Chapter Twenty-Eight: Threats

King’s sneakers echoed against the tiled floor of the hallway, cutting through the morning chatter with a sharp click-click. His lapis eyes scanned the sea of maroon uniforms, but still—no sign of her.

He leaned against her locker like he did every morning. Arms crossed. Foot tapping. Patience? Long gone.

Where the hell was she?!

It had been days now.

First he thought she was just pulling one of her moody disappearances. Myra Thorn was good at vanishing when she felt like it. A little dramatic, a little cryptic—but she always came back with some snide remark and a death glare like nothing happened.

But this?

He spotted Arielle walking to her locker, which sat right beside Myra’s. Before he could open his mouth, she beat him to it.

“She’s still sick, King.” Her voice was short. Too short. Like a door slamming shut before he could peek inside. And what was with that tone?