Page 63 of The Blood we Crave

Wait.

“Next year?”

He nods. “Yeah, is that a problem?”

My friends.

The Halo.

Thatcher.

Do they mean so little to me I nearly forgot all about them in light of my future?

Could I leave them, all of it, behind me in the rearview mirror like dust, as if these past years didn’t happen? Could I leave him across the map where my eyes would not reach him and my heart couldn’t feel him?

Even if I could, I’m not sure I want to. I don’t want to abandon the relationships I’ve built, even if we found it in madness and death. I’d like to believe what we share is a unique connection, one that doesn’t happen very often, and the thought of abandoning it make me sick.

I clear my throat, shaking my head. “I mean, I still need to get a degree before I get a job, so what’s the point of an internship?”

“You could transfer. It’s not Hollow Heights, but Dartmouth isn’t for the weak either.” He smiles, proud of his alma mater.

Maybe I could just fill out the application now. It’s not until next year, which gives me time. I just need time to see where we are with the Halo. I can’t leave with all those missing girls.

It’s not my responsibility, but it feels like we’re their only hope, the only people looking for them, and if we just gave up, they’d die forgotten. Tormented, sold, and left for dead.

Which makes me remember that my task in this had been to look further into Conner Godfrey. Determine if he is a part of this or blissfully ignorant.

“Why did I think you were from here?” I say easily, feigning interest. “You know your way around this place too well to not be a local.”

The picture Sage had found definitely had him in it, and it had easily been from years ago.

“New Hampshire, born and raised. I visited Ponderosa Springs during most of my summers with Mr. Sinclair. My parents died when I was young, a lot like you, actually.” He smiles grimly at our orphaned past. “So I spent my time here with the Sinclair family. It’s like my second home.”

I can’t imagine Stephen Sinclair being nice enough to have a civil conversation that isn’t laced with pompous brags, let alone being friendly.

“That’s right. Sage’s father mentioned you guys used to be friends when you were younger. What did you have in common with them? I mean, no offense, but you seem much more…” I chew my bottom lip, struggling to find the word. “Honest?”

“Are you telling me my friends are liars?” He raises an eyebrow, watching me with questioning eyes, and I realize I might have said the wrong thing—triggered his alarms if he is a part of the Halo.

“Not really. You just come across as more genuine, is all. Can’t really see you and Frank Donahue having much to chat about. Even when you were both in your hormonal twenties,” I joke, trying to lighten the edge of the room.

“I’ll take that as a compliment, Miss Abbott. But friends are friends for things far deeper than what they show on the surface. Trust me. We all just seemed to have the same mentality for the future.”

It’s cryptic and not nearly enough information to persecute him. If he isn’t a part of this, he’s in for a rude awakening when he finds out how shitty his friends are.

“It must’ve been hard on you then, on Mr. Sinclair too, losing Frank and Professor West. I’m sorry about that. You don’t really talk about it often, but I am here if you need to chat.” It feels wrong using his emotions against him like this. “Do you still talk to James Whittaker? How is he holding up with this?”

“Whittaker probably loves the fact they’re both dead,” he says harshly, and my fingers tighten around the paper. “How exactly do you know we were all friends—why the sudden interest?”

His tone is no longer funny and light.

Panic spreads throughout my chest like hot oil on a fire. I should have thought out my plan of questioning better. My answer has to be valid but not something that will be suspicious.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Sage,” I blurt out. “She, uh—we were cleaning out what survived the fire, and there were some boxes of pictures in the attic. Mostly of her and Rosemary as babies, but there were a few of Frank back in the day. I just assumed… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hit a nerve. I was—”

“It’s fine, Lyra.” He holds up his hand, releasing a breath. “Don’t apologize. I know you are only being your curious self. I’m just wound a little tight lately, and James is a sore spot for just about anyone who comes into contact with him.”