She’s been on about it for days. The Sons. The meetings. The candlelit whispers behind closed doors.

At first, I thought it was just curiosity. The same kind that made her pull apart the school’s budget last semester like it was a Rubik’s cube that owed her money. But then she started asking real questions. Specific ones. Names. Initiation rites. Whether the rumors about the ruins under the chapel were true.

Tonight, she’s got that look again. The “I already know half the answer and I’m giving you one last shot to be honest” look.

“I’m not stupid, Adrian.” She crosses her arms, plaid skirt twisted just slightly, hair still damp from her post-volunteer-shift shower. “I know it exists. I know you’re in it. And I know whatever goes on during those meetings? It’s not just some chess club with a dress code.”

I lean back against the wall of her dorm room, thumbing at the ring she doesn’t know is a key.

“What—so now you’re Nancy Drew?” I ask, tone flat. “Or are you just dating me for a lead?”

Her expression falters. Just for a second. But I clock it. I always clock it.

“I’m dating you because I like you, asshole.”

“Yeah?” I mutter. “Because lately it feels like you’re collecting evidence. Building a case. What’s next, a petition to shut us down?”

Her jaw tightens. She doesn’t deny it.

That’s the part that hurts.

Not the suspicion. Not the fact that she’s probably right—The Sons aren’t clean. Power never is. But the fact that she might’ve only said yes to me so she could get to them.

The whole school thinks I’m the reckless one in this relationship. The problem child. The wildcard. But she’s the one who walked straight into my life like a goddamn Trojan horse.

She whispers, “If you loved me, you’d tell me.”

And fuck, maybe I would’ve.

If I didn’t suddenly feel like I was just another piece on her gameboard.

“Yeah?” I say quietly, stepping back. “Then maybe don’t ask for my secrets like they’re your birthright. You’re not owed them just because you smile pretty and say some flowery fucking words.”