Page 47 of Terror Tuesday
My pulse kicks like a warring drum in my throat. Even though I’m alone, my spine tingles with the sensation of observation.
Immediately, I think back to the cloaked figure entering the crypt. The way he casually pointed out the predator circling theThetacottages. Is he the president’s spy? If they found out about my plans, I’m beyond royally fucked. I’m a dead man.
Olivia is safe in her room. I’ve checked. Numerous times from my phone. Not onlysafe, but rested after catching up on sleep last night. I think my drugging helped her in more ways than she realizes…
Maybe this assignmentisn’ta task. Maybe it’s a test. Or it’s the society’s way of saying: obey, and you live.
I know what I should do. Tell Dad. Calum Von Dovish would sweep in with more surveillance, build a counter-ops plan so intricate it’d take down an empire, and gather enough blackmail to choke a kingdom. He’d fix it. That’s what Ishoulddo…
If I tell Mom, she’s going rogue and assassinating someone by herself. And then Dad would fucking kill me.
Which is why I’m not going to tell Dad. Not yet. Not until I’m sure.
Because if I tell him, there’sno waymy mom wouldn’t find out. I can’t hide anything from either of them.
From my carry kit, I flick on a low-beam flashlight and glance again at the name inked on the slip of paper. The assignment is brief. No flowery justifications. No bloated rhetoric about society’s grand design. Just a name…likely one who saw too much. Someone they want erased.
As if the sorority girl slaughter on Terror Tuesday wasn’t enough of a bloodbath.
My jaw clenches as I read the words again:
Level 213,
Your assignment is to clean up a loose end. Before the third moon sets after the Terror, the blood must be shed and disposed of. You were chosen, operative, due to the stealth and sacrifices needed to bestow good favor on your future.
Failure is not an option.
Fear is for the guilty.
For Vengracurus, for Bonakanos. For revenge.
Fidelitas Vindicta.
It’s bullshit. This didn’t come from aDeltaalumnus. It came directly from the university president, faking aDeltaseal to make itlookofficial. There’s no ‘2’ embossed on it. No verification or apparent alumni approval. He’s bypassing protocol, hijacking our oath like he owns it.
And this isn’t aboutloyal recompense.
It’s about control.
He’s acting without the board. Without the houses. Without rules. Like he’s trying to crown a monarch from a throne that doesn’t belong to him.
The question is…why? Drunk on power? It fits with history.
I stuff the scroll into my back pocket, crouching low, near the outer edge ofThetagrounds. The long driveway stretches empty and fog-laced ahead. It’s fucking cold. Misty. And my hoodie’s already soaked through at the shoulders.
Hands tight from the chill, I tug out my phone and send one last text—just in case I’m wrong.
Me
Did you know about my assignment?
Apollo
You got an assignment? You know the rules, you’re supposed to check that with me. Why did they give it to you directly?
Me
Found it in my fucking room, Griffin.
