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He sounded so matter-of-fact. Cold and certain.

That was the real danger. Not the things he said, but how I responded to them.

What he made me feel, even when I knew I shouldn’t.

I studied his profile, the rigid line of his jaw, the slight furrow between his brows, the way his fingers clenched and unclenched on the steering wheel as if holding back a tempest of violence and irreversibility.

What was I going to do with him? My beautiful boy, sculpted from loyalty and sharpened on the edge of his own wrath.

Someone who would move the heavens for me or burn the world to ash if I asked him to.

I had the overwhelming urge to reach over, thread my fingers through his hair, and feel the softness I adored.

I smothered that desire swiftly by conjuring the image of Brooke touching him.

"Then you’d be taken away and locked up. What would I do without you?"

“You’d be fine, apparently.”

I bit the inside of my cheek to suppress a smile. “We both know that isn’t true. Stop sulking.”

He gave a short, humorless laugh. “You think this is me sulking?” We reached a stop sign, and he finally turned his head, those stormy eyes locking onto mine with a fierce, quiet intensity that pierced right through me.

“I’m not sulking. I’m pissed you confided in someone who can’t have your back like I do.

And I was being sarcastic, I’m aware we would both unravel without each other.

” He turned his attention back to the road and accelerated, leaving me to sit with that.

“Do you have any idea who was driving the car back there?”

“An asshole?” I answered dryly, then let out a breath. “But no, I’d like to. Do you think it was my Huntsman trying to declare me Marked? I’m not really sure how this all works, but using a front bumper to deliver the message can’t be standard protocol.”

“You don’t have a Huntsman,” he countered, clipped and absolute.

“Rye, we both know there’s a high chance I do. After that and yesterday, it’s almost undeniable.”

“Let me clarify. What you have is someone who’s about to regret every single fucking decision that led them to today.”

I didn’t say a word.

Even if I had known who was behind the wheel, I wouldn’t have told him.

Not right away. He’d just finished professing he wanted to pin someone to a tree by their intestines.

While Ryder wouldn’t seriously kill anyone, he could make a person wish he had, and that didn’t remove violence from the equation.

He’d always taken the slightest affront to me personally.

The second he knew who that driver was, he’d ruin them, piece by calculated piece.

Reputation. Sanity. Free-will.

He’d make sure the only thing left was regret, and the others wouldn’t hesitate to help with their own methods. I honestly hoped this person would ditch the car, toss the mask, and the guys never found out who they were, but that was wishful thinking.

“Why didn’t you call me for a ride home?”

“My house is only twenty minutes away, if that, on foot. Besides, since I cancelled our study session, I figured you might be with Brooke or—”

“Don’t. You know nothing would keep me from you. When you need me, don’t ever hesitate to call me.”

Funny, I’d almost said that same thing to Layla.

“Is that really fair of me to expect from you? You’ve got a life too.”

“You are my life.”

He didn’t say it like a tender confession. He declared it like a vow. A truth etched into his very being, as if he’d long ago accepted the cost of feeling that way. A flash of something unreadable crossed his face before he continued, his voice low and calm, yet charged with intensity.

“I don’t care about being fair, I care about you. If that means I drop everything any time you need me, then that’s exactly what I’ll do. You don’t get to question it. That’s just how it is.”

How could he say things like that so casually?

So damn certain like it wasn’t shattering every fragile boundary I was pretending still existed.

I looked away, reminded of the texts he’d sent.

Of the way he’d been looking at me lately.

Of the kiss, that we never brought up since it happened.

We needed to talk. God, we really needed to have it out.

But was it the right time? Was I supposed to cram whatever this was on top of everything else?

A pregnancy scare.

Assignments waiting in my bag that my GPA depended on.

My best friend looked like he was seconds from snapping someone’s neck.

A masked asshole popping up like a game of Guess Who, that just chased me down a sidewalk with their damn car. Yeah. Priorities were clearly spiraling. I glanced over at him, failing miserably to hide my amusement. “I’m your life, huh?”

He sighed like I was exhausting, shaking his head. “See? You love that I’m hopelessly devoted to you. I knew you appreciated the serenade.”

The memory came like a flash: him, back in high school, belting Hopelessly Devoted to You at full volume between classes every day for nearly two weeks.

He got half the football team involved, turned the halls into a borderline musical, all because we watched Grease once and I cried.

He knew exactly what I was remembering. That glint in his eyes gave him away, smug and so sure of himself.

It made me want to shove him out of the car.

“Remember how red you used to get?”

“I remember mentally mapping out every nearby locker I could crawl into,” I retorted flatly. “I’m still not over it.”

“Liar.” He grinned. “You loved it.”

“I hated it. Me and the girls still have secondhand embarrassment and have chosen to bury the trauma. I was one hallway performance away from transferring schools.”

He laughed, eyes still fixed on the road. “I would’ve followed you.”

“Yeah, probably,” I agreed.

“Not probably. You wouldn’t be getting away from me that easily.”

There it was again, that thing in his voice. The quiet certainty made it impossible to pretend we were just joking.

“You did love it, though. Admit it.”

“I assure you, I did not.”

“You do. I have a beautiful voice, after all.”

I scoffed. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“Confident,” he corrected.

“And delusional.”

He glanced over, a beautiful smile curving into something that made my chest ache. “Still your favorite problem to have, though.”

“Unfortunately.”

We were both smiling now. Like we hadn’t been dancing around tension and heartbreak for months, as if he wasn’t talking about painfully killing someone on my behalf five minutes ago. He pulled into the small, mostly empty lot of Davie’s Drugstore, the neon sign lit above us.

As soon as Ryder put the truck into park, I unbuckled and reached for the door. “I’ll be quick.”

“You want me to come with?”

“No.” I paused just long enough to look at him. “Stay. I’ll be right back.”

“I want a candy bar.”

That wasn’t at all surprising. “Any preference?”

“Dealer’s choice. Surprise me.”

I shut the door behind me, sucking in a breath as the cold air assaulted me.

The temperature had dropped fast. I hurried inside, the chime of the bell ringing overhead.

A wave of pine and cinnamon welcomed me.

The store was in full Halloween mode, orange and black everywhere, with a few lonely Thanksgiving decorations tucked between displays of fake blood and cobwebs.

Hunt merch had taken over half the front aisles.

Cade wasn’t kidding. There were shirts, mugs, buttons, and even masks, all mixed in beside Crowsfell University memorabilia.

I studied a few of the disguises, but none resembled what the two people I encountered wore.

Moving on, I searched for where I needed to go, passing more décor and merch.

Hemlock Heights never overshadowed holidays like the big-box stores.

There was to be no early Christmas music.

No frosted wreaths trying to edge out the skeletons. Everything was done accordingly.

I spotted an overhead sign for what I was looking for, and made a beeline for the back, keeping my head down as I passed a woman squinting at decorative hand soaps and a guy balancing at least ten bags of bulk candy like he was preparing for an apocalypse.

When I reached the feminine hygiene aisle, my steps slowed. My heart ticked up as I stood there, face-to-face with something I’d only ever half-joked about with the girls.

Pregnancy tests.

I didn’t know shit about these things other than the obvious.

Whichever outcome you were rooting for, you had to pee on them and pray.

Why were some so expensive? I picked two different brands to be safe.

Then, after a beat, I grabbed a third one.

A classic line test with no digital screen.

That seemed simpler somehow. My stomach twisted thinking about Layla and how scared she’d looked.

What if she were pregnant? I knew it wasn’t the end of the world, but it sure as hell wasn’t the life plan for a varsity cheerleader barely halfway through college.

And definitely not from their stepdad, of all baby daddy candidates.

With the tests gathered in one hand, I cut through to the candy aisle and scanned until I found Ryder’s favorites, Snickers and an oversized KitKat. He always pretended he didn’t like sweets, but the man had a sugar addiction that could rival mine.

At the register, the older woman behind the counter gave me a once-over, then smiled like she knew my entire family lineage. “Aren’t you Anima’s granddaughter?”

Ah. Great.

I smiled tightly. “Yep, that’s me.”

“Mm. I thought so. You look so much like her and your mother.” She rang up the items, failing to discreetly look at my stomach as if the results were already revealed.

Wrong girl, lady.

I muttered a half-hearted “thanks” after I paid the $39.84, scooped up the plastic bag, and then patted myself on the back for not calling her out for her less-than-subtle judgment.

I was definitely going to have to call Sugarmama before this got spun into some juicy small-town version of a new mom PSA.