Page 49 of They're Watching You

Which I’m not, at all.

I swallow. “I think we have to sneak back into the catacombs and find the girls ourselves.”

Remington’s fork full of rotini halts in midair. “You do?”

“Yes. And we have to do it tonight, before the society throws another meeting at us.” Saying these words is physically painful. I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in days. The last thing I want to do is stay up all night searching the forbidden tunnels of bones.

Remington’s fork lowers back onto his plate. “So you and I are going to spend the night in the catacombs.”

I bristle at the phrasespend the night. “Don’t bother bringing a pillow.”

“I’m in,” he says without a second thought. “Let’s do this.” His gaze travels, fastening on something behind me. “Your friend is watching us.”

“What friend?” I spin around to scan the room.

“Who else?”

I turn back to side-eye Remington, but he’s busy waving archly at Gavin. “Don’t tease him,” I say, not sure why I’m so protective of Gavin today.

Remington leans forward, chin resting on a palm as he grins at me. But his expression softens. “You like him, don’t you?”

“Gavin?” Short of covering my scorching face with my sweater, all I can think to do is shovel more chicken into my mouth. But I forgot to deny the accusation, so I mumble through my full mouth, super-attractively, “Of course not.” After swallowing, I add, “He’s just been there for me since Polly…” I want to sayvanished, but the truth is that Gavin has been one of my only friends since Polly ditched me for Annabelle.

“Maren,” Remington says, eyes narrowed. “You can talk to me too, you know. We’re going through the same thing.”

A harsh breath escapes my mouth. “Right.” How is an ex he’s hung up on the same thing as a best friend?

Though technically, Polly became an ex-best friend.

“How did you know Jane was missing and not”—I wave my hand—“done talking to you?”

“That’s not her. Being with Jane always felt like being with my best friend, and in the end, we realized that best friends was exactly what we were. Just not the kind who kiss.” His lips curve shyly. “She would’ve told me she was headed overseas for a semester.”

So it’s exactly the same thing. We both lost our closest friends to this sick society.

“We’re going to get them back,” I say.

He nods, laying one hand out, palm up on the table. An invitation. A treaty.

Shoving all thoughts of Gavin aside, I place mine in it. Then as a show of good faith, I pretend to wipe my mouth with a napkin as I whisper, “I got a task.”

His eyes widen.

The group at the table beside ours starts chanting, “Do it, do it!” I peek to find a series of milk glasses lined up as a short kid chugs one of them. I lean in closer to whisper over the racket, “During American Lit. I’m supposed to prevent you from attending the next society meeting.”

“What, like by maiming me or something?”

“It left the execution to my discretion.”

Remington’s expression darkens, his attention sliding off somewhere I can’t follow. I half-expected him to admit to getting the same task. Then again, he didn’t have to lure someone into the club when I did. So maybe our tasks are always different.

A few tables away, I spot Jordan nibbling a salad at Annabelle’s table. She looks radiant and happier than I’ve seen her; still, guilt stabs at me. She could’ve been hurt because of me. “When I had to lure Jordan into the club,” I say, wrenching my gaze from the back of her head, “what did you have to do?”

Remington hesitates, running a hand over the back of his neck. “Something I’m not proud of.”

My jaw clenches. “I’m not proud of what I did to Jordan. She’s lucky Annabelle didn’t actually stuff her in a sarcophagus.”

“Look, my task was pretty small compared to what she made you do. No one is or was in danger because of it.”

---