13. Maddox
MADDOX
Mason was already up when I came downstairs. My first clue that something was off.
Morning light streamed through the front windows in pale streaks, cutting across the hardwood and illuminating dust motes hanging suspended in the air. I blinked against the brightness, rubbing at my eyes with the heel of my palm.
My brother leaned against the kitchen counter like he had nowhere better to be, one ankle crossed over the other, coffee in one hand and a deck of cards in the other. His eyes were bright, a familiar glint of mischief dancing across his expression. That was never a good sign.
I grabbed a mug from the cabinet above the sink and poured myself coffee from the pot Amelia had made and left warming for us. My eyes narrowed at him as I took the first sip.
He kept flipping one of the cards between his fingers, a habit he’d done for years, fidgeting with them. The card appeared and disappeared, weaving through his knuckles. A ghost of a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“What the fuck are you up to?”
“Nothing,” he replied smoothly, the card moving continuously. “Can’t a guy just be in a good mood?”
“Mason.” His name came out flat.
He flicked a card onto the table between us.
It landed face down with a soft snap. Then he tapped it twice with his index finger, right over the black raven printed on the back, wings spread wide, beak pointed skyward.
A club deck. All my father’s cards had that same signature design, marked with the crew’s symbol.
“I don’t get it,” I said, my gaze shifting from the card to his face.
“Raven Night,” he stated simply as if those two words explained everything.
“What about it?” I sipped my coffee, wondering if this was going to be a conversation I regretted starting.
“We’re switching things up this year.” His eyes locked on mine, and the smirk grew wider. “We’re the last Corvos at Public. It’s our senior year. We’re going out with a bang.”
“How so?” I asked, though part of me already knew I wasn’t going to like the answer.
“We’re kicking off the football season the same way we end it,” he said, pushing off the counter and standing fully upright now. “At the church. The wildest party in Elmwood.”
“Raven Night,” I repeated slowly, my brows bunching together. I’d been right. I didn’t like the answer.
He nodded, rocking back on his heels with his hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants.
Raven Night wasn’t just a party. It was the one night everyone let go of pretending. Anything could happen and usually did, but it stayed contained within those walls like a secret everyone agreed to keep. No photos. No stories the next day. No names attached to anything that went down.
Secrecy was the price of entry.
You didn’t get invited—you got marked. A black raven stamped somewhere on your skin, temporary ink that meant you belonged inside for one night.
Masks were mandatory, supposedly to hide identities, though it was a joke more than a rule.
Everyone knew everyone. The masks just gave you permission to be worse versions of yourselves without consequences.
It was dark and unhinged in the worst way.
Raven Night was where reputations were made, broken, or buried, and where the Corvos had learned a long time ago that chaos could be just another kind of power.
I studied Mason for a long moment. “How long have you been planning this?”
“All summer.”
“And you’re just now telling me? Does Kreed know what you’re planning?” I asked.
“Kreed doesn’t live here anymore,” Mason reminded me. He picked up his own coffee and took a long drink. “He doesn’t call the shots at Public. We do.”
He wasn’t wrong. Kreed had graduated last spring and moved on, leaving us behind to handle things ourselves. Still, if Kreed got wind of us throwing a Raven party, especially at the church, it would turn into a problem I seriously didn’t want to deal with.
Then again, I could use a night off to get completely wasted. The bottle and I were old friends. I stared into my coffee, watching the dark surface ripple slightly. I lifted my gaze, meeting Mason’s. “Fuck it. Why not?”
Mason flashed his dimples, the start of all things trouble where my twin was concerned.
One good thing about Raven Night was it gave Mason something to do other than meddle in my life, which meant I had until next Friday before he started harping on me again.
A party might not be the most responsible thing when we were supposed to be hunting down the names on our list. Silvia was the highest target. With her, we could get the names we didn’t know, the missing players.
It was distracting as hell, having my mind split between crew business while trying to get through senior year.
School might have just started, but I could tell I was going to be in trouble.
Coach had already given me the lecture on maintaining my grades, especially if I had any hope of being scouted, which had always been my dream. The one thing I wanted for myself.
Dropping into my stool, I said nothing, just grabbed the edge of Hales’s seat and yanked her closer to me. I didn’t bother asking permission. If we were going to be lab partners, then she would have to deal with sharing her shit with me.
I sensed her gaze on me but kept mine averted. I wasn’t ready to look into her unusual eyes.
“Do you ever plan on bringing your own book?” she fired at me, flipping her hair to the other side of her face, and I got a whiff of her shampoo. I was starting to recognize her scent.
My gaze lifted, taking in the sculpted downward turn of her mouth.
She had really great lips, which I should definitely not be staring at, but I couldn’t move past them.
“Why do I need mine when I can use yours?” The heavy thing sat on my desk at home gathering dust while I showed up to class empty-handed day after day.
I found it so antiquated when teachers refused to use an online version of the text.
Mr. Gifford began his lesson. We both leaned in over the desk, reaching for the book at the same time, our fingers brushing.
A zing of electricity jolted through my hand, and she jerked hers back.
I scowled, opening the book and flipping through the pages.
Something slipped loose. A folded piece of paper. It fluttered onto the desk.
I grabbed it before she could, my hand shooting out and closing around the paper. “What’s this?” I asked as I lifted the note.
Her brows knitted together, confusion flickering across her expression as she leaned closer, trying to see what I was holding. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen it before.”
“You didn’t put it inside?” I turned the note in my hand.
Her captivating eyes narrowed, suspicion creeping into her gaze. “No.”
Hales first name was printed in all caps on the front, written in black ink. I unfolded the paper and scanned the handwritten note.
The sun follows you down empty streets,
even shadows lean in when we meet.
You don’t see me,
but you feel me.
—Mine
What the hell is this? The words stared back at me. She’d been here all of two days and already had someone sending her love notes? “You’re sure you don’t know where this came from?” I asked, frowning at the slip of paper as if my eyes alone could set it on fire. I definitely wanted to burn it.
She shook her head, dark waves falling forward over one shoulder. “No. What does it say?”
“Nothing,” I replied, folding the note back up along the same creases. “It must’ve been there from last year.”
Her eyes glimpsed to the paper in my hand, to my face. She wasn’t buying my lame-ass excuse. “And that person also happened to be named Mallory? I saw my name when you opened it.”
I held her gaze, daring her to call me a liar.
“Give me the note, Maddox.” She held out her hand, palm up, fingers waiting.
“Who have you talked to besides Mason and me?” I asked instead, deflecting.
Her expression sharpened, suspicion blooming fully now. “Why does it matter?”
“Because nothing happens in this school without my knowledge.” The words came out flat.
“Then what do I need to tell you for?” She raised one eyebrow, challenging me.
“Don’t be a brat,” I growled, leaning in slightly, closing the space between us until I saw the flecks of gold in her eyes.
“Is there a problem, Maddox?” Mr. Gifford’s voice cut in from the front of the room.
I glanced up to find the entire class staring at us. The room had gone quiet, everyone waiting to see what would happen next. “Where should I begin?” I muttered under my breath.
“How about with the assignment?” Mr. Gifford said dryly, his arms crossing over his chest as he leaned back against his desk, his expression unamused.
Hales reached for the paper, her hand darting out fast, getting a little too close in the process. She grabbed hold of one edge and yanked, the corner tearing, but she got the bulk of the note. Her eyes scanned the scribbled message, and her expression cracked a fraction.
I leaned in, whispering near her ear, “Looks like you’ve got a secret admirer.”
She looked up at me, her jaw setting. “Is this your idea of a joke?”
“You think I put it inside your book?”
“No one else has had the opportunity.” Her tone was accusing, her gaze unwavering.
“But I have. Is that it?” I nodded at the open textbook between us, its pages filled with highlighted passages and scribbled notes in her handwriting. “Because I’ve been using your copy. Is that what you think?”
“I don’t know,” she said, her voice quieter now but no less intense. Her fingers curled around the torn note. “Why don’t you tell me?”
Mr. Gifford cleared his throat, his pointed gaze on me, silently telling me that if I kept yapping he would be handing out detentions on the second day of school, which would be a personal new record for me, one I was tempted to achieve solely because I hated authority.
Hales folded the note and slid it into her bag.
Just forget about the stupid note. Not your problem.
But the more I tried to convince myself I didn’t care who’d written the message, the more my mind repeated the words in my head.
What Hales didn’t know was that as we were leaving AP biology, I lifted her little note straight out of her bag.
She’d been in a hurry, her backpack hanging loose off one shoulder, the zipper only halfway closed.
Easy.
I waited until we were home, following Mason upstairs to the second floor.
He turned to shut the door behind him as he strolled into his room, not seeing that I was still behind him until I caught the door.
His eyes, so much like mine, glanced over his shoulder.
“What’s up your ass? You’ve been acting like a bigger prick than usual. ”
My brows pulled together in annoyance. “Did you give her this note?” I asked, tossing the crumbled ball at my twin without preamble.
The paper hit his chest and fluttered down the front of his shirt.
He snatched it up before it fell to the ground.
It had his signature all over it and was exactly a stunt he’d pull.
Mason unfolded the note, his eyes moving over the words.
“As much as I would love to take credit for this slightly romantic but eerie as hell note. It wasn’t me.
” He shoved the paper back at me without waiting to see if I’d take it.
The note floated to the floor at my feet. I bent to pick it up with the tips of my fingers. “If you didn’t write it, who did?”
He scoffed, sitting on the edge of his bed and slipping his shoes off. “How would I know?” He leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, studying me with an odd expression. “Are you upset someone else might be interested in your girl?”
“She isn’t mine.” My eyes darted to the note again, remembering the signature. They had signed it Mine. It stuck out to me, but I didn’t know why.
“Uh-huh,” he said, dragging the syllables out, his lips twisting. “Then why are you so worked up about this? It’s a cheesy love letter.”
I scrubbed a hand over my face, but it did nothing to ease the frustration buzzing under my skin. “I don’t fucking know.” I sighed.
“Look, if it’s not me—and it’s not—then it’s some other idiot trying to be poetic. He shrugged, leaning back on his hands, fingers splayed against the comforter. “She’s hot. She’s the new girl. Someone was bound to shoot their shot. It was probably one of the guys on the team.”
“Did you say something to them?”
“I might have. She’s all anyone is talking about, that and Raven Night.”
“Wonderful,” I mumbled, dropping against the wall.
“You’re reading into it too much. I’m sure it’s nothing.”
Maybe he was right.
“Besides, you know, there’s one guaranteed way to stop it,” he added, his light-green eyes dancing. “Claim her. If you don’t, she’s fair game.”
Why did I want to hit him?