Chapter 7 #2
“He sounds like an interesting guy. Spent fifteen years as an investigative journalist before he moved into teaching.” He glanced at me sideways. “Is that your main area of interest? Investigative journalism?”
Oh, god. He definitely suspected something. I needed to shut this conversation down as quickly as possible. Or at least segue it into less dangerous territory.
“I’m more interested in political journalism, and Professor Farrelly's classes aren't really relevant to that track,” I said, shaking my head. “I’d love to be a White House correspondent one day. But obviously, that’s a long way off.”
“So you haven’t taken any of Farrelly’s classes?”
“No. He was a guest lecturer in one of my introductory classes in freshman year. That’s how I know him.” I forced a smile. “Saying I know him is probably overselling it, though. We've had maybe two conversations in total.”
“Yet he went out of his way to get you a job for the summer.” Rhys's tone was still easy and perfectly pleasant, which somehow made it worse. “A student he barely knows.”
“You’d be surprised what you can get just from asking people,” I said, shrugging a shoulder with feigned nonchalance. “Even strangers can be generous. The key is being bold enough to ask them.”
He nodded slowly. “So you just went around and asked every single person in the faculty?”
“Yup. I was pretty desperate for a job,” I said, forcing another casual smile. “And hey, it all worked out, so I’m glad I did it.”
“Hm.” Rhys nodded again and looked back at the path ahead.
“You ask a lot of questions,” I said, before I could think better of it.
“I told you,” he replied. “Once something interests me, I need to know everything about it.”
The paintball range appeared ahead; a sprawling setup of barriers and bunkers. A cluster of kids were already there with Garrett and Stevie, vibrating with excitement.
Rhys flashed a wry grin at me. “Time to go and make sure none of these kids kill each other.”
The game was surprisingly fun despite my total lack of skill.
It was forty-five minutes of crouching behind barriers, making judgment calls that were immediately proven wrong, and getting blasted with paintballs in locations that were going to leave interesting bruises.
The kids, predictably, had no mercy. One boy in particular eliminated me from the first round in ninety seconds with a precision that felt personal.
I was a more useful presence in rounds two and three, mostly because I stopped trying to be strategic and started paying attention to what everyone else was doing. Which meant I spent a significant portion of the game watching Rhys.
It was difficult not to. He moved through the course differently from everyone else.
No wasted motion, no unnecessary exposure, always seeming to know where the threat was coming from before it arrived.
He never got caught from behind. Never got flanked.
He'd pick a position, hold it until exactly the right moment, and then relocate before anyone had processed that he'd moved at all.
I tried to adopt some of his tactics, and by the time the final round wrapped up, I'd managed to hold my own well enough that even the most ruthless kid on the opposing team gave me a grudging nod of acknowledgment. I chose to count that as a victory.
I pulled my mask off and ran a hand through my hair, letting out a tired yawn. Around me, the rest of the group was peeling off gear.
A moment later, a counselor named Marlowe appeared at the edge of the range, slightly out of breath.
“Hey, guys.” She lifted a hand. “Director Mabry's called a meeting in the assembly hall. All staff. All the kids. Everyone.”
“What, now?” Garrett asked, looking confused.
Marlowe nodded. “Right now.”
The assembly hall filled up fast, the usual chaos of a hundred-odd people moving in different directions before settling into their spots.
I scanned the room and spotted Jasmine near the middle-left section, already wedged onto a bench between Tamsin and Wren with Jesse on the end.
They waved at me and shuffled along to make room, and I slid in beside Jasmine.
“Do you have any idea what this is about?” I asked, keeping my voice low.
She shook her head. “Nope. Levi came and pulled us out of kayaking with no explanation.”
“Same,” Tamsin said. “I was literally mid-rappel when April came to get us.”
“Whatever it is, it can't be good,” Jesse added, face set in a grim expression.
Director Mabry was already on the platform at the front, scanning the room. She looked uncharacteristically nervous.
“Okay, everyone,” she finally said. “If I can have your attention for a few minutes.”
She waited until the room settled before speaking up again.
“I’m very sorry to pull you all in like this, but I’ve just received some information that I need to share with you immediately.”
She paused and took a deep breath.
“As some of you know, the camp underwent an environmental assessment earlier this year. At the time, we were given clearance to operate for the season.”
She glanced down at the paper in her hands, then back up.
“This afternoon, I received the final certified report, and unfortunately, it contradicts those earlier findings,” she said. “It appears some of the initial paperwork was misfiled, which accounts for the discrepancy.”
A ripple of confusion moved through the crowd.
“The report identifies concerns relating to ground stability in certain parts of the property. Because of that, we’ve been advised that the camp cannot remain operational while the site is under review.”
She swallowed, clearly hating what she was about to say next.
“That means we have no choice but to close the camp for the remainder of the summer, effective immediately.”
The hall erupted with overlapping voices, all filled with a mix of shock, confusion, and anger.
I remained silent, panic crawling up my throat.
I was supposed to have six weeks at this camp to find something that might shed light on Carly Martin’s supposedly accidental drowning.
Now camp was getting shut down after two and a half days, just like that, before I'd managed to get further than an overheard exchange in a hallway.
What the hell was I supposed to do now?
“I know this is very sudden, and I know it’s disappointing,” the director went on, raising her voice over the commotion.
“Parents will be contacted soon, and all families will receive full refunds. We’ll begin organizing departures first thing in the morning.
And all staff will be paid for the full season, as contracted.
None of you are going to be out of pocket because of this. ”
Jasmine breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank god,” she muttered.
I nodded absently, my mind elsewhere. It was in that distracted state that I glanced over toward the Legacy section of the room and found Rhys.
He was watching Mabry with his arms folded and his expression composed. Around him, every other person was showing some sort of shock or annoyance over the news. Sutton had her hand pressed to her mouth, Grace looked wide-eyed and lost, and Zach was shaking his head with disbelief.
But Rhys wasn't doing any of that. No shift in posture, not even a flicker of surprise. Just stillness and a neutral expression, like a man who was listening to a confirmation rather than a revelation.
As if he felt my eyes on him, his gaze slid sideways and locked on mine across the crowded hall. He held it for a moment, expression unchanged, before he looked back at the director.
With that, a cold, creeping certainty settled in my chest.
Rhys had known this was going to happen.