Page 52 of The Knight

Weeks pass before Hass's court date is set. He's kept under house arrest, deemed a flight risk, mostly because the first thing he did after being bailed out of jail was get in his car and try to leave the state. Sometimes I hear kids on campus talking about him, taking bets on if he'll be found guilty or not, whether his rich parents can get him out of this particular mess or if they'll be unable to pay for their son's freedom.

Somehow I manage to keep my grades up enough to stick around.

Even more amazing, I find myself starting to really, truly enjoy Coleridge.

My music teacher is a font of knowledge, and soon enough I can sightread music and play a few basic songs on the flute. In biology I excel at naming the parts of a cell and dissecting the frogs and sheep hearts they bring to us. French verbs still sometimes catch me unawares, but my teacher praises my accent, and soon enough I'm able to carry on simple conversations with other students. And while I'll never be excellent at economics, the macro and micro of it all catches my attention when my teacher manages to put things into perspective using real life examples and stories.

I wish, more than anything, that Silas were here to see me race towards the finish line. I make a promise to myself: that I'll visit his grave over spring break, and for the first time ever since he died, talk to him at his headstone.

It's something I've avoided doing, because visiting his grave means admitting that he'll always be in it, for the rest of time. But grief, like any open wound, cannot bleed forever. The body cauterizes the blood even when the heart isn't ready to move on. I still ache for him, wish for him, and curse those who killed him, but I no longer believe that revenge is impossible.

Any day now, Hass will make a deal for his freedom, and he'll have to give up the men who killed Silas. The DA knows he has knowledge of vast criminal operations. They've caught the little fish; the big ones will follow. It's just a matter of time.

So as I finish up my last test the Friday before spring break, a bounce in my steps, I smile to see that Wally has sent me a photo of Old Bess, his truck. He's going to drive up early tomorrow morning and pick me up from Coleridge so I can spend all week with my mom, who set up a sleeper sofa in the living room of her apartment just for me.

It won't be like things were before—nothing will ever be the same. But slowly, as we lick our wounds, we're learning how to be a family again. Just the two of us. I'm looking forward to this week away from Coleridge more than anything, because I know that when I return Hass's court date will pop up, and there's a good chance I'll have to testify against him.

If I'm lucky, the judge will let me do that inside a closed room. Otherwise... otherwise, I'm not sure what I'll do, because the truth is, I fear for my life if Hass and the Syndicate ever realize I'm helping to put him away. The rage inside me last semester almost consumed me completely, but I'd give anything for it now, just to give me the wild courage of a girl who doesn't care if she lives or dies.

As I head towards Rosalind Hall, I spot a familiar pair of green-hazel eyes, looking pointedly in my direction. Sighing, I try to pretend like I haven't seen Cole and swerve past him, but he's not having any of it. He picks up the pace and cuts me off on the sidewalk, turning to face me, walking backwards without blinking—or apparently worrying that anyone will run into him.

"What do you want?"

"Why do I have to want something? Maybe I just enjoy your presence." I scowl at him, and he chuckles, the sound of it somehow light and dark at the same time. "Ah, yes, that's the face that I enjoy talking to so much. The face screwed up in hatred and irritation."

"Seriously." Sighing, I stop, and he stops too. "Tell me what you want before you impale yourself on the wrought iron fence behind you."

"I was going to sidestep it," he says mildly, but then he gets serious. Looking back and forth, he checks to make sure that the path is clear, then take a step forward and lowers his voice to talk to me. "You can't go home for spring break. Not yet."

I frown at him, irritation rising inside me. "You're not the boss of me. Last I checked I don't have to ask your permission." I try to sidestep him and go through the gates towards Rosalind Hall, but he grabs my arm and holds me just tight enough to keep me still without squeezing to the point of discomfort. "What is it? Are you worried that once I've had a taste of home again, I won't want to come back and be forced to see your bright face every day? Because I gotta tell you, Cole Masterson doesn't factor into my decisions."

He sighs, starting to say something, only to pause as someone walks past us. The student, one I don't recognize, gives us a significant look. I inwardly curse at the realization that this will only add fuel to the fire that I have some weird obsessive crush on Cole, and have been stalking him all year. Nevermind that he's the one who follows me around campus—the thought that it could be the other way around never occurs to them.

Once the lookie-loo is gone, sure to spread gossip about us being together all around school, Cole leans in close to tell me, "They know your identity."

"Who?"

"The Syn... the men who Hass works for, who your brother works for." I stare at him, aware he almost spilled the secret to me. Apparently Blake never mentionedthatpart of our ruinous encounter. "If you go home, you'll be putting not just yourself at risk, but your family too. You have to stay here—under security. Where they'll keep a close eye on you."

Swallowing bitterly, I observe, "I'm sure you're going home."

"My father would have my hide if I didn't." Cole cocks his head, letting my words sink in. "Or did you think that spring break with the Mastersons was some kind of picnic? Because I can guarantee that my mother has never put cold cuts or a cheap bottle of wine in a wicker basket, or sat on a blanket on a field of grass, in her entire life. I'll be going home to get additional tutoring in business and finance so I can take over the family empire, not so my family can hug me and make me hot chocolate."

"Riveting. I feel so bad for you," I deadpan. "So I'm supposed to be trapped here on campus because I'm in danger, but you won't even tell me who's threatening me? What a load of shit. I'm not twiddling my thumbs here alone for a whole weeks." I yank my arm out of his hand, glaring daggers up at him. "Unless you can tell me what the danger is, I'm going home, and I'm not asking your permission."

"Fine." He throws his hands up, annoyance in his voice. "You're in danger from a criminal operation full of rich assholes and politicians who cover each other's dirty work up and do favors to consolidate power. They call themselves the Syndicate, which I think is absolutely fucking stupid. They might as well twirl their mustaches."

"You and your friends are called the Elites," I point out, voice dripping with the irony of it. "I don't think you have a leg to stand on."

"I didn't pick that name." Cole frowns at me. "So are you staying here or not? Because I told you the truth, not that it'll do you any good to know the specifics. The people who are after you will kill you whether you can put a name to them or not."

"If they're so rich and powerful, why would I be safe here? The security here isn'tthatgreat."

"Because they have rules. They don't kill their own, or anywhere near witnesses from their tribe. And like it or not, as long as you're here at Coleridge, you're insulated because you're surrounded by us. So youhaveto stay here. At least until Hass is sentenced, hopefully fucking guilty, at which point they'll kick him out permanently, because members of the Syndicate aren't supposed to get caught."

I consider what he's saying, filing that info about Hass away in the back of my head. "If I stay here alone, it'll be as good as going home. They'll kill me if there are no witnesses around to object."

Saying those words—that there's a threat to my life—really hits home what I'm facing. This is big, way bigger than me, and I don't know what to do about that.

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