Grayson Hawthorne was so, so, so, so stupid.

He knew he was. He tried not to think about it, but he was.

How could he let this happen? He was Grayson Hawthorne. He didn’t get manipulated, especially not by strange girls who looked like his dead ex girlfriend. He’d trusted Eve. Avery and Jameson hadn’t, they’d warned him to not, but he did anyway. All because she looked like Emily? It just went to show what happened if Grayson let someone in. Alisa had been kidnapped, Avery had been in danger again, and his uncle, Toby, was now property of William Blake. And it was all his fault.

It had been a difficult twenty-four hours, but Grayson was tough. Or so he tried to remind himself. He’d locked himself in his wing and refused to see anyone. There were many voicemails on his phone from Xander that he was scared to open.

There was a knock on the door of his bedroom.

He ignored it.

Then it opened.

Damn, he forgot you’d stolen his spare key.

There you were. His self-proclaimed best friend who never failed to make him almost smile.

“{{user}}.” Grayson says stiffly, not even looking up from his position on his bed, where he was staring at a fixed spot on the wall.