Page 11 of Ghost

A ping from the computer pulls my attention back to the screen.

Rider: You always feel like that, remember? But from what you’ve said, they won’t let anything happen to you. You can trust them, can’t you?

SnoOwl: I think so.

Rider: Everything’s going to be okay.

I wish he had the power to make that promise. I wish I could pull us out of the screen and have a connection with a real live person in my life for once.

We get along, so maybe it could be something more. I could move out. I could move on.

I’ve been in limbo for so long that I’m in a constant state of suspension between who I am and who I want to be. Never quite living in the present when one foot always toes the line with the past.

Rider: It will be okay, little owl. I promise.

SnoOwl: I hope so.

Rider: Hey, I gotta run. Just remember what I said. Everything will be okay. I’ll make sure of it. Good game.

Rider logs off before I can respond, and I sit staring at the elf running into the rock wall ahead of me, relating a little too much to how that feels when I keep hitting one myself lately.

Shutting my game off, I place my headset on the desk and lie down in bed. Little glow-in-the-dark plastic stars decorate the dark ceiling, and I trace the patterns with my gaze. Reina told me a previous patch bunny hung them up, and I’m thankful for it because it gives me something to stare up at in the dark of night.

If only plastic stars granted wishes.

I’m halfway asleep when a knock comes at my door, jolting me awake. If it were Reina or Wren, they’d just walk in, and when I glance at the clock, it’s one thirty in the morning.

“Coming.” I hop off the bed, walking over to swing the door open.

Havoc is standing on the other side with his arms crossed over his chest.

Once more, that sinking feeling I’ve had all day settles. Last I saw him, he disappeared with Reina, so this can’t be good.

“Prez wants to see you.” Havoc frowns, but I don’t know why.

He’s the club’s sergeant at arms, so there are very few things that make him nervous outside of threats to the club. But right now, the pinch between his eyebrows tells me he’s worried.

I nod, following him down the hallway.

Havoc is a large man, and he takes up most of the space with his wide, muscular shoulders. His long hair is tied back like it usually is, and his thick, tattooed arms are on display in his T-shirt and cut.

It’s quiet as we pass the kitchen, which means anyone still awake must be hanging out by the bar up front. And when Havoc leads me to the room where the club holds church, my stomach churns.

No one is allowed in here, especially club girls. This is the club’s most sacred space, and the second I walk in, everything feels wrong.

The chairs circling the table are filled with the ranked members of the club, with Steel at the head watching me with a stone-cold expression. At his side is Soul, his vice president. Havoc sinks into the chair at Steel’s other side while Legacy and Chaos watch each other like they’re having a silent conversation.

Ghost sits back, his expression like ice, and I know in the pit of my stomach this can’t be good.

“Have a seat, Luna.” Steel waves to the empty chair at the other end, directly across from him. “We need to talk.”

3

Luna

It feels wrong tosit at this table.

The solid wood is polished so it shines under the single bulb that hangs dimly overhead. The Twisted Kings logo is carved deeply into the center, and the crowned and winged skull stares at me with all its judgment.

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