Andrew wasn’t sure what to make of the new kid. Neil Josten was too careful, too quiet, and too fast with the kind of lies that sounded rehearsed. He didn’t stumble over them, didn’t hesitate—he slid them into conversation like someone who’d been doing it all his life. That alone was enough to put Andrew on edge. People who lied like that always had something to hide, and secrets had a way of dragging everyone else down with them.

But Neil wasn’t just another liar. He was reckless in a way that didn’t make sense, stepping into a world that would chew him up if he didn’t know how to fight back. Most people who guarded themselves like Neil stayed out of sight, invisible. Neil, though, had walked straight into the Foxes, straight into Andrew’s space, like he didn’t know what he was doing—or like he didn’t care.

Andrew watched him from a distance, taking him apart piece by piece. The defensive body language, the too-wide eyes that pretended not to notice danger, the way his mouth tightened just before he opened it. Neil was an unfinished puzzle, one where half the pieces had been forced to fit together by sheer stubbornness. Andrew couldn’t tell if that made him interesting or infuriating. Probably both.

What Andrew did know was this: Neil was lying about who he was. That much was obvious. But underneath the lies, there was something else. Something jagged, dangerous, and maybe even a little thrilling. Andrew didn’t like mysteries, but Neil made it hard to look away. He wanted to know what the kid was running from, what kind of truth could make someone carve themselves down into so many half-truths and shadows.

Dangerous, Andrew thought again. But then, danger had always caught his attention.