Page 73 of Freestyle
Their reactions are thunderous in their stillness, no gasps, no questions—just the kind of silence that feels armed.
“I thought for a second he got in,” I continue, voice lower now. “That he slipped inside again without any detection.”
They don’t speak. Not rightaway.
And maybe that’s the worst part.Why aren’t they asking questions?
Because for once, the great Phoenix and Gray, the boys who rule this place like gods in disguise, don’t know what to say.
Grayson
A Monster.
The way it rolls from her tongue, stiff with disgust, frayed with fear. I feel it like a punch straight to the chest.
Something’s happened.
And the worst part?She didn’t flinch because we surprised her.
She flinched because she thought we werehim. Alberto, I’m sure of it.
The sick bastard’s name echoes in my head, louder than my heart beat. I exchange a look with Phoenix, and it hits us both at the same time. This night, our night, isn’t just about Rowyn stepping into her place with us.
It’s about her surviving something we didn’t see.
Or didn’t want to see.
My fists curl. I feel that old rage rise up, the one I used to use to laugh at people like her. Back when fear was just a weakness to exploit.Now?It feels different.Wrong.
Because if Alberto’s been near her,still near her, it means we let something slip through the cracks.
I saw the name in her file, pages we shouldn’t have accessed, but we did. We needed to know. Phoenix and I read every word, every line in that caseworker’s too-calm notes. We saw what was taken from her, what was allowed to happen.
And now she’s shaking in front of us, because she thought it was him.
I shouldn’t’ve let her go off on her own.
That fancy letter we sent, it wasn’t just a summons. It was a promise. That we’d protect her, that no one would ever lay hands on her again without consequence.
And if she’s this scared? If she screamed like that?
It means he’s closer than we thought.
I swear, if he’s here tonight, lurking behind some tree, we’ll find him.
I don’t care if we burn this whole campus to the ground.
Rowyn belongs to us now, and nothing gets to take her again.
“Why aren’t you asking questions? Why does it seem like you know exactly who I’m talking about?” she asks, her voice louder now.
Nix goes still.
Rowyn’s voice slices through the thick quiet, sharp and suspicious. She’s no longer just afraid, she’s aware, and she’s right.
I swallow hard, keeping my hands at my sides, head aimed toward the sky, because I’m not sure I can look her in the eyes right now.
“We read your file,” Nix says. Low. Controlled.
