The person flips on the closet light, illuminating the inside…as well as their face.
Let me reiterate:
What the fuck?
It’s Jase Rivers.
TheJase Rivers.
The same Jase Rivers I haven’t spoken more than three words to since we were six years old.
The Untouchables’ Lieutenant himself.
He’s about five-ten and easily outweighs me by at least fifty to sixty pounds. Jase isn’t bulky, but even in his jeans and loose T-shirt, there’s still some muscle definition—more than someone our age should be granted. Dark locks fall into uniformly icy eyes, the former even more untidy thanks to my weaponized pillow.
“W-What are you doing here?” is all I can choke out.
Everyone in our class who lives on this side of town is supposed to be on our class trip.
Did Sienna send him?
Even though I dropped out, does she still blame me?
Did she plot for Jase to come after me when she knew I’d be all alone?
A hundred different (but equally horrifying) scenarios race through my mind as he kneels down in front of my huddled form. Of all things, he grins.
The sight sends my heart up into my mouth.
Everybody at Winterborn Prep knows Jase is a “goon,” the guy on the hockey team whose sole purpose is to fight the opposing players, and his reputation has followed himoffthe ice as well. Rumors were aplenty during Freshman year about he beat up anyone who so much as looked at him crossly. Hell, I’dcaught the tail end of a confrontation he had with Pierce a few months back outside the field house, in which Jase broke the latter’s nose.
“I was cutting through your yard when I heard someone screaming bloody murder up here.” He reaches out, and I can’t help but flinch as his fingers brush the right side of my forehead, where I suddenly realize there’s something tacky in my hair. “Are you okay?”
To my relief, itisn’tblood he swipes off. But when I see the substance is thick and white and mixed with brown, I’m horrified for a hot second that maybe the bird had crapped all over me…until the abundantly sweet scent of sugar invades my nose.
It’s icing with a touch of cinnamon.
Jase follows my line of sight over his shoulder to the mess that was once my breakfast, which is now splayed out on the floor. “Are you hurt?”
I can’t help but rub at the crown of my head, the roots of my hair slightly sore from the tugging. Still, I shake my head. Jase asks something else, but I’m admittedly not paying him my full attention. Not as my eyes survey what I can see of my bedroom.
“Where—Where is it?”
There’s no sign of the raven, and even worse, my door is open.Did it fly deeper into the house?
Either Jase is a mind reader, or my expression asks as much because he shakes his head, as if in response to the question I hadn’t verbalized. “Don’t worry. It’s back outside, where it belongs. Though, I’d recommend throwingthatout.”
He points to the empty Amazon box sitting on the floor. Thankfully, the books I ordered yesterday are already stacked on my shelves, sparing them from contamination.
A sharpbang!echoes from downstairs, and not five seconds later do we hear, “Ali!”
My stomach all but jumps up into my throat, because the sudden urge to vomit is strong with this one—the kind of reaction only my stepmother can induce.
“You better not have left!”
I scramble out of the closet as I hear Blythe’s heels smacking their way up the stairs, trying and failing to pull Jase back towards the window. He doesn’t budge, looking thoroughly confused.
“You have to leave,” I hiss.
