Page 155 of The Wrong Play

I sped up, rattling over dirt and rocks, glancing in the mirror. The headlights were still there, but they were farther back now. Hesitating.

Probably deciding whether their shady masked society rules allowed for off-roading pursuits.

Spoiler alert: I didn’t care.

Up ahead, I spotted a clearing. A break in the trees, just wide enough to see the lights of campus in the distance.

Perfect.

I veered toward it, the truck bucking over roots and potholes like it was personally offended at my driving decisions, and then—finally—I hit the main road.

I was just outside campus.

I slowed down just enough to make sure I wasn’t about to plow through a pedestrian and then yanked the wheel, cutting toward a deserted lot near the athletics building.

The truck screeched to a stop, and I threw it into park and jumped out.

And booked it.

I slipped into the shadows of the nearest building as the sound of the truck’s engine ticked in the silence, and I’d barely made it twenty feet before the black cars came screeching onto the road behind me.

I ducked behind a dumpster, chest heaving, watching as they rolled to a stop near the abandoned truck.

Doors opened.

Figures stepped out.

I stayed crouched behind the dumpster, my breath still coming fast. There might have even been a little blood in my mouth from the fact that my lungs were still recovering from being chased through a fucking forest.

The blacked-out SUVs idled near the truck, their engines humming low in the quiet night. For a second, I thought they might get out and come searching. That I’d pushed my luck too far, veered too far off script.

But then, one of the masked figures stepped out.

He turned toward me, and I froze, every muscle coiled, my pulse hammering against my ribs like it was trying to escape my body.

But he didn’t move toward me. He just stood there, watching. Creepily. And then—he nodded, a slow, deliberate gesture of acknowledgment.

Like I’d done exactly what they wanted.

Like I’d pass the third trial as a matter of fact.

I exhaled, tension unwinding in slow, measured increments. My hands, still curled into fists at my sides, finally relaxed.

The masked guy lingered for another moment before turning, slipping back into the car without another word. The doors shut in near-perfect unison, and then, with a smooth purr of the engines, the SUVs peeled away, leaving me alone in theparking lot, standing next to a stolen—borrowed—truck and way too many questions.

I didn’t move right away. I just watched the taillights disappear down the road before finally letting out the breath I’d been holding.

Then I glanced at the truck.

I should probably…yeah.

I yanked the driver’s side door open, reached inside, and killed the headlights. Left the keys on the seat. Figured the poor bastard who’d owned it deserved some kind of kindness after I jacked his ride and sent him into cardiac arrest.

Then, with one last glance at the empty road, I shoved my hands in my pockets and started walking.

Back toward campus.

Back toward my life.

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