17. Ava
AVA
T he moment I closed the front door of our dorm apartment, I felt a fleeting sense of triumph. Maybe—just maybe—I’d managed to sneak out without them noticing. That hope lasted all of five seconds.
When I started down the stairs, there they were, leaning casually against the wall on the landing below, arms crossed like they’d been waiting for me for hours.
Ty and Ciaran. My shadow and my warden. Matching smirks tugged at the corners of their lips, and for the first time in years, they looked exactly like twins.
“I told you she’d try to pull this,” Ty said, his gaze raking over my outfit—an off-the-shoulder white top paired with a pink-and-gray plaid skirt. His eyes gleamed almost playfully. Almost.
“You would know,” I muttered, clutching my books tighter and attempting to shoulder past him. But, of course, that didn’t work.
Ciaran snagged my books from my hands with infuriating ease, holding them high above his head like we were kids again.
“Off to class so early, rabbit?” he teased, his voice laced with mock surprise.
“It’s eight thirty,” I grumbled, glaring up at him. “You’re a night owl. Why are you even awake?”
Ciaran grinned lazily. “I’m up whenever you’re around.”
I rolled my eyes, but the smirk tugging at my lips betrayed me. With an elbow jab to his ribs, I snatched my books back.
His exaggerated wince made me hesitate, my irritation ebbing for just a second.
Sighing, I handed the books back to him.
His grin widened like a cat who’d just stolen cream.
“You’re both not seriously planning to sit in on class with me, are you?” I asked as we descended the stairs.
Neither of them answered. Ty walked in front, Ciaran behind me, like they were trained for some sort of protective detail.
The idea seemed absurd—until we stepped outside, and they flanked me, Ty on my left, Ciaran on my right.
They moved seamlessly, too seamlessly, their eyes darting toward the towering oaks lining the path like they expected a sniper to jump out of the branches.
“There’s no way this is going to work,” I muttered, glancing between their ridiculously sculpted profiles.
“What do you mean?” Ciaran asked, feigning innocence.
I didn’t even need to answer. A passing redheaded senior threw me the nastiest side-eye, her gaze flickering to the boys on either side of me like they were gods descended from Olympus and I was… me .
“That,” I said, thumbing over my shoulder.
Ty and Ciaran exchanged a look above my head, something silent and conspiratorial that made me want to scream.
“We didn’t see any threat,” Ty said flatly.
“Threat?” I barked. “That wasn’t a threat! That was toxic clique warfare.”
Another group of girls on a nearby bench openly gawked at them before turning their sharp eyes to me. They whispered behind their hands as we passed them, their voices trailing after us. My back prickled as if they’d shot daggers at me with their stares.
“You didn’t see that?” I demanded, waving a hand back toward them.
The twins traded glances again, shrugged in unison, and kept walking.
Lord help me. These men were clueless about the effect they had on the world around them.
“You’re drawing too much attention,” I hissed. “How am I supposed to sneak around campus and investigate the Darkmoor Alumni with two overgrown rottweilers at my shoulders?”
Ciaran grinned, a mischievous dimple appearing on his cheek, and I could practically hear the collective sigh of the girls on campus.
Ty, on the other hand, glared at anyone who dared look our way. His scowl didn’t make him any less hot. If anything, it made him look even more attractive in that ‘bad boy gonna eat you up and leave no crumbs’ kinda way.
Lisa was right. “Under the radar” wasn’t an option.
By the time we reached the quad, I could feel eyes burning into me from every angle. The closer we got to the main college buildings, the louder the whispers grew.
“I can’t be guarded by you two all the time,” I argued. “We’ll get nowhere.”
“This very campus is involved with the Sochai who want you dead,” Ty said, his head swiveling as though expecting an ambush.
I couldn’t really argue with that .
“So we aren’t leaving your side,” Ciaran said as he slung an arm around my shoulders.
A nearby campus loudspeaker crackled to life.
“Ava McKinsey,” came the tinny voice. “Ms. Ava McKinsey, please report immediately to the dean’s office.”
If the twins on either side of me hadn’t already drawn enough attention, this announcement sealed the deal. The entire quad seemed to pause, heads turning, whispers surging like a wave.
I repressed a shiver as my mind flashed to the faces of the men we’d spent most of last night investigating: Cormac Foley Senior. Dean McCarthy. Commissioner O’Neill.
We couldn’t find anything definitive to pin on them, not yet, but one of them—maybe all of them—had their fingers deep in the Sochai.
I glanced between my boys, suddenly glad for their overprotectiveness. But the knot in my stomach tightened. I couldn’t bring them with me. Not to this.
I had to see the dean alone .
I was already on edge as I entered the dean’s office, the smell of polished wood and old leather hitting me first.
The dean stood from behind his large mahogany desk.
“Ah, Ms. McKinsey. Thank you for coming so promptly,” Dean McCarthy said, his smile warm and practiced as he gestured at the single chair facing his desk.
“Of course, Dean McCarthy.” My voice was steady, but my pulse spiked as I walked farther into the room but chose not to sit. “Is there… a problem?”
The dean walked around the desk toward me. “We were just hoping to ask you a few questions.”
My stomach tightened. “We?”
The door clicked shut behind me, the sound sharper than it should have been.
I forced myself not to react as Commissioner O’Neill casually leaned against the frame, his broad shoulders an impenetrable wall between me and the hallway.
It was a trap.
“You know Commissioner O’Neill, of course.” The dean’s tone was conversational, as though I’d bumped into him at a garden party.
“Hello, Chief.” I forced a polite smile, even as my mind raced.
O’Neill didn’t return the smile. His eyes felt invasive, like he was already peeling back my thoughts and inspecting them.
I held my ground, standing until the dean waved toward the chair, his hand brushing the porcelain teacup.
“Please, sit.”
I hesitated but moved to the chair and lowered myself into it slowly .
To my horror, the dean dragged a chair over and placed it right next to mine, while the commissioner walked to my other side and turned to face me head-on, leaning against the edge of the desk like a chair.
The dean poured tea, placing a single cup in front of me.
“You’re very kind, Dean,” I said, matching his polite tone, even as my pulse raced.
He set the teapot down, pouring none for himself. None for O’Neill. Just me.
The steam curled toward my face as I lifted the cup and subtly sniffed the tea. Was that a medicinal note? Bitter, faint but unmistakable?
I only pretended to sip, letting the warmth brush my lips before setting the cup down in the saucer on my lap. My hands stayed steady, but my stomach churned.
“Are you here to update me on Liath’s case?” I asked the commissioner, my tone light.
“Liath was deemed a runaway. Case closed, Ms. McKinsey. You know that.” He chuckled, the sound dripping with condescension. “Unless you have any more disappearing evidence for me, Nancy Drew? Any more fanciful theories to entertain us with?”
I stiffened but forced a smile. “Then why am I here? Surely, the police commissioner has more pressing matters than entertaining a journalism student’s ‘fanciful theories’ around a secret society conspiracy concerning her missing friend.”
That landed. Both men stiffened, though the dean recovered faster, smiling faintly.
“I asked you here in a friendly environment,” McCarthy said, his tone like a father lecturing a wayward child, “ because the chief has some questions concerning Cormac Foley, your boyfriend—”
“Ex-boyfriend,” I corrected sharply.
“Right,” the dean said smoothly. “Ex-boyfriend, who disappeared last term.”
I couldn’t help myself. “Surely another runaway. Like Liath. Case closed, Commissioner.”
O’Neill’s jaw tightened, but his tone remained clipped. “Unlike Liath’s case, Cormac’s disappearance showed no signs of premeditated departure. He vanished into thin air. Coincidentally, after telling his father he was going to see… you.”
My heart skipped. This had to be a ploy. I couldn’t fall for it.
I kept my expression calm, even as my pulse raced. “He said that, did he? What day did he disappear again?”
“Are you saying Cormac didn’t make it to your house at the end of last term?” Dean McCarthy’s tone was almost idle, but his gaze was keen.
“That’s what I’m saying,” I replied evenly.
O’Neill leaned forward slightly, his weight shifting like a predator circling. “We know he was in your area, Ms. McKinsey. His phone pinged off a cell tower near your house.”
“His phone pinged near my house?” I repeated with a hint of amusement in my tone. “Well, he wasn’t the only one in my area, was he? Hundreds of people live nearby. Maybe he was visiting someone else. Or just passing through?”
“Not all of those people had an ‘intimate’ relationship with him,” O’Neill said, his words cutting.
My fingers tightened around the teacup. But I forced my face into a serene mask. “I don’t know what else to tell you. I didn’t see him.”
McCarthy leaned forward, his smile disarmingly soft. “It’s better to clear these things up early, Ms. McKinsey. Avoid misunderstandings.”
“Were you angry after he broke up with you?” O’Neill pressed, his voice growing harder. “Wanted revenge? Pay back?”
“ I broke up with him,” I snapped, the words sharper than I intended.
O’Neill smiled faintly. “That’s not what he told his father.”
I set the teacup and saucer on the table deliberately, letting the silence stretch before speaking. “College boys aren’t exactly known for being forthcoming with their parents. Especially boys with fragile egos and reputations to protect.”
McCarthy’s smile tightened. “You haven’t touched your tea, Ms. McKinsey. It’s Earl Grey. Your favorite.”
My stomach twisted. I don’t remember mentioning my tea preferences to anyone here. Was it a harmless coincidence—or proof that they’d been watching me? That they knew more about me than they let on?
“Where did you hear that?” I asked, my tone matching his fake politeness.
The dean waved a hand dismissively. “Goodness, I can’t remember where I heard that little tidbit.”
I smiled thinly. “It’s lovely, but the taste is… strange. Perhaps the leaves have been left out too long. I notice neither of you are drinking the… tea.”
The dean’s smile faltered. O’Neill’s stare intensified. I knew that neither of them missed the hidden meaning in my response.
“So, am I right to believe,” O’Neill pressed, “that you didn’t see Cormac at all at the end of last term. Didn’t… talk to him? Go anywhere with him, say, in his car?”
“I didn’t,” I said calmly. “I was probably already gone. On my sailing trip.”
“Ah, yes,” the dean said, his tone almost too casual. “Your summer trip around… Greece, was it? Croatia?”
The words were laced with the kind of false nonchalance that felt like a knife sliding between ribs. Another ploy to unnerve me, to remind me that they knew too much—more than they should.
I returned his smile. “I see you’ve been chatting with Ebony.”
“She’s very proud of you, my dear. She talks about you any chance she gets.”
There it was—a flicker of something dark in his eyes, gone as quickly as it appeared.
My heart thundered in my chest. Was he threatening Ebony?
The thought sent ice through my veins. Nothing could happen to her—not because of me. I couldn’t live with that weight.
I’d have to warn her somehow. But not directly. Ebony would never let it rest until she knew why I was so anxious. Maybe I could speak to her bodyguards instead, suggest they be extra vigilant. Yes, that might work. A quiet precaution to keep her safe.
O’Neill’s voice cut in. “Who did you go on this trip with? ”
“A friend.”
“I need names and phone numbers,” he said.
I frowned. “Why?”
“To check your alibi.”
“Alibi?” I repeated, pretending to be confused. “I thought Cormac was only missing. Do you know something you’re not telling me?”
“He was— is —still a missing persons case,” the commissioner replied, but his little slip didn’t go unnoticed by me.
He knew Cormac was dead.
He knew Cormac had been holding me hostage on behalf of the Sochai before he was killed.
But he couldn’t reveal that he knew. Or he’d confirm his association with the Society I escaped from.
He continued. “But with these kinds of investigations, we have to consider all the possibilities.”
I fixed my gaze on him, my pulse hammering in my ears. The veneer of professionalism he wore so tightly didn’t fool me. Not anymore.
There was no way three missing girls—victims of the Sochai—had all been dismissed as “runaways” without the direct influence of someone at the very pinnacle of the Irish police force.
The realization sent a cold shiver down my spine. Commissioner O’Neill wasn’t just complicit—he was orchestrating the cover-up.
And now, he was sitting across from me, daring me to slip, to give him the proof he needed to silence me, too.
The tension in the room spiked, heavy and oppressive. The faint hum of the overhead lights seemed louder now, the soft tick of the antique clock deafening .
Even the air itself felt charged, thick with unspoken threats and the weight of what wasn’t being said.
My skin prickled, every nerve on high alert, as though the very room itself had turned against me.
The dean broke the silence, his voice growing soft, almost fatherly as he reached out to pat my knee. “You’d tell us if you knew anything, wouldn’t you, Ms. McKinsey? We’d hate to see an innocent girl caught up in something way over her head.”
I swallowed down the rising bile in my throat and smiled sweetly. “Of course. Cormac and I might not have been together anymore, but I’d hate to see him suffer anything he didn’t deserve.”
My gaze wandered over the desk, trying to look anywhere but at the piercing scrutiny of the men flanking me. I froze when my eyes landed on the penholder.
At first glance, it was an ordinary polished gold piece of office décor. But etched into its surface, small but unmistakable, was a Celtic knot made up of snakes—the crest of the Sochai.
Fuck. It wasn’t just the commissioner. The dean was involved, too.
I was being interrogated by two members of the Society trying to kill me.
A chill ran down my spine and I fought to keep my expression neutral.
“Dean,” I said, forcing my voice into a light, conversational tone, “that’s a lovely penholder.”
Dean McCarthy looked up, startled for just a fraction of a second before his practiced smile returned. “Oh, thank you, Ms. McKinsey. ”
I leaned forward slightly, resting my fingers on the edge of the desk as if inspecting it more closely.
“That crest in particular…” I trailed off, tilting my head. “It seems familiar. What does it mean?”
His hand darted out, as if out of instinct, to rotate the penholder so the crest faced away from me.
“This old thing?” He chuckled, his laugh sounding hollow. “I can’t quite recall where I got it. Perhaps it was a gift.”
A prickle of satisfaction coursed through me, though I kept my expression amused.
“There seems to be some holes in your memory, Dean,” I said, my voice carrying an edge of mock sympathy. I leaned back in my chair.
“Perhaps Dr. Vale could prescribe you something to help with that. Oh, no, wait—” I paused, feigning sadness. “He was tragically killed, wasn’t he? In that mysterious fire at the end of last term.”
I knew from Ciaran that the Sochai had burned down Dr. Vale’s house with his body in it to cover up the condemning evidence in Dr. Vale’s basement.
I turned my attention to the commissioner, pretending casual curiosity but letting an edge of contempt enter my voice. “Do you have any leads on that case, perhaps?”
The tension in the room shifted, thickened. The chief’s jaw tightened as his eyes bored into mine.
“Ms. McKinsey,” Commissioner O’Neill said, his voice clipped, “I cannot comment on an ongoing investigation.”
I leaned back slightly in my chair, letting a small, innocent smile play on my lips.
“Of course,” I said, my tone light but my gaze unwavering. “ It must be difficult, juggling so many open cases. Liath’s disappearance, Cormac’s, poor Dr. Vale…”
I let the names hang in the air like a challenge. “All happening so close together. Goodness, Commissioner, you must have your work cut out for you. I wouldn’t dream of keeping you.”
I stood, gathering my bag, and glanced toward the door. “If there’s no more questions…?”
I moved toward the door, to the exit, to freedom.
“Ms. McKinsey,” O’Neill called, his voice low, almost conversational, but the words carried a weight that stopped me in my tracks. “Don’t leave town… again.”
I looked back, keeping my expression calm and neutral, though my heart thudded painfully in my chest.
The dean and O’Neill exchanged a glance—one too quick for most to notice, but I caught it. They were playing their own game, and I’d just barely escaped.
Outside the office, I barely had a moment to exhale before a hand clamped down on my arm.
I jerked away instinctively, only to find myself face-to-face with Cormac Foley Senior.