s shin in a desperate kick.

“Bastard,” I hiss, scrambling backward, but there’s no time to recover.

A fist smashes into my jaw, and white-hot pain explodes behind my eyes. My head snaps to the side, the world tilting dangerously.

Stay awake. Don’t stop moving.

I swing blindly, my knuckles catching the edge of a mask, but it’s not enough. Another punch lands, this one to my ribs, and the air rushes out of my lungs in a choked gasp.

“Get the fuck off me!” I snarl, thrashing against their grip, but it’s useless.

One of them forces me onto my stomach, a knee digging into my back as zip ties bite into my wrists. The plastic cuts deep, the sting makes me clench my teeth.

Think, Kai. Think.

Twisting against their hold, I try to see past the haze of pain, trying to catch all their distorted voices.

“Will the Syndicate come and save one of their precious little toys?”

“Fuck you,” I spit, my words more defiant than I feel. The question throws me, but I don’t let it show.

“Get him in.”

I’m hauled to my feet, my boots scraping against the ground as they drag me toward the van. I twist, kick, anything to slow them down, but it’s no use.

The van door slams shut behind me, plunging everything into darkness.

Stay calm. Breathe.

But my heart is pounding, and the suffocating space around me feels like it’s closing in.

The driver pulls off their mask, tossing it onto the passenger seat before adjusting the rear-view mirror.

My blood runs cold.

No. No fucking way.

“You!?”

They glance at me through the mirror, a faint, knowing smile curling their lips before they shift the van into gear and drive off.