Page 102 of Wicked Games (Fallen Royals 2)

And then I get to work.

By the time I finish tearing my room apart, I’ve found nothing. Absolutely. Nothing. I guess I should be grateful that the only thing spying on me was a mermaid figure. But how long will it take for Unknown to get back in here and plant something else?

I sink to the floor, leaning against my bed.

My phone rings. A blocked number.

“Hello?”

There’s a click, then, “You found my gift.”

It’s an automated voice, like their phone is reading a typed message.

“I wouldn’t really call it a gift, since you were using it to spy on me.”

Silence, except for breathing. They’re still there.

“You’ve never called before,” I say. But at least they’re acknowledging that the mermaid was theirs. “What prompted the change?”

“Texting is so… impersonal,” the computer voice says. “Wouldn’t you agree, Margo Wolfe?”

“I can’t say I particularly agree with any part of this.”

“You’ve always had bad luck picking friends. How do you know this time is any different?”

There’s a click, and the line goes dead.

I bring my phone away from my ear, and it vibrates a second later with a text.

Caleb: Are you home?

My stomach flips. It’s just coincidental timing—that’s all. I don’t answer him and crawl into bed, instead. It’s still early, but I don’t care. There is a pile of things in the center of my room that I will reorganize tomorrow. And I can’t deal with Caleb’s judgement right now.

I should’ve known that pretending to sleep wouldn’t keep Caleb away. Minutes or hours later, he pulls back the covers and slides in next to me.

“Are you avoiding me?” he whispers.

“I’m avoiding life,” I mumble, tucking my face into the crook of his neck.

He always smells so good. It’s unfair. He could be sweaty from a run and he’d still smell like sandalwood and pine.

“And apparently the mess in the middle of your room.”

“I was searching for other…”

He hugs me tighter. “Did you find anything?”

“Not that I could tell. But I’m questioning everything. I was just thinking about the time you said Amelie was a bad friend,” I add.

He stiffens.

“Do you remember that? One night eating pizza with my dad—”

“I try not to think about memories with your dad, love,” he says. “But Amelie was a bad friend, even when we were kids. You refused to believe me.”

“I like to think the best of people.” I exhale.

“A major source of your downfall,” he says.

---