Page 4

Payton watched as Dove and Morgan flounced into the cafeteria arm in arm, both looking sleep-deprived and mildly put out. Morgan’s dark hair was pulled into a ponytail, her bangs now an almost shocking aqua blue. Dove’s hair was cotton candy pink. Neither of them had that color hair the last time he’d seen them, but that was nothing new. The two girls made their way to the tables at the back where Peregrine pod had split for breakfast, then bullied their way onto the end of the bench, forcing Drake and Remi to shift down.

“You look like Strawberry Shortcake,” Gift said, delighted. “Can I touch it?”

Dove beamed at him, dipping her head towards him. “Sure, baby.”

Payton watched, amused, as Gift petted the psychopath like she was a cat, laughing when she responded like one, bumping her head against Gift’s palm. Dove was so…tactile. So unpsychopath-like. Payton had to keep reminding himself that psychopathy was a spectrum. When Gift dropped his hand, Dove gave another radiant smile, then opened her backpack, pulling out two cups of yogurt and two plastic spoons, handing one to Morgan.

The two never ate the food in the dining hall despite its superior quality. Dove said she didn’t trust the government not to put something in the food and water here. She maintained that if the higher-ups at the Watch had no problems stealing small children and forcing them to kill, they would certainly have no problems continuing the experiment by drugging them and trying to create some kind of race of super soldiers. Gift had told Dove she’d been watching too many movies, but she’d shrugged them off and continued to avoid anything served by the staff. Eventually, she’d made Morgan do the same. The other girl seemed as though she was just humoring her asset.

“What is going on today?” Morgan asked, looking around the dining hall then giving a heavy shudder.

Jay frowned from where he sat across from Luca at the table beside theirs. “Huh?”

Morgan waved her hands around the space, her voice airy as she said, “The vibes are…off.”

Luca smirked. “I don’t think it’s the vibes that are ‘off,’” he air-quoted.

Dove growled at him like a wolf defending her mate. Luca laughed and growled back before returning to his omelet.

Payton and Gift exchanged frowns, looking for anything that could explain Morgan’s bad vibes. Everything looked normal to him, but he wasn’t one to question Dove or Morgan when they had a feeling about something. Better to be safe than sorry.

“Something bad’s about to happen,” Morgan warned ominously.

Like the other main rooms at the Watch, the dining hall was a bit stuffy, with far too much wood paneling and several heavy wooden tables with two long benches on either side. They likely cost a small fortune but they looked like someone had made them in their tenth grade wood shop class. Payton didn’t know who’d decorated the space, but they’d clearly vacillated between an eighteenth century pub and a college girl’s interpretation of dark academia. It left the decor a bit disjointed.

Payton didn’t care about the place’s aesthetic. His only concern was the buffet lining the left wall and the six coffee makers that stood just to the right of the entrance. As long as those remained full, he didn’t care if they painted the whole room pink with lime green polka dots.

“What are you babbling about now?” Drake asked, raising one thick brow. “Everything is just as it always is. Boring and bland.”

Payton flicked his gaze to the large blond man, already pre-irritated with his roommate. He hadn’t done anything…yet. But Drake seemed to excel at pissing people off. The only people who liked him were the pick mes and the frat boys. Drake was a bit of an unsolved mystery. He’d arrived late in the first semester, had been put with Payton and Gift instead of being given one of several empty rooms and had essentially been wreaking havoc and whoring his way through the locals at a shocking rate.

Payton didn’t get the appeal. Sure, Drake was hot, if you were into guys who looked like they rowed crew, ate ivy, and spent too much time asking people if they knew who his father was. Even now, he sat with his tie hanging loose around his neck, his elbow on the table as he stared at his handler with a smirk like a fourth grade boy just waiting to pull Remi’s pigtails or say “I’m not touching you.” Anything to get the smaller boy’s eyes on him. Normally, Remi was Drake’s biggest fan. Publicly anyway.

But not today.

Before Drake arrived, Remi had been an adorable little chatterbox in the mornings, going on and on about some sci- fi show or documentary he’d watched the night before. Now, he spent his mornings on his phone or sitting with his laptop open, eyes narrowed, tongue poking from his mouth as he concentrated on some line of code that gave him trouble. Payton didn’t know much about the boy other than he was painfully awkward, wickedly smart, and shockingly beautiful. And it felt a little like Drake was shaving off pieces of the kid a little more each day, leaving him…lackluster.

He was far too good a person for his roommate. But that wasn’t saying much. Payton wasn’t sure he’d wish Drake on his worst enemy…if he had one.

Drake rolled his neck, cracking each side, noting Payton watching Remi. His eyes lit up, and he turned his body back towards the boy, tone honeyed as he asked, “Hey, green eyes. Did you manage to get my?—”

“No,” Remi snapped coldly, cutting him off, his eyes not venturing from his phone screen. “Find another errand boy, dipshit.”

Drake blinked, looking so taken aback Payton couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled from his lips. “Dipshit?” Drake echoed, sounding like he clutched his finest set of pearls. “Did you just?—”

“Stop talking to me,” Remi barked, once more cutting him off. “We may have to interact until this godforsaken program is over, or at least until I can get them to assign me a different asset, but until then, don’t speak to me unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

“I—What?” Drake asked, crestfallen, tone delightfully bewildered. “I don’t know what I…” He trailed off as Remi cut his eyes to him. “Last night, you…we…what?”

Payton whistled like a bomb falling, then made an explosion sound. Drake shot him a venomous look. Side by side, Drake and Remi’s differences were startling. Even sitting, Drake towered over Remi, his frame eclipsing Remi’s smaller one. Drake looked like he was in his mid-twenties whereas Remi could have passed for a high schooler in the right lighting. Their looks were day and night. Drake with his golden blond hair, blue eyes, and square jaw, while Remi had a baby face with round cheeks, chestnut curls, and jade green eyes.

The two had nothing in common. Even their temperaments were at odds with each other. Drake was loud, cocky, and obnoxious. Remi was quiet, reserved, and crushing on Drake.

At least…he had been. Given Remi’s frosty response, maybe the kid was growing a much-needed backbone.

“Hey, don’t be like that,” Drake said, voice like whiskey, dropping his hand beneath the table.

“If that hand makes contact with any part of me, I’m gonna stab you in the eye with this fork, you fucking troglodyte.”

Drake huffed, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “Do you even know what that word means?” he snapped, returning his hands to the table, expression sulky.

“Do you?” Remi fired back, then sucked his teeth, giving Drake one last disgusted look before going back to his phone.

Payton watched as Drake mouthed not really to himself, then bit his tongue to keep from laughing. He’d never seen Drake look anything but confident. His confusion made him look like a cartoon character. When Drake looked at him, Payton mouthed, What did you do? Drake made big eyes at Payton then silently shouted, Nothing .

Payton shook his head. This wasn’t the first time the two had fought, but it was the first time Remi didn’t seem torn up about it.

“You guys seriously can’t feel it?” Morgan pressed, snagging Payton’s attention back to her side of the table. She looked at the beams on the ceiling like she was waiting for an engine to fall off a plane and crash through the ceiling.

“You are being so extra right now,” Drake said, managing an eye-roll before his gaze floated back to Remi, who seemed to make a point of ignoring him harder, rolling his shoulders back, then angling his body away from Drake. “Everything is totally normal…except you.”

Payton was almost positive he was talking to Morgan, but he certainly seemed like he was hoping Remi would give him an answer as well.

Drake was a tool, but he wasn’t wrong in this instance. At least, not with Morgan and drama. She was always a little extra.

Psychopaths were such drama queens.

Morgan shivered, scanning the room carefully. “I’m telling you, something is weird. I’m never wrong.”

Gift leaned in, dropping his voice. “Is this, like, a planets thing?”

Drake snorted, earning a glare from Dove. “Shut up, Valmont.”

Drake’s face fell comically fast. “Stop calling me that.”

Dove gave him a saccharine smile. “I’ll stop calling you that when you stop behaving like that.”

Valmont was a reference to some nineties villain in a teen drama. Payton didn’t know much about the film other than a rich douchebag guy made a bet with his stepsister that he could have sex with some virgin and that the prize for him winning was anal with his own sister. What Payton did know was that the comparison drove Drake insane, which was why Dove had vowed to never stop using it.

She loved tormenting Drake, and her new weapon of choice was obscure movie references.

Drake looked Dove up and down, then let his gaze float to Morgan, smiling. “I refuse to be judged by someone whose best friend intones predictions with the same level of accuracy as a drunken carnival psychic.”

“Whatever you say, Warner,” Dove chirped.

“Who?” Drake snapped before he could stop himself.

“Warner Huntington III,” Gift provided around a mouthful of toast. “You know, the rich law school guy from Legally Blonde who drops Elle for being blonde?”

This time, it was Remi who snorted, even though he still refused to look up. Drake glowered at the top of his head, then reluctantly picked up his fork, shoveling cold eggs into his mouth grumpily, stabbing them onto the utensil like they’d wronged him.

“If you want your insults to land, maybe try a reference someone might know,” Drake said.

“If I could only insult you using references you were smart enough to understand, I’d be rendered mute,” Dove said cheerfully.

Remi finally looked up from his phone, fixing Drake with a pissy look. “Don’t act like you haven’t seen every Reese Witherspoon movie ever made. You have a huge boner for her. You even made me watch Big Little Lies. ”

“I-I did not,” Drake said too loudly, head on a swivel, like he hoped people heard his denial. When he realized nobody was paying attention, he gave Remi a ridiculous pout and his biggest puppy dog eyes. “Why are you being so mean today? You said that was our secret.”

Remi’s expression stayed frigid, but the pain in his eyes was obvious, even to Payton. “And you said you liked me. Guess we both lied.”

“Wh-What?” Drake asked, voice going up an octave, but Remi had already dismissed him once more. From this angle, Payton could see the boy chewing on his lip. Drake stared, seemingly waiting for Remi to give in, but when he didn’t, he lowered his voice again, leaning in close until his lips pressed against Remi’s ear. “If you have a problem with me, I wish you’d just hit me and get it over with so we can go back to normal. You’re being so…emotional.”

Remi didn’t acknowledge his words, though Payton knew there was no way he could have missed them. Payton had heard them and he was across the table. Drake continued to study him, his irritation growing with every minute the smaller boy ignored him.

Payton shook his head, turning back to the others, preoccupied with his own thoughts. Morgan was right; something was definitely off with the vibes today.

Payton looked around the sea of faces. All were familiar, but only a few had names he remembered. It was hard to believe these men and women were in their early to mid-twenties. They behaved very much like teens.

Payton was a private school kid. He’d spent years watching wealthy kids just like these act as if they were all characters in some soapy nighttime drama, each of them attempting to ruin each other’s lives over even the most minor inconvenience. In his experience, there were always two types of bullies in every large group: those who solved everything with violence and those who solved their grievances through psychological devastation.

Payton looked at Dove and Morgan, then at Persephone. The only girls in Peregrine pod, but by far, the cruelest of the bunch.

Payton was a feminist. He was so pro-women, he might have even veered towards misandry had he not loved fucking men so much. But he had to admit, when it came to psychological warfare, nobody was more terrifying than the female sex. Especially teen girls. Payton would rather get his ass beaten by an entire football team than get his reputation shredded by a five-foot-three cheerleader who decided to ruin him because her boyfriend decided to cheat or some equally egregious high school crime.

All the girls Payton knew had zero chill. They handled every offense at a level ten. A stolen kombucha was handled with the same level of retaliation as a broken marriage. Payton had always had a healthy respect for that level of maladaptation. There was something truly beautiful and truly psychotic about seeing someone’s weaknesses used against them so seamlessly. If breaking people was an olympic sport, the girls of the Watch would take home the gold every year.

He used to believe it was just his school—private school kids being, well, private school kids. But once he’d hit college, he realized it was everywhere. Men solving their problems with their fists and women solving problems with a level of cunning Payton found exhilarating, like diving into icy waters.

Take Dove and Drake. Dove had first made the Valmont crack to his roommate months ago. One would have thought it would have lost its sting, especially on a psychopath like Drake. He had blown it off initially, but, over time, it had started to eat at him. So much so, he’d made Remi sit with him and watch the whole movie as well as two other period adaptations from the same French novel. He’d spent the whole time saying he was nothing like Valmont while forcing Remi to agree.

Payton’s lips twitched. One seemingly innocuous comment had infected Drake’s lizard brain, spreading through it like a cancer. Drake—whose evaluation had labeled him a textbook psychopath—had internalized that comment, turning the word into a trigger that had him seething every time.

It was genius.

It was insidious.

But Dove was an artist when it came to what Gift and Payton referred to as her “hollow point” comments. Off-the-cuff remarks that—like bullets—went in clean, then scattershot within, pureeing one’s insides.

Morgan wrapped both her arms around Dove’s bicep, resting her head on her shoulder with a loud whine. “I’m sleepy. I don’t want to play today. Suri is still on her bullshit with this whole war games thing and I am not good at making things up on the fly.”

Dove pulled her arm free of the other girl. Morgan made a noise of complaint, only removing her pout when Dove draped said arm around Morgan’s shoulders instead, hugging her close, resting her cheek on Morgan’s head. “Do you wanna skip?” she asked the girl. “We can tell the teachers you’re sick and you need me to babysit.”

Dove sounded almost excited about the prospect. It was rare for Morgan to show any sign of weakness. When it came to those two, it was hard to determine who was the asset and who was the handler. Morgan was far more outwardly brutal. She was often harsh and exacting with her criticisms. And she was usually spot on with her blunt assessments of people’s flaws and faults.

Dove said that didn’t make Morgan a psychopath, just a Virgo. Dove on the other hand, came across as almost soft by comparison, preferring to keep her sharp edges under wraps. It wasn’t surprising to Payton. A lifetime of masking in the real world would do that to a person. But Dove didn’t fool any of them. She didn’t give a fuck what happened to strangers. She bodied the most gruesome torture with glee. But if someone fucked with Morgan, she’d kill them without a second’s hesitation.

Which led him right back to his original point.

Women were fucking terrifying. Even to a psychopath like him.

And Drake.

Before Morgan could respond to Dove’s generous offer to skip school, a wave of whispers rolled across the cafeteria, voices getting louder and more excited before reaching a crescendo at their table.

Luca leaned into their space. “Dude, check your email.”

Remi’s shoulders stiffened as he jerked his head towards the surfer boy with the blond curls. “Huh?”

Luca grinned. “Check your school mail account.” He grinned, then wiggled his brows, making eye contact with each in turn. “All of you.”

Payton noted people shoving their earbuds and AirPods into their ears as they stared at their phone screens. He exchanged a confused look with Gift, each of them picking up their phones and pushing their headphones into place.

Payton toggled to his email. There was only one new notification—from [email protected]. Payton leaned closer as he double-clicked the email. His brow furrowed as he stared at it. The email contained nothing but a shortlink. Could be phishing. Could be IT checking whether they were all stupid enough to click on a link from an email they didn’t recognize. If that was the case, that was on them. Payton wasn’t stupid enough to click an anonymous link, but he was nosey enough. Besides, there was nothing on his phone that would incriminate him.

Fuck it.

Payton clicked the blue font, heart thudding slow and heavy behind his ribs, his mouth suddenly dry. The link took him to a video clip similar to a YouTube video, but on a far more rudimentary site. It felt like the darknet. He really hoped not. He took a deep breath, staring at the woman frozen on his screen. Well, a girl, really. She appeared to be their age at first glance, but the inconsistencies were scratching at Payton’s brain.

The video’s background contained a green screen backdrop that showed a downtown apartment, city lights visible from the windows behind her. There were records on the wall from the eighties and DVDs on the shelves from the nineties, but the woman frozen on his screen was dressed like she was from a bygone era. She had her deep mahogany hair pulled back into a sleek style, horn-rimmed glasses, and a black pillbox hat with a sheer veil that swooped over her forehead but didn’t cover her eyes. She wore a suit that looked like vintage Chanel and short white gloves on her fingers. She looked like Jackie Kennedy.

It created a level of uncanny valley Payton found unsettling.

What the fuck was this?

He steeled himself then pushed play. The woman gave a chilling smile, her voice almost shrill as she started to speak. “Welcome to The Covert Chronicles ,” she said, like a woman in a vintage commercial for dish soap. “What is that , you might ask? Well, it’s a game where I, your most charming hostess, will spend the next several days—possibly weeks—revealing all of your dirty little secrets.”

She gasped dramatically, clasping her hands over her mouth, then removed them with a giggle that sounded like a rusty hinge. “Oh, I know what you’re thinking,” she simpered, wagging a finger at the screen. “How could anyone reveal any secret bigger than the one we all share here at the Watch?” She shrugged, leaning in conspiratorially. “And, sure, you’ve got me there.”

Payton blinked rapidly as the video glitched like an old television, the face distorting briefly before she continued. He chanced a look around. Nobody was talking anymore.

“Now, just to put your mind at ease, I want to let you know I have no intention of ruining the program,” she said, that weird plastic smile stretching across her face once more. “After all, I’m one of you. That would be cutting off my nose to spite my face, no?” Her nose disappeared, leaving a gaping hole in its place. It reappeared so fast, Payton was starting to doubt his own eyes.

“Not a good look,” she said in a baby voice that grated on his nerves.

She gave that rusty giggle again. This was clearly some kind of deep fake shit. An AI generated bot, maybe. Nobody who looked like her attended the Watch and there was something about her that made his stomach slippery and Payton didn’t even have the ability to feel fear.

“Now, I’m sure this is upsetting—at least to the neurobland normies who walk amongst us—but I’m not doing this out of malice or spite,” she said, her voice taking on the tone of a kindergarten teacher. “Frankly, I’m fucking bored.” She squeaked, then covered her mouth. “Oops, did I say that? I apologize.”

Payton and Gift exchanged looks quickly, then went back to their respective screens. Gift’s video was a bit ahead of his.

The woman waved her hand, her voice taking on a mid-Atlantic accent. “You’re all so abysmally boring. There’s no stalking. No hunting. No murder. What kind of school for psychopaths is this? At first, I thought I had no choice but to endure, laughing and smiling and pretending I care about a bunch of pathetic, spoiled narcissistic babies. But then our beloved teacher, Suri, decided to make us play a game.” Glitch. “A game of misinformation.” Glitch. “A game of lies.” Glitch. Glitch . “And that’s when my brilliant idea came to me. What’s better than just blurting out all of your disgusting little secrets? Making your peers decide which are true and which are lies.”

Payton frowned. Was this one of Suri’s stunts? One of Boone’s little ethics exercises? If so, it seemed a bit over the top.

The woman on the screen grinned, her smile distorting like something out of a horror movie. “I’m about to turn our school into our own little Meridian.

“Now, I know what you’re thinking. ‘But Lady Watchtower, you said mis information. You said lies. Why would we believe anything you tell us?’” she asked, voice breathy like she was channeling Marilyn Monroe. “That’s easy. Because they’re not all lies. In fact, most of them are your filthy little truths. And if you fail to determine which are real and which are fake before I decide your time is up, I’ll be forced to penalize someone with some very real, very permanent consequences. Not you, of course, dear player. But someone important to you.”

Someone important to them? Who would be important to a bunch of psychopaths? Maybe she was anticipating the neurotypicals would play the game, not the assets? This was completely coo-coo banana balls and Payton found himself wishing he had something stronger than coffee to drink. As the screen glitched again, Payton started to feel like he was tripping on shrooms.

“After all, you have to have skin in the game to stay in the game. Though I’ll do my best to try to refrain from skinning anyone. For now,” she said ominously, holding up two fingers like a boy scout before she gave another shrill laugh that set off a chain of goosebumps along Payton’s skin.

“Where was I? Oh, right. Back to the gameplay. I considered doing it like the blind items in the tabloids.” A white screen appeared, words forming in black ink.

What lovesick hacker was caught getting down and dirty with not one but five guys and a girl in one night? The truth will shock you.

All eyes turned to Remi, who stiffened but refused to look up, swallowing loudly.

“Eyes on me,” the woman commanded, like she could see everyone looking at Remi. “I figured, why keep you guessing when I could just show you the footage? So, that’s what I’ll do.” She schooled her face into a mask of seriousness, her voice lowering. “What you’re about to see might appear rather tame for most of you dirty little deviants, but I feel honor bound to warn you that viewer discretion is advised. Aren’t I so nice?”

Another screen appeared over the woman, who faded out of existence. Payton followed the black line circling the screen as it counted down from five to one before fading as well.

Another video began to play. Security footage. Payton recognized the place it showed as the bar closest to the school. The one everyone went to when they were feeling a little stir-crazy and needed to escape. It was grainy. Dark. But it wasn’t hard to spot Remi sitting stiffly on one of the couches, Navy wrapped around him in a way that was not unlike how Morgan had wrapped herself around Dove.

The girl had been throwing herself at Remi for a while, but she seemed like she was on a mission that night, running a hand over his chest, nuzzling at his neck, whispering in his ear. Past Remi seemed fixated on something else, something—or someone—in front of him just off camera. As they watched, she took something handed to her, then placed it on her tongue, swooping down on Remi and kissing him. He shoved her off and stood, disappearing from sight.

The footage changed. Security footage again. A large man stood outside the bar in a dark jacket, his back to the camera, one hand pressed to the wall, the other obscured in front of him. He appeared to be alone, possibly taking a piss before going to his car. It was hardly a crime and he definitely was too big to be Remi. Payton’s eyes darted to Drake, connecting the dots.

The Drake on the screen turned, bringing someone into the dim light with him. Remi. Payton’s gaze snapped back to Drake, whose ears were now a startling shade of cherry red. They were making out, hot and heavy, hands down each other’s pants, both of them clearly enjoying themselves. It was hardly shocking, but it was salacious enough to fuel the rumor mill for a few days.

Before Payton could ponder any further, the film changed again. This video was very clear. Remi on a bed wearing only his underwear in what appeared to be an upscale hotel room. Four very large blond men surrounded him, up on their knees on the mattress. Remi smiled. Giggled. Laughed. He looked directly at the camera overhead a moment before they all descended on him like vultures. Again that uneasy feeling made Payton’s breakfast churn in his belly. Something was off. Way off.

Another video. A figure in a parking lot leaning against a car, a baseball cap on his head and the hood of his sweatshirt pulled over that. Were they supposed to believe that was Remi? It could have been anyone. Hell, it could have been Payton. A man approached and the two appeared to exchange words before the kid—supposedly Remi—pulled something large from beneath his jacket, handing it to the other man. A folder? A large envelope, maybe?

The man left and possibly-Remi stuffed something into the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie, pushing back the hood and twisting the hat to the back, glancing up at something overhead. Unlike the other video, he wasn’t looking directly into the camera, but there was no doubt it was Remi’s face. What was he doing there? Was he there? Was this a deep fake, too?

Payton blinked as the black and white footage disappeared, leaving the woman in the pillbox hat unmoving on his screen. He watched, spooked, as she appeared to come back online like a computer rebooting. “Wasn’t that just wild?” she asked, shaking her head almost dreamily. “But is it real, or is it Memorex? I’ll give you a hint…there’s a witness amongst you who knows the truth.”

Payton’s gaze flitted around the room, looking to see if anyone paid more attention to Remi than their screen, but everyone’s heads were down.

“It’s a new world out there, kiddos, complete with new technology. Do you believe everything you hear?” Low moans spilled into his ears then faded. “How about everything you see?” A video of Remi on some man’s lap, head thrown back, eyes closed as he rolled his hips while three other men watched seemed to appear then disappear just as quickly. “Can you trust the person assigned to watch your back, or are they simply waiting for you to look the other way before they plunge the knife between your ribs?”

Payton was already so over this bullshit. Now, he was the one growing bored. The woman on the screen flickered a few more times, then once more gave that distorted grin. “I can’t wait to watch you turn on each other, cannibalizing yourselves as you try to prove or disprove everything I’m about to tell you. Toodles.”

The video ended abruptly. The silence in the hall was deafening.

“Are they suggesting Remi’s a dealer or something?” someone blurted from somewhere in the group before bursting out laughing.

“What’s he dealing? Pixie sticks? Pop rocks?” another crowed.

“Looks to me like he’s selling secrets. You some kind of fucking traitor, Remi? Are you trying to sell us out?” another said.

Jay snorted, rolling his eyes. “Please, he’s probably just selling homework to you lazy ass losers.” The tension in his body did not match his flippant response.

“Are we just not going to talk about it?” another guy said from behind them. “We’re going to ignore the four linebackers running a train on our little Remi?”

Payton clenched his jaw, staring at Remi. Remi stared at his phone.

“Bet it’s not a coincidence they all looked like Drake though, huh, Remi?” another said. “What’s wrong? Drake not slinging that dick the way you need it?”

A guy Payton vaguely recognized as a handler from Vulpine pod clutched his hands to his chest, shouting, “I volunteer as tribute. Come on, Remi. I’ll dick you down so good, you’ll beg to do my homework.”

There were titters of laughter, but mostly people shifted awkwardly in their seats, everyone seemingly at a loss over what to do as Remi just sat there, phone clenched in his hand, shaking his head like he thought it might wake him from this nightmare. “That’s…that’s not me?” he whispered. His head jerked up as he looked at each of them, his pretty face flushed crimson. “This isn’t me!” he shouted. “This is fucking fake.”

“Is it fake, Drake?” someone else called. “Your handler didn’t give you a handy in the parking lot?”

“That’s not what Drake told me,” another voice said. A boy with auburn hair and too many freckles. Jake something, maybe? “He told me he has his pretty little handler eating out of the palm of his hand. That he sucked dick like a pornstar and took orders like a good little slave. What was it you called him, Drake? Your whipping boy?”

Drake slammed a fist on the table, making everything rattle, startling Remi.“Why don’t you shut the fuck up, Cooper? You’re so full of shit, your eyes are brown, you little bitch.”

A voice cut through the dining hall. “I saw them.”

Remi flinched. Everyone but him turned towards Navy, who took someone’s hand, using it to step up onto the bench, towering over everyone else. She crossed her arms, giving Drake a smug look before glowering at the back of Remi’s head. “He said we were dating, but that he wanted to keep it a secret. I thought he was just worried because we’re in different pods.”

“That’s a fucking lie,” Remi whispered. “She’s lying. I never wanted to date her.”

Dove reached across Drake and squeezed Remi’s hand before retracting it and giving Drake a dirty look, wiping her hand on her skirt where she’d touched the older boy. Drake rolled his eyes.

Navy continued on, her voice wobbling, like she was two seconds away from collapsing under the stress. “But then Drake ditched his date at the bar after he saw his little boy-toy all over me. He dragged him off to the parking lot like I wasn’t even there. So, I waited a few minutes, then I followed them. That’s when I found them, hate fucking in the parking lot right up against the wall like animals. Guess we know why I wasn’t his type.”

“Girl, you’re nobody’s type,” Lennon said, then sucked his teeth, entering the dining hall with Mos at his side. “Sit your ugly ass down and stop making shit up.”

“Where the fuck have you two been?” Dove asked, her tone accusatory, as they plopped down at their usual table beside them.

“Uh, making staff aware of this email’s existence. They had some follow-up questions, as you can imagine.”

“Follow up questions?” Payton echoed.

Before either could embellish, Navy stomped her foot. “I’m not ugly! I was Ms. Georgia three years in a row!” she yelled.

Persephone’s voice carried across the gym. “I heard your father almost went broke with all the plastic surgery and bribes he had to give out to get you into those pageants. He probably had to sell a kidney for those wins.”

“Oh, fuck you, Persephone. Everyone knows you weren’t born with that fucking nose or those lips,” Navy snapped. “You’re just defending Remi because all you Peregrine pricks stick together.”

Persephone gave Navy the finger. Navy shot her two in return. Remi had his eyes glued to the phone screen, clicking on the video over and over, shaking his head. “I don’t get it,” he said, voice barely audible over the din. “How…”

Drake settled a hand on Remi’s shoulder, squeezing just enough to get his attention. “I thought you went home after we…” He trailed off, eyes narrowed as he stared Remi down, looking like he was practically choking on his rage.

Payton had never seen Drake mad before. Irritated, sure. But never furious like this. He looked like he wanted to kill someone. He was vibrating.

Remi threw off Drake’s hand then shot to his feet, untangling his legs from the bench, looking frantically for his book bag, like he just wanted to escape. But then he seemed to change his mind, turning on Drake. “After we what?” he spat, raising his voice. “Huh? After we what, Drake? After you ‘hate-fucked’ me? After you made me run your errands? Do your homework? Do your laundry? What did you call me? Your whipping boy? Your toy? Anything I’m forgetting?” Remi had tears rolling down his cheeks, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Maybe I should tell them all of your secrets, huh? What do you think? Should I tell them all the things you’ve told me when we’re lying in the dark and you’re clinging to me like a five-year-old because you’ve had another fucking nightmare? Huh? Huh?” he screamed.

“Calm down,” Drake said through gritted teeth.

“Why? I think everyone would love to know what I know about you. You guys love gossip, right? Right? Did you know that Drake’s dad?—”

Drake slapped a hand over Remi’s mouth, chest heaving, eyes flashing with such malice, the others in Peregrine pod tensed, ready to intervene if necessary. Drake was pushing his luck. Remi looked at Payton, eyes pleading, begging him to do nothing. Payton wasn’t sure he could honor that wish long-term, but he’d let it go for now.

Even with Drake sitting and Remi standing, they were still almost eye to eye, but that didn’t make it a fair fight. “That’s enough,” Drake snapped, like he was talking to a subordinate. “Pull it together.”

Remi batted his hand away, nostrils flaring, hands shaking. “Or what?” he asked, cheeks flushed, tears and sweat dampening his skin, making it glow. “I won’t get to carry your bags anymore?” he simpered. “I won’t get to jerk you off in parking lots?” He gave Drake a smirk that was a perfect imitation of his own, then addressed the dining hall. “Did you guys know he cries when he comes? Like full on sobs. I used to think it was adorable, but now, it’s just kind of embarrassing.”

“What the fuck is your problem?” Drake growled, grabbing his arm. “I didn’t make that video. I didn’t tell you to jerk me off in a parking lot then go fuck a football team.”

Remi’s hand cocked back, slapping Drake’s face hard enough to leave a perfect imprint of his hand on his right cheek. Drake barely acknowledged the slap. “Feel better?”

“Why are you so butt hurt, Drake?” a girl asked. “ It’s not like you were monogamous either. I would know. You should hear the things he says about you, Remi.”

Drake twitched, releasing Remi like he burned him, finally seeming to remember there was a room full of witnesses. His whole demeanor changed, the tension melting from his body as he scoffed, giving Remi a smug smile. “She’s right. Fuck who you want. I did. Just don’t lie about me like that. We both know who cried when it was over.” Remi choked back a sob, shaking his head, his frustration so intense, Payton was sure he could reach out and touch it. A slick smile spread across Drake’s face as he shrugged. “At least I got there first. I hate sloppy seconds.”

There was a flash of movement and a sickening crunch as Remi’s fist connected with Drake’s nose. He shouted, hands cupping his face as blood poured from between his fingers like a waterfall. Remi grabbed his bag, slapping Drake’s drink off the table and into his lap before he stormed off.

“Deserved,” Dove and Morgan said in unison, giving him matching disgusted looks.

Drake looked at each of them in turn. “Are you all going to just sit there? Someone get me a fucking towel or something,” he barked, voice nasal like he had a head cold.

“You know,” Dove said, voice awed, “just when I think you couldn’t possibly set the bar any lower, you reach hell and keep going.”

“Yeah, what’s your fucking problem?” Morgan yelled, slapping Drake’s hands. “Do you also kick puppies in your free time, you fucking piece of shit?”

“Fuck. Ow,” Drake muttered, then hissed, then winced as each expression seemed to only hurt worse than the last. He glared at Morgan. “I’m the wounded party here. I think he broke my nose,” Drake cried, dropping his hands so they could see the damage. It was swollen and already starting to bruise. Payton wondered how it would feel to reach across the table, bury his fingers on either side and squeeze his nose until it dissolved beneath his fingers.

Persephone scoffed. “You got off easy,” she said. “If you’d talked to me like that, I’d have nailed your tongue and your dick to the fucking table, then laughed while you struggled to free yourself.” She stood, grabbing her jacket from over the back of the chair. “Let’s go, Diego. We’re gonna be late.”

“Oh, shit. We’re all gonna be so fucking late,” someone cried, causing a mass exodus, everyone rushing towards the exits at once in a flurry of squeaking rubber on tile and footfalls on hardwood. All but Dove and Morgan, Gift and Payton…and Drake.

Gift rose, heading to the far corner of the room and coming back with a bunch of napkins. “You’re getting blood everywhere. You should go to the infirmary,” he said, his irritation obvious. “Where they’re legally obligated to care if you fucking bleed to death.”

Drake’s shoulders dropped. He suddenly looked defeated. “He’s never going to speak to me again, is he?”

“Are you—” Morgan looked at them. “Is he for fucking real right now?”

“You don’t know shit about me. About him. Us,” Drake said, jaw muscle twitching.

“What’s your fucking problem, anyway? Is pretending to be a human really that hard for you?” Dove asked.

“Kinda, yeah,” Drake said, exasperated.

“Then maybe staying away from him is the best thing for him ,” Gift said, fixing Drake with a flat stare. “Before you break him so badly he can’t be put back together.”

Payton needed to talk to Boone. “I gotta go. Tell Pike I’m gonna be late.” He grabbed his bag, jogging for the door.

“Where are you going?” Morgan called.

“Where do you think he’s going?” Gift said, amused. “To harass Boone.”

“Oh, right,” Morgan said.

The last thing Payton heard before he left the room was Drake saying, “Can I please get some fucking ice?” and three voices shouting, “No!”

Payton grinned.

He fucking loved it there.