Chapter 3
The morning light filters through the grimy windows of the old common room, casting long shadows across the scuffed hardwood floor.
I’m standing in the middle of what used to be Riverside Arts College’s heart, before the fire gutted everything around it. This room survived by some miracle, though it still smells like smoke.
No one’s here.
I pull up the volunteer sign-up sheet on my screen and scroll through the messages that came in overnight:
hey Artie, so sorry but I have one more exam. rain check?
Can’t make it today, got stuck in a library.
My car won’t start. Next time for sure!
Sorry dude, completely forgot I have work.
Five people signed up. Five different excuses.
“Great,” I mutter, shoving my phone back in my pocket. “Perfect.”
But I’m not discouraged. Not really. I’ve learned not to rely on people too much. The important thing is to get started— and tackle the hardest part first. The ice rink. Everything else can come later.
I pull out my tablet and review the plans I sketched out. The frame needs to be assembled, the ground leveled, the liner installed. It’s going to be brutal work, but if I can just focus on this, I won’t have to think about—
Don’t.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
Don’t think about him. Don’t think about yesterday. Don’t think about how his lips felt under my tongue when I accidentally—
“God damn it,” I say aloud.
It was his fault. The whole thing was his fault. Who makes someone take gum directly out of their mouth? What kind of sick power play is that?
It was just another way to humiliate me. That’s all. Raiden Blackwell has been systematically finding new ways to make me feel small for six months, and yesterday was just… an escalation. A new tactic.
The fact that he was—that I felt—
No. I’m not going down that road.
I grab the metal frame pieces stacked against the wall and drag them into the center of the room. The screech of metal on wood echoes in the empty space. Good. Physical labor. That’s what I need.
Raiden somehow figured out that I’ve been having confusing thoughts about him, and now he’s weaponizing it. That’s the only explanation. He’s using my own stupid brain against me.
I just need to stop. Stop thinking about him that way and analyzing every interaction… and wondering if what I felt pressing against me was real or imagined.
I’ve never thought about boys like that before. Never wondered about their—
Stop.
I attack the frame assembly with more force than necessary, my hands already starting to ache.
Twenty minutes later, I hear footsteps.
“Hey! Sorry I’m late!”
I look up to see a girl with pink-streaked hair and multiple piercings hurrying through the door. She’s wearing paint-stained overalls and looks vaguely familiar.
“Christie, right?” I ask.
“Yeah! From your sculpture class last semester.” She drops her bag and surveys the room. “Wow, this place is more depressing than I remembered.”
“It’ll look better once we’re done with it,” I say, trying to sound optimistic.
Over the next two hours, three more people trickle in. There’s Chase, a quiet sophomore who always sits alone in the cafeteria. Jen, who transferred in from community college last year and still hasn’t quite found her footing. And David, a gangly freshman who stammers when he talks.
We’re a ragtag group of misfits and outcasts. The people who don’t quite fit at Ashford Academy.
But we’re here. And that’s what matters.
By the time Karolina, Josh, Cameron, and Stella arrive with coffee and pastries, we’ve made real progress. The frame is starting to take shape. The atmosphere shifts from tense to almost celebratory.
“Look at you, project manager extraordinaire,” Karolina says, handing me a cup. “I’m impressed.”
“Don’t be impressed yet,” I say, but I’m smiling. For the first time in days, I feel like maybe this will actually work.
We break into groups. Some people work on leveling the ground outside where the rink will go. Others start sorting through the water pump system. I’m crouched down with Cameron, examining the valve assembly, when Christie’s voice cuts through the noise.
“Uh, guys? We have a problem.”
Everyone stops.
I stand up and walk over to where she’s kneeling beside the compressor unit, the critical piece of equipment we borrowed from the facilities department that will help freeze and maintain the ice.
She’s holding up a piece of metal tubing. Or rather, half of it. The copper pipe is bent at a severe angle, the metal torn and jagged.
“The coolant line,” she says, her voice tight. “It’s completely broken.”
My stomach drops.
“What? How?” I crouch down beside her and take the piece from her hands. The break is clean, brutal. “When did this happen?”
“I literally checked it ten minutes ago when we were setting everything up,” Christie says. “It was fine. I know it was fine.”
I turn the piece over in my hands. She’s right. I remember seeing it intact earlier, positioned carefully with the rest of the assembly. But now…
“Could it have broken on its own?” Jen asks nervously.
“No way,” Marcus says, coming over to look. “That’s solid copper. You’d need serious force to damage it like that.”
A cold feeling creeps down my spine. I look around the room. We’re the only ones here. The building has been empty except for us all morning.
“Maybe it was already damaged and we just didn’t notice?” David offers weakly.
But I can see it in everyone’s faces—the confusion, the unease. Something isn’t right about this.
“It must have broken on its own,” I say firmly, standing up. “There’s no other explanation. We’ll just… we’ll figure it out. I’ll call the facilities department and see if we can get a replacement.”
I’m lying. I don’t think it broke on its own at all. But I need to keep everyone calm, keep them focused.
“It doesn’t look like it broke on its own.”
The voice comes from behind me.
Every muscle in my body goes rigid.
I turn slowly.
Raiden Blackwell is leaning against the doorframe, one powerful shoulder pressed against the wood. He’s wearing dark jeans and a black henley that clings to his chest and arms in a way that should be illegal.
His dark hair is slightly damp, like he just got out of the shower.
In his hand, he’s holding another piece of the broken tubing. He tosses it lightly, examining it with those piercing blue eyes.
“This was deliberately damaged,” he says, his voice low and certain. “See how the metal’s compressed here? That’s not from a fall or structural failure. Someone bent this with force.”
I can’t move and can’t speak.
And totally can’t process the fact that he’s actually here.
“What are you doing here?” The words come out sharper than I intended.
He looks up at me, and something flickers in his expression. “You volunteered me, remember?”
“I didn’t think—”
“Didn’t think I’d actually show? I keep my commitments, Patton.”
The room has gone completely silent. Everyone is staring at us.
Karolina steps forward, her voice cautious. “If someone damaged the equipment, who would do that? We’re the only ones who’ve been here.”
“Not the only ones,” Raiden says, still looking at the broken piece. “This door was open when I got here. Anyone could have walked in.”
“The door was locked,” I say. “I opened it myself this morning.”
“It’s open now.”
I turn to look. He’s right. The side entrance—the one that leads to the old corridor—is standing slightly ajar.
“I swear I didn’t open that,” Christie says.
A chill runs through me. Someone was here.
“Well,” Raiden says, straightening up and walking further into the room. “Looks like you’ve got a saboteur.” He drops the broken tubing on a nearby table and turns to face the group. “Who wants to tell me what we’re working with here?”
“We?” I echo.
“Yes. We.” He looks directly at me, and there’s a challenge in his eyes. “Unless you want to explain to Professor Whitmore why the Christmas party failed before it even started.”
He’s right, and I hate that he’s right.
“Fine,” I say through gritted teeth. “The compressor system needs to be fixed or replaced. We need to figure out who—”
“I can fix it,” he interrupts.
“What?”
“I said I can fix it. We’ve actually got a full workshop at the hockey facility. I’ll take the parts, weld them back together, and have it working by tomorrow.”
I stare at him. “You know how to weld?”
Something dark crosses his face. “I know how to do a lot of things, Patton.”
The way he says it makes heat pool low in my stomach.
No. Stop that.
“Okay,” I say quickly. “Great. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet, sweet pie.” He picks up the broken pieces and heads for the door,