Page 81 of Claiming Pretty

“Keep it down.” My voice dropped to a harsh whisper. “Do you want everyone in Darkmoor to know what we’re planning?”

Ty’s voice cut through the tense silence like a blade. “I want them to suffer a slow, torturous, and excruciating death as much as you do,” he said to Ciaran, his words measured but vibrating with barely restrained violence. “But we need to be smart about it.”

I froze mid-reach, the weight of his words sinking into the tension thick between them.

Ty might not have been shouting like Ciaran, but the fury in his voice was no less terrifying. If anything, it was worse—controlled, deliberate, lethal.

Gripping the thick spine ofThe Legacy of Darkmoor: Founders and Families, I pulled the book from the shelf, its weight solid in my hands.

Without a word, I nudged them both toward a darker, quieter aisle away from the librarian’s line of sight.

“He’s right, Ciaran,” I said, gripping the thick booktighter, as if it could ground me in this storm of emotions. “We can’t kill them yet. This kind of organization is like a hydra—cut off one head, and two more grow back in its place.”

Ciaran’s eyes snapped to mine, his expression darkening, but there was something else there—something raw, something vulnerable.

His jaw tightened, and for a fleeting moment, his anger gave way to something that cut deeper.Why him, not me?the look seemed to say, though he stayed silent.

“Right now,” Ty said, his tone measured but no less intense, “we know—or at least suspect—that one or more of those three men are part of the Sochai. They are our only lead. Killing them would just destroy our only advantage.”

I trailed my finger along the spines of the books as I scanned their titles.

“We need leverage,” I said, half to myself, half to them, my voice low. “Information.”

“Exactly,” Ty said, stepping closer, his presence a steadying contrast to Ciaran’s storm. “We need to find a weakness. An Achilles’ heel. A linchpin.”

He reached over and took the heavy book from my hands, his fingers brushing mine in a way that sent an unwelcome shiver down my spine.

His expression softened into something approving as he scanned the title before tucking the book under his arm. “Something that makes the whole organization crumble from the inside out.”

Ciaran’s eyes flicked between Ty and me, narrowing with suspicion. His jaw tightened, the tendons in his neck straining.

“Why are you taking his side over mine?” he asked, his voice sharp, edged with hurt he couldn’t hide.

“This isn’t about picking sides,” I said firmly, pausing on another title:Ireland’s Elite: A Study of Power.

“Really?” Ciaran shot back, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Because it sounds like you’re both ganging up on me.”

I yanked the thick book from the shelf and shoved it under my arm, my movements sharp from frustration.

“Because he’s making sense,” I snapped, glaring at him. “And you’re letting your emotions control you.”

He flinched at my words, but his expression hardened immediately, a storm brewing behind his eyes.

The sound of footsteps echoed faintly through the library, a group of students rounding the corner ahead. Their voices were low, punctuated by soft laughter and murmured conversation, but to me, it sounded deafening.

Cormac had been a student, just like any of them, yet he’d been working for the Sochai. The realization twisted in my gut—anyone here could be one of them. Every casual glance, every whispered conversation in the hall, every shadowed figure in the library stacks—suddenly, everyone was a suspect.

I froze, clutching the book tightly against my chest like a shield, my fingers digging into the spine of the book, the sharp edges biting into my palms.

Ty stiffened beside me, his posture shifting subtly. His sharp gaze followed the students, scanning their faces as though he could read their intentions with a glance.

He leaned slightly closer, his presence a silent reassurance even as my paranoia clawed at the edges of my mind.

Ciaran’s hand brushed my arm, the brief contact pulling my attention back to him. His lips pressed into a thin line as his eyes darted toward the students. He was just as tense, just as wary.

“Come on,” I muttered as I turned abruptly and ducked farther into the shadowy stacks, the boys flanking me like silent sentinels.

I lowered my voice even further. “We can’t just run around spilling blood without knowing who’ll replace them.”

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