Page 103 of Cruel Elite (Princes of Ravenlake Academy 3)

I have to keep my guard up.

But the late hour, the dark, and the unexpected relief that comes from finally revealing even a tiny scrap of what life at home is like has me exhausted.

I stare blankly out the window, watching the trees along the edge of the road blur into a single gray-green mass.

Until the car slows, and I see a familiar rusted metal gate.

The roads this far out of town are all gravel, so that wasn’t a giveaway.

But I recognize the gate and the dark shape of the abandoned barn further down the hill. The trees, red and brown and full the last time we were here, are mostly bare now. Spiderweb-like branches tangle across the midnight sky.

“Why are we here?”

Noah turns off the car. “It’s the only place I could think to come.”

He wants to toy with my emotions. He wants to take the things I love, the things I hold precious, and pervert them.

That’s his goal. He’s made that clear since the night of the bonfire.

Still, when Noah gets out of the car, I follow him.

I pick over the dry grass and rocks, and I run my finger along the flaking metal of the gate, moonlight illuminating a shower of rust as it slams closed behind us.

Noah walks ahead of me, leading the way. I notice there is a groove worn into the grass, as though feet have tread this path many times before.

I wonder if other people come out here, too.

Then, I realize the path leads directly to the tree where I found Noah that day two years ago.

Doeshestill come out here?

I haven’t been back in two years because the thought of coming here alone, of being here with Noah, was depressing.

It was “our spot,” not mine.

I didn’t want to sit in the grass and contemplate what life could be like if he didn’t hate me.

But if Noah has been coming here without me, what does that mean?

Noah sits down against the base of a tree, his knees folded in front of him, and sighs.

“What are we doing here?” I ask.

He closes his eyes. “Stop asking so many questions.”

“Stop dodging so many questions.”

He opens his eyes and lolls his head towards me lazily. “Would you rather I take you home?”

I think about home, my mom waiting up for me, no doubt, waiting for a recap of the evening. It’s almost sick how concerned she is with my social standing.

After she stole Mrs. Boone’s husband, word spread that she couldn’t be trusted.

No one wanted her to come to their home and be around their husband.

No one wanted to associate with a husband thief. A homewrecker.

She’s been clawing her way back up the social ladder ever since, dragging me along with her.

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