Page 85 of Tricky Girls

She’s tying her boots when I enter the kitchen, a smile stretching her lips when she spots me.

Damn last night. Now she thinks we’re buddies or something.

‘Off to uni?’ she asks.

‘Kind of the only thing to do around here.’

She huffs out a breath. ‘You disproved that last night.’

I rub my forehead. ‘Last night meant nothing.’

She grins like I’ve said something salacious. ‘Wanna walk two paces behind me? Then you can pretend we’re not walking together.’

I show a palm in aI-don’t-give-a-flying-fuckgesture.

She leaves first, tossing me a smile over her shoulder as she walks ahead.

‘Not waiting for the others?’ I can’t help but ask. They’ve been joined at the fucking hip since stowing her away in the spare room.

‘Got a one-on-one,’ she calls back.

And that’s the end of any conversation I’m willing to have.

She seems to forget I’m there as we weave through the forest, the trees a lot friendlier looking than they’d been last night. I focus on them instead of the girl walking through them like a witch at home in the woods.

When we enter the castle, I hope she’ll fuck off up the stairs but she continues on towards the quad. The benches are dotted with students bundled in their coats eating lunch. The Christmas tree stands tall, the lit fairy lights glowing dully in the sun.

I see Blakely in the distance, loitering in the cloister’s corner. She’s looking in our direction but those grey eyes are solely on Tilda.

I huff.Get in line.

How do they even know each other? The only link I see is me.

She waits until Tilda’s within reach. Then, extending her arms, she neatly hooks a drawstring bag over her head.

I stop, hearing people tut behind me.

A few metres ahead, Tilda struggles. A futile task given the size and strength of Blakely. She spots me, tossing me a small smile as she tightens the strings. Then, like Tilda weighs nothing at all, she puts her over her shoulder and ferries her off.

I continue on my way. Guess Blakely won’t be joining me for today’s lecture.

I can guess what that was about. That asshole Charon probably snitched. They really do run a tight ship over who can enter the Vaults.

Tilda’s not in any real danger. They’ll likely shake her up a little, make her sign an NDA. I had done the same at the beginning of last year—though admittedly under a lot less duress.

The Charon might have snitched on me too, and undoubtedly Tilda will, but my name around here’s fucking gold.

I feel myself smirking as I jog up the stairs to the lecture theatre.

Yeah, I hope they shake her up good.

Tilda

I’ve never held the desire to know what an animal in a trap feels like, but I imagine it’s close to this.

The air in the bag is hot, the skin of my face damp with my own frantic breaths.

We’re not on the smooth cobbles anymore, haven’t been for a while. I stumble over forest floor, boots tripping on roots and rocks. I swear she’s guiding me to the most treacherous paths, a hand between my shoulders pushing a little too hard to be helpful. I’ve given up asking why the hell she’s doing this. Don’t even know if she’s got the capacity for speech, the fucking brute.

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