The hallway reeked faintly of stale mop water, like someone had "cleaned" it at some point in the last decade and just decided that was enough. Somewhere above, the fluorescent lights buzzed in that sad, dying way — like they were counting down the days until they finally gave up and went dark for good.
My sneakers squeaked with every step, which would've been fine except for the fact that it made me feel like a neon sign announcing ' HEY, HERE'S THE GIRL WHO ALMOST THREW HANDS WITH SPENCER.'
A locker slammed shut behind me — way too close — and I flinched before I could stop myself.
Voices rippled down the hall.
Low whispers. Snickers. Some students passed, looking at me like I was the best thing after bread. That lazy drawl people get when they want you to hear them but still pretend they're not talking about you.
I didn't have to turn around to know I was officially this week's lunchroom gossip buffet. Me vs. Spencer.
Apparently, I'd become the school's new streaming drama. Even though I didn't want attention, it seriously seem to be flying my way.
Fine. Let them watch. Let them talk.Let them dissect my every move. Even though I hated to admit I hated that.
This place was rotten — and the rot didn't even bother to hide. The principal's smug shrug. Spencer's I - own - this- place - smirk. The way people looked at me in the cafeteria like I was a problem they couldn't wait to see get "solved."
My blood was still simmering when I rounded the corner and spotted Archer leaning against a row of lockers while scrolling down his phone.
His bag was slung over one shoulder. He slowly raised his head, sliding his phone into his pocket and titled his head just enough to say I see you, but I'm not about to get emotional about it. That look in class he gave me when I came newly. Except now, there was something new — a small split on his lower lip. Fresh. Red. A slight cut.
I slowed, my stomach tightening. Spencer had gone after him too.
Because of me. Because he tried to defend me. I didn't know whether I should say thank you or am sorry - even though I didn't know what exactly I was sorry about. It felt like apologizing on Spencer's behalf.
Before I could say anything, Archer straightened and started toward me. His strides were long, unhurried, with the sleeves of shirt rolled up. He looked like a calm guy- but with his red hair, it still wasn't exactly giving that.
"What did Sullivan say?" he asked, voice low, like he already knew the answer.
I hiked my bag higher on my shoulder, blowing out a breath that felt heavier than it should've." He's an idiot," I muttered. The air here was a touch cooler than the other halls, but it didn't matter — I still felt heat crawling up the back of my neck. "You shouldn't have stepped in."
That earned a chuckle from him, soft enough that it barely ruffled the stillness. His eyes crinkled at the corners like he was in on some joke I wasn't. "Oh, please. You looked about two seconds from ripping Spencer's face off."
" I was. Are people always this… awful here? This messed up?" I asked.
Archer's mouth twitched a little."Spencer's family owns half the town. Sullivan wouldn't cross him if he set the cafeteria on fire during lunch rush."
Right.
Something ugly twisted in my chest.
We walked outside, and the moment sunlight hit my face, I exhaled for real. The air was warm and smelled faintly of cut grass, real, clean, nothing like the plastic, over-recycled air inside.
There was a peeling wooden bench against the brick wall, half-baked from the sun and groaning like it hated its job. We sat anyway.
Nearby, a couple kids leaned on bikes, talking about nothing. It was one of those rare school moments where you could almost pretend it wasn't a prison with a dress code.
I glanced at him as he took his seat beside me,"So… what got you in here?"
He looked straight ahead. "Gang fight." Said it like he was telling me what he had for breakfast. "Got arrested. Now I'm here. I had to deal with a broken leg for a month. Worst moment of my life."
I blinked, a bit surprised."You're serious?"
Archer shrugged, with a grin."Not much of a fighter though."
I raised an eyebrow. "Says the guy who jumped into a cafeteria brawl."
That got an actual laugh out of him. A soft calm laughter."You're the real legend now. Girl who went at Spencer? That's gonna echo for weeks. Believe me on that."
Before I could respond, a loud voice cut across the courtyard.
"CAMILLE!!!"
Penelope bounded toward us, grinning like she'd just won the lottery. Her dark long locs swung behind her as she practically jogged the last few steps.
"Please tell me you actually punched Spencer," she said, eyes wide with way too much excitement.
I sighed. "Penn…"
She plopped herself right next to Archer like she'd been there the whole time."You're either insanely brave or just… insane," she said, flinging an arm across his shoulder.
Ouch...
He looked at me like you know this one?
"We're roommates," Penn explained brightly, before I could open my mouth. Then turned to me with the wildest grin."You punched Number Three. Girl. Do you want to get jumped?"
"What's so bad about that?" I asked.
Both of them just stared like I'd said I collect toenails for fun.
Penn straightened, all fake seriousness, her smile fading lightly.
"Okay. There are five people here Sullivan can't touch. Ever. They're the Top Five. One through Five. Real money, real power, untouchable. They make the rules, and the rest of us… pretend we're cool with it."
"And you fought Number Three," Archer said, the corner of his mouth lifting.
Penn grinned."The craziest part? Number One stepped in."
My mind flickered back to him — Chase Everett. Cold blue eyes. Calm like gravity was something that only applied to other people.
"He doesn't do that," Archer said, shaking his head. "Chase never does."
Penn leaned in, her voice lowering. "You need a chain, Camille. Like… now. Or you're just gonna keep getting treated like fresh meat."
I groaned outwardly."And how am I supposed to get one? Just… fight for it?"
Archer smirked, flashing a wink at Penn."Could always steal one."
Penn lit up like she'd been waiting for someone to say it. "Exactly!"
"You're insane," I told them.
"Only a little," Archer said, deadpan. "And we're not talking random theft."
Penn's eyes gleamed. "Spencer's got a stash. Unclaimed chains. Locked up in his room. You could steal one and he wouldn't even know."
"You want me to steal from Spencer," I said slowly. "The same Spencer who already wants me dead."
Archer shrugged. "He won't know it's you. Unless you're loud and stupid."
It was a ridiculous idea.
But the more I thought about it, the more it felt… right.
"Fine," I said. "Let's do it."
Penn grinned like Christmas came early. "He's at the gym at nine. Every night. You'll have thirty minutes."
Archer's eyes were serious now. "Be careful. He's not someone you wanna piss off twice."
I nodded. "If I pull this off, I stop being prey."
And maybe… I can finally start digging into what happened to my brother. I didn't say that one out loud.
.
.
.
.
That night, the whole dorm was supposed to be asleep.
My heart didn't get the memo.
The hallway was cold and empty, each creak under my sneakers sounding like a gunshot. Archer had used his own supposed ways and cleared out the security.
Penn was a shadow at the far end of the corridor, watching.
"He's at the gym," she whispered. "You've got thirty minutes."
Thirty minutes...
I slid the lockpick into Spencer's door, my gloves warm against the metal. It clicked after a few tense seconds.
The smell hit me first — body spray, gym socks, and something vaguely burnt from a microwave. Clothes littered the carpet like roadkill. A massive TV cast the room in a ghostly blue glow, throwing shadows against the wall. Everywhere smelt like stale bread, a empty can of red bull littered the floor.
The dresser was exactly where Penn said it'd be.
I eased the top drawer open with a deep breath and there they were — six chains, heavy and cold, catching the dim light like they were daring me to touch them. I scanned the numbers with a mild interest and excitement.
Then... one number tickled my interest.
I grabbed Number 15. Not too high. Not too low. Just enough to mean something.
It slid into my pocket with a soft clink.
Then — a sound.The faint creak of a door.
Footsteps on tile. It didn't sound like the security guard and Spencer wasn't supposed to back by now, unless-
My stomach dropped with alarm as I stood up.
Chase Everett stepped out of the bathroom, towel draped around his neck, damp hair sticking in sharp pieces.
His gaze went from me… to the open drawer… back to me.
His voice was low, smooth, the kind that made the air feel thinner.
"What are you doing here?"
And just like that, my brain turned to static.
Because I had just been caught.
By the wrongest person possible.
And what the hell was in doing in Spencer's bathroom?!