Page 49 of The Blood we Crave

“Yeah? I remember hearing the same things about Alistair, B. Look how that worked out for you,” I say. “You think he isn’t dangerous? That he doesn’t scare people?”

“Lyra—”

“But none of that matters, right? Because it’s not whatyousee. The Alistair you love.” I glance at Sage. “The Rook you understand. They are not the same people this town knows. They are the villains in every way to Ponderosa Springs, but not to you.”

Sons of founding families damned from the very town their ancestors built. The Hollow Boys are the antiheroes who refuse redemption because they’re comfortable in their corruption.

“Thatcher is the creature beneath everyone’s bed. The evil beast in your closet waiting for you to fall asleep. Death personified. He is everyone’s favorite scary tale. But he has never, not once, been the monster in my story.”

No, he’d been the boy to save me once. A minor fact my friends do not know. It’s something that might change their perspective on him, but I can’t tell them. He wouldn’t want me to.

That night is a secret between the two of us.

“I’m sorry,” Briar says, reaching out for my hand and looping our pinky fingers together, giving me a tight squeeze. “I’m just on edge with all of this. I’m fucking worried. About everything. The boys, you guys. Just ignore me.”

“You know I appreciate it, don’t you? I would do the same for you if I thought you needed it. But I promise, I’m alright.” We all share a look of truce, meaning they will leave it be until he does something they don’t like. “Now, what’s in the folder?”

“Alistair said they’re going to do some checking in on Easton and Stephen, but I have another route I think we can look into.” Briar places the folder in my hands, letting me thumb through it.

Sage cringes at the sound of Easton Sinclair’s name, and I don’t blame her. The dude is a sleazebag, and a part of me hopes he is involved so he is dealt with properly.

“Coraline Whittaker,” Sage says as I look through images of Coraline and articles about her disappearance. “This is what I could find on her, but even with what little we have, she isn’t like the other Halo girls.”

I know Coraline.

Well, of her.

“Most of the girls who were taken were from West Trinity Falls. People who are from divorced homes or foster care. They are mostly labeled as runaways,” I mutter, filling in what Sage is telling me. “Coraline was wealthy, decently popular, with two parents. Why take the risk of abducting a girl that people would search for?”

At Ponderosa Springs High, every group had a hierarchy. There wasn’t just one group that was popular; it was all of them. Everyone was too wealthy not to be. Coraline’s clique, for lack of a better word, was the goths.

Art nuts, music prodigies, poets. Artistic kids who rebelled by wearing a lot of eyeliner and the color black. So while she’d been well-known by her friend group and liked by many, she was still a bit of a loner.

“That’s what I said, so I did a little more digging, and I found this.” Sage reaches into her back pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper.

“No fucking way,” I breathe, pulling it apart to see it’s a photograph.

It’s a little grainy, but it’s clear enough that I can make out all the faces.

Frank Donahue, Sage’s father, smiling as he sits next to Greg West, Stephen Sinclair, James Whittaker, and lastly, Conner Godfrey. All posed in the parlor room of the Sinclair estate, holding drinks up in a toast.

They are all younger, of course, probably a few years older, but they all seem to be close friendsor, at the very least, have something in common that makes them friendly.

“That’s what I said. Is it just a coincidence that two of them are dead for being involved in the Halo? Could be. Is it possible all of them are a part of it? Absolutely,” Briar says. “I think it’s something we should look into, all of them.”

The wheels in my head start to click, realizing what my part is in all of this.

“Greg and Frank are dead. The boys are handling Stephen. That leaves James and Conner.”

“Wouldn’t it be lovely if we had someone who already had a relationship with one of them,” Sage hums, looking at me with a knowing smirk.

“Better yet, a friendship with one of them,” Briar adds, eyes twinkling with mischief.

I glance back down at the picture, staring at the man all the way to the far right. Black, square glasses frame his handsome face. I don’t want him to be a part of this. Not because I care for him in that way but because he seems like a kind person.

He’s nice to me. He is my friend, sorta.

Living here doesn’t allow you to give someone the benefit of the doubt. It’s guilty until proven innocent, not the other way around.

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