Chapter Four
Cade
“ I ’ll come with you,” Bobby says, loping behind me as I push out of the main doors and step into the late afternoon sun.
It’s one of those days where everyone is congregated outside, happy to be done with classes but also exhausted because it’s a Monday. When I was in junior high—a regular school—I could get away from everyone else’s feelings at the end of the day, but when living with them, it’s like having my own issues magnified. I’m done with today, but being here means I’m eight hundred times as done.
“Uh, no , you won’t,” I tell him.
This kid is up my ass no matter where I go. The only time I can get away is when I’m in class, since we don’t share any because he’s a sophomore . Don’t get me wrong, I have no problem with sophomores. I have a problem with people.
“Are you sure?” he asks as he keeps following me across the quad.
I stop so abruptly that he bumps into my back, and I have to suck in a calming breath before I turn around.
The absolute mop of brown hair on his head shields most of his eyes, the frizzy curls like static coming from his head. He has a fake nose ring that glints in the sun—no doubt he slipped that on right when the cathedral bell rang—and his round cheeks are red with exertion from trying to keep up with me and my long legs.
“I’m sure, Bobby,” I grit out, trying not to hurt his feelings.
Fucking feelings.
This kid is probably my only friend in this prison—if that—and I’m sure I’m the only person who even remotely attempts to give him the time of day. But I’m the wrong person for him to latch onto. Being associated with me is only going to get him in trouble and have his life turned upside down. It’s also not going to help his case that he seems to be mirroring me, with the nose ring and hair, although my piercings are real (the only way the school is going to get me to take it out during academic hours is if they rip it from my fucking face) and my hair isn’t a style choice, it’s not an image I’m trying to give off, it just is. And Bobby just isn’t.
And that’s exactly why he can’t come with me right now.
“Maybe tomorrow,” I say when his face falls.
I’m going to regret the semi-promise, but I know as much as he may not be at the level I am, he’s just as much of an outcast. His plans for the rest of the evening probably consist of him going back to his room alone, listening to everyone talk and laugh in the halls, and then going to sleep to just do it all over again.
“Okay.” He nods, his face lifting. “Okay, tomorrow.”
Ugh . I can’t stop the growl in the back of my throat as I stalk away from him.
It takes at least fifteen minutes for me to trek through all three quads and pass the crumbling half-wall that leads down into the foliage surrounding Hillcrest. The only gates we have to keep others out are the main ones, with their intricate iron work and ominous crest in the center. No one would be dumb enough to go around them and through the forest to get in. Unless they wanted to end up lost in the woods.
Hillcrest’s property goes far beyond the school, right up to the train tracks and into untamed woodland that doesn’t need protecting because it protects itself. It’s almost as deadly as me, and I think that’s why it hasn’t betrayed me yet. Two kindred spirits that recognize each other for what we are—a threat to society.
When I reach the canopy of spanish moss, I have to dip my head and watch my feet to not trip on any gnarled roots. But I know the way to the little shack like the back of my hand. It’s been my sanctuary since the first time I got knocked out, stumbling upon it when I ran after I woke up covered in—Anyway, it’s mine.
When I finally reach the crumbling structure, I take care to unspool the wire at the base of the door, not ever wanting to forget that again. The one time I accidentally set the trap off, the ax nearly took off my arm. And giving myself stitches is something I never plan on doing again. I’m also pretty sure the infirmary has now locked up the antibiotics. But at least I know the fucking thing works.
If it was anyone else, it would have hit them in the neck and they would have bled out on the vegetation that’s threatening to take back the steps. Which is exactly my intention because if anyone sees what I have in here… Well, it’s either them or me.
I smirk and jam the door shut behind me, pulling a lighter out of my pocket to get the lantern started. The glass is fogged, but it’s enough for now until the sun grows too weak to pierce the muck-covered window. I slump into the stolen physics chair and tug my hood back, eyeing the work table before me.
Plastic tubs of powders and liquids line the back, while spools of copper wire sit on the lids, and there are tiny snippets of the wire littering the floor in a shiny mosaic of conduit. My tools lay out in a mess, and I groan when I realize I’ve forgotten to bring the charging bank for the soldering gun.
Oh, for fuck’s sake. Nothing has been more of a pain in the ass than not having power out here. I contemplated stealing one of the solar panels from the engineering lab and rigging it, but I made the mistake of asking the professor questions and he would no doubt know it was me that stole it. The last thing I need is any attention.
Paranoia suddenly gets the better of me, and I reach under the table to pull out the precious crate. It scrapes over the thick layer of dust on the splinter-ridden floorboards, and I breathe a sigh of relief when I pull the tarp back.
All still here.
I gently shove it back into its hiding place and kick my boots onto the table, leaning back and running my hands down my face. Jesus, I need to get a grip. Especially considering the second my eyes close, I see bronze hair.
I drop my hands and focus on the hole in the ceiling where a tree branch has broken through. I need to get this Sky Lyons out of my head. I could barely concentrate in the rest of my classes after this morning. I don’t know what it is. It’s not like there haven’t been new girls before, and there’s no way her doe eyes see me for anything but the exile I am but…
There was a moment, a split second, when I caught her watching me outside the headmistress’s office, before she schooled her features, that felt like she didn’t just see me, but saw me.
That could be my fault, though. I didn’t know anyone was watching. She saw a moment of weakness that wasn’t indicative of who I really am. And genuineness can be faked. Hillcrest taught me that.
I nearly crack a tooth as I grind my jaw, and I have to remind myself that this place is going to reap what it’s sowed.
And I’m the reaper.