Chapter 7
Piper
A week passes by in the blink of an eye. I barely feel the days change, all I can do is try to keep up with my classes.
The overhead lights in the lecture hall buzz faintly, casting a sterile glow over the semicircle of tiered seats. I sit near the middle of the lecture hall, my laptop open, fingers hovering over the keyboard without touching it.
There’s something about this class—Political Strategy and Image Control—that feels heavier than usual today. The professor’s voice drifts through the space, but I barely register the words until the rhythm breaks. A remote clicks and the projector hums to life.
“We’re going to pause here,” Professor Ellington says, his tone unusually tight. “This just started five minutes ago. Consider it a real-time lesson in public narrative collapse.”
The screen flickers once, then stabilizes. There, under the cold lighting of a press podium, stands Senator Jacobs.
There’s not a political student at Georgetown who doesn’t know him. He’s shown up in every class—from Ethics to Campaign Strategy—as the gold standard for public image.
As a veteran advocate, a pediatric hospital donor, and a clean-cut family man with his high school sweetheart and two smiling daughters, it was all too easy to root for him.
Washington D.C. isn’t short of politicians by any means, but Jacobs is one of the few that captured the heart of the nation. The fact that he was dubbed Senator Silver Fox by the media, and managed to charm everyone from kids to adults didn’t hurt either.
The man standing on the podium bears very little resemblance to the presence we’re used to seeing. He looks smaller, somehow. Less polished. Almost like something vital got stripped out of him before he walked to the podium.
Too busy staring at the way his mouth moves without conviction, I don’t hear the first few words of his statement. The resignation is written in the slump of his shoulders long before the words confirm it.
Murmurs ripple through the room like a current of disbelief, but something else coils in my gut. A chill. An itch I can’t name. Jacobs was just another name on a long list of internship options I once pretended I had a shot at. So why can’t I shake the sense that this isn’t just politics?
“… and therefore, it’s my belief that I can best serve my country by resigning. I’ve been in politics for over thirty years. It’s time for me to take a step back and spend time with my family.”
Someone scoffs to my left. “He’s only fifty-three. Why is he sounding like he’s on death’s bed?”
“Maybe he is,” another of my classmates suggests. “He could have cancer or something.”
A wave of whispers starts from the back of the room and makes its way forward like a groundswell.
My classmates’ voices rise as discussions about this being a setup breaks out.
I don’t know why, but I can’t look away.
Something about this feels staged, and I feel like I’m watching a building implode in perfect symmetry.
Jacobs fades from the screen, and the projector cuts out. Our professor flicks the lights back on and starts throwing out questions. “How should Jacobs have played this?” he asks. “What’s his next move?”
Someone coughs. “Guess I’m not going to hear back from my internship application with Jacobs’ office,” he jokes.
Professor Ellington shakes his head. But instead of saying something berating, he agrees.
“Probably not. Let this be another lesson for all of you. In politics, you don’t always know when it’s your last campaign or even your last day.
So don’t waste time wondering ‘what if’ and go for what you want. ”
Paying attention is almost impossible as my thoughts begin to spiral. It should make me feel better to know I’m not the last student without an internship. But all it does is serve as a reminder of the failed interview two days ago. I’m oh-for-two.
The only good thing about my second interview is that they were a lot nicer than Lauren fucking Chase. But in the end, the result was the same. They didn’t want me, and no amount of niceness attached to that verdict could sweeten the blow.
With a barely audible sigh, I close my laptop. Knowing that my mind is too preoccupied to take a single note, I admit defeat. At least to myself. God, I really need to get a grip and preferably soon.
Class moves on around me, the sound of Ellington’s voice rises above the noise as people start filtering out after he dismisses us with a quick reminder about Monday’s reading, but I don’t remember what it was. I barely remember standing.
The halls blur on either side of me as I walk—faces passing, conversations I don’t catch, laughter I’m not part of. I know that makes me sound miserable, and maybe I am. At least that would explai n the way I seem to be letting everything slip.
Outside, the early September air hits cooler than I expect. A breeze brushes against my skin like a reminder that the world hasn’t stopped spinning, even if something in me feels like it has.
When I reach the quad, I roll my bottom lip between my teeth, mentally wondering if one of my beloved caramel ice coffees will solve this fog that seems to render my brain useless.
I mean, it could happen, right? People swear by all sorts of new age stuff.
Maybe coffee that’s so sweet it can give you a cavity is where it’s all at.
I join the line to one of the carts. The line is so long it feels like every student at Georgetown got the same craving at exactly the same time.
As I inch forward in the line, the hum of student chatter thickens around me—unfocused and ambient—until a cluster of voices to my right starts to cut through with quiet urgency.
They’re gathered beneath the old oak near the center of the quad, half-huddled in that particular way people do when they have juicy gossip to share.
“Did you hear about Daniel Mullen—”
“Yes, I just heard today,” another interrupts. “Can you believe it? I heard…”
She’s still talking, but I can’t hear her. The name lands like a weight in my chest, cold and inexplicably sharp. I shift slightly, trying not to stare, even though every inch of my skin prickles with attention now.
“Who the hell drops out mid-semester? And especially after landing the internship he did?”
Then someone says, “My dad’s part of the faculty, and he said Daniel was all banged up when he submitted his formal letter of resignation.”
Banged up?
“What do you mean?” one of the girls mercifully asks.
Shrugging, the person explains that apparently Daniel had several bruises and didn’t look like his normal self.
A guy joins the group. “Are you guys talking about Daniel Mullen? My friend used to be his roommate. He told me Daniel got jumped on his way home from Velvet & Rye—”
“Is that why he dropped out? Because he got mugged?”
The newcomer just shrugs. “I’m not sure. My friend said Daniel got a job at a fastfood chain and talked about it like it was his dream job.”
The first girl speaks again. “Who the fuck spends over three years at Georgetown just to ask people if they’d like fries with their order? I bet he was on drugs or something.”
The breath I draw feels too thin and I wobble slightly as the note I received finally makes sense. I take a shaky step back from the line, blinking hard as the words sink into me like ice.
My legs continue of their own volition, taking me away without knowing where I’m going. My shoes click against the stone path, too sharp, too fast, but I can’t slow down. The blood in my veins rushes in my ears, each beat loud enough to fracture the thoughts running rampant through my mind.
Daniel…
The stranger’s warning…
The note I received the next day…
While I move through campus like I’m sleepwalking, that fucking warning plays on my mind like an ominous soundtrack.
“You. Are. Mine. And if you don’t stop him, I’ll have to, Piper.”
But I did stop Daniel. Even though I didn’t have to since I don’t belong to anyone, especially not some weirdo hiding in the shadows outside bathrooms, but still… I believed him when he said his warnings should be heeded.
So, as soon as the stranger disappeared, I went back to the table and told them I didn’t feel well. Then I went home. Alone, I might add. And despite Daniel’s insistence, I didn’t give him my number.
If it wasn’t for the envelope waiting for me the next morning, reminding me about the one I’d already received, I would never have linked what I just overheard with what happened at the cocktail bar.
The first envelope only contained a black puzzle piece. But the next one, the one I got the day after being at Velvet & Rye, had a note in it as well. I still remember the cryptic words.
He’s alive because you listened, Toy!
Although I’ve received a new puzzle piece daily since then, there’s only been that one note.
I don’t stop until I reach my building. My steps quicken as I walk inside, dreading finding another envelope waiting for me. But there aren’t any. Still, my hand shakes as I fish for my key, the teeth of it scrapi ng the lock once before I finally get it to turn.
The moment I’m inside, I slam the door behind me and lean against it, chest heaving, palms damp. Okay, so maybe I’m overreacting. Maybe Daniel left of his own volition… that’s possible, right?
Without thinking, I grab my phone and call Lena.
“Hey bitch,” she greets me. “Listen, I can’t really talk right now. I’m on my way to Albert’s office to discuss the B- he just gave me on—”
I interrupt her. “Lee, please come over when you’re done.”