Page 72 of Shattered Stars

He nods, bending down to pick up my knife. “It’s mine now,” he tells me.

“Yes, I know.” I say, but before I’ve finished the words, he’s gone, vanished right in front of my eyes.

25

Rhi

Pip squeaksat me all the way back through the forest and to our dorm.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to tell me but what just happened was entirely your fault,” I tell him as I unlock our bedroom door. “You led me straight to him. You do remember who he is, right?”

I swear Pip actually rolls his eyes at me before trotting inside.

“Are you two arguing again?” Winnie asks, looking up from where she’s scrolling on her phone on the bed.

“Do pigs go through a teenage period because I swear …”

“Was he humping stuff again?” Winnie asks, shaking her head at Pip.

“Humping stuff? No! Ewww!” I drop down on the bed next to Winnie. “Has he really been doing that?”

“No, but it’s what teenagers do.”

Pip snorts at us both in a dignified manner and flops onto his bed.

“God,” Winnie says, shaking her head. “Have you seen all the things people have been posting about Spencer? Like he really did die.”

“Nope,” I say.

Winnie shakes her head and continues to read. I chew on my lip.

I said no more secrets, but somehow I can’t bring myself to tell her about the encounter I just had with the assassin who is meant to be trying to kill me. I’m not sure I’ll be able to tell Stone or Azlan either. They are all going to kill me – which is pretty ironic considering Barone didn’t.

I leave Winnie to her scrolling and go check my own phone. There’s one message from Azlan earlier today in reply to mine thanking him for the gifts. He reminds me I can send him those images through the bond and tells me he loves me.

I read the words and read them again. They seem so innocent on the screen of my phone but also so important and so fundamental. Azlan loves me and somehow it makes all the other worries I’m harboring – about Spencer, about Tristan, and Renzo Barone and the Wolves of Night – dissolve away.

Dissolve away until the very next morning when I open our bedroom door, ready to head to class and find one large man towering the other side of the door.

For one fleeting moment, I think it must be Renzo again, back for another visit, but then my eyes focus properly and I almost do a double take.

Tristan Kennedy. Here. In our dorm building. Outside our room. In broad daylight.

“What the hell?” Winnie says, obviously as surprised as I am.

We both stare up at him. Whatever this is, it can’t be good.

Tristan, however, simply stares back at us, combing his hand through his golden hair in a way I’m sure has half the school swooning.

“What do you … why are you here, Tristan?”

“To walk you to class,” he tells me, holding out his hands and motioning to the books I’m carrying.

“What?” Has the principal insisted I require an escort? Has news of Barone’s visit got out? Or with his buddy gone, is Tristan hoping to find new ways of entertaining himself? Most likely torturing me.

“I’ve come to walk you to class and carry your books.”

“Why?” Winnie says, narrowing her eyes.