Page 58 of Forsaken Oath

I can’t remember the last time I dressed up for the holiday. I know I must have when I was younger, but I don’t really remember it. I have this vague memory of my dad blowing up purple balloons and taping them to a purple turtleneck when I was like six. But it’s one of those things that I can’t tell if I was really a bunch of grapes one year or I just dreamt it.

I lean against the wall, slipping my phone from my pocket as Margot bounces on her heels. A new text from Nate lights up the screen.

Nate: Hey, you home?

Nate: Never mind. I just went by, and your car isn’t there. Where are you?

I type back quickly.

Me:On a job. Took Margot with me for the day.

His reply comes fast.

Nate: What job?

A strange twist knots my stomach. Something feels off.

Me: The one Levi gave me a couple of days ago.

The typing dots flicker on and off before another text appears.

Nate: Oh. Okay. Must’ve misunderstood. When did you see him?

My brow furrows as I read Nate's text. I didn't think much of it when Levi handed me the assignment, but now Nate's questions are making me second guess myself.

Me: When you told me to come by the garage. Don’t you remember? You weren’t there, so Levi gave me the job personally.

A single word pops up.

Nate: Fuck.

My heart thuds painfully as my fingers fly across the screen.

Me: Why? What’s going on?

There’s no immediate response, and my pulse roars in my ears. My head jerks up, scanning the room for anything—anyone—out of place. Nothing. Just the same quiet coffee shop. Still, unease coils in my gut, tightening with every passing second.

I knew this job came with risks, but for so long, the benefits outweighed them. Until recently.

“C’mon, Nate,” I mumble, resisting the urge to shake my phone

“What’s wrong?” Margot asks.

I exhale a slow breath. “Nothing. It’s fine.”

Finally, my phone vibrates again.

Nate: Don’t worry about it. Everything’s fine. Just do the job, yeah?

Me: You’d tell me if something was wrong, right?

Nate: Of course. I’ll take care of you, Thorne.

I exhale shakily, willing the adrenaline to drain from my system. Just as my nerves settle, Margot curses under her breath.

“Holy fucking shit,” she hisses.

My head snaps toward her, my heart lurching back into overdrive. The barista calls my name, but I barely register it. Margot’s wide-eyed gaze isn’t on me—it’s fixed on the door.

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