Chapter 10 #2
“This is another brave thing,” I continue. “And brave doesn’t mean not being scared. It means doing the scary thing, anyway.”
The second bell chimes, and Ms. Peterson moves toward us, her heels clicking on the floor. “Time to begin our day, Quinn. Mr. Hollis, we need to start our morning routine.”
I disentangle myself from Quinn and stand, my knees protesting after spending so long crouched beside Quinn’s desk. “I understand.”
I tug on one of Quinn’s braids. “You can do this. And when I pick you up in the afternoon, you can tell me all about it.”
The pinched fear in her face eases a fraction. “Bye, Mr. Leif.”
“See you after school.” I resist the urge to smooth her hair or adjust her collar. “You’ve got this.”
I back away from her desk, keeping my movements unhurried despite the pressure of Ms. Peterson’s expectant stare.
Quinn’s posture straightens, her chin lifting in the way Blake had taught her to do when facing things that frighten her.
Sprinkles settles beneath her desk, his bulk taking up more space than Ms. Peterson had likely anticipated when she put Quinn in the center of the classroom, but the dog remains silent and still.
Other parents file out ahead of me, some with backward looks at their children, others already checking phones or watches as they rejoin the workday world.
The hallway still bustles with activity as parents filter past on either side, their conversations a blur of sound as my footsteps carry me farther away.
Did I do the right thing, not warning Blake about Carson and explaining my concerns about Quinn’s vulnerability in this system?
But what would I say that wouldn’t sound paranoid without context?
How could I explain three years of subtle manipulation and professional sabotage without revealing how I had allowed myself to be controlled?
And who would back me up? No one at my old school believed me. I was labeled a troublemaker.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, jarring me out of my spiral, and I shake myself. Nothing is going to happen here. I’m safe.
I step out of the main flow of traffic and pause beside a trophy case near the stairwell, giving the last cluster of parents space to pass. My pulse is still elevated from leaving Quinn, but it’s the manageable kind now.
I pull my phone out to find a message waiting.
Emily
How’d it go?
Still on for woodworking if you are. No pressure.
The tightness between my shoulders eases, and I type back before I can overthink it.
Leif
She was brave. I’m on my way. Might be a little late.
A response comes right away.
Emily
That’s fine. Jared’s heading down to the docks now, so we’ll have the shop to ourselves.
The words send a small, unexpected spark through me, equal parts excitement and nerves. I’ve never been alone with Emily, but I think I’ve come to know the female Alpha well enough to trust her.
Leif
Sounds good. See you soon.
I slip the phone back into my pocket and push off the wall, angling toward the exit. For the first time since entering the academy steps, my breathing evens out, my thoughts narrowing to something simple and forward-facing.
Fifty feet from the doors, a familiar scent cuts through the hallway air, cherries and iron, and my steps falter. The back of my neck prickles, as if someone is watching.
Carson.
He stands near the entrance, his charcoal suit tailored to emphasize his runner’s build without appearing ostentatious. His sandy hair catches the light, the slight receding at his temples lending him an air of distinguished authority rather than age.
Parents cluster around him, wanting to ingratiate themselves with the new dean of the school. His hands move as he speaks, commanding attention without demanding it.
This is Carson in his element, lord of a new domain, with fresh territory to shape according to his vision. His posture communicates absolute confidence, his feet planted shoulder-width apart, his back straight. He belongs here, his ownership of the space palpable despite his recent arrival.
A father laughs at whatever Carson says, the sound echoing off the high ceiling. The group shifts, creating a gap, and Carson’s cool gray-green eyes lift, scanning the hallway with casual interest, and settle on me with unerring certainty.
My throat constricts, cutting off air mid-breath. Blood pulses in my ears, drowning out the ambient noise of the hallway, while a cold sweat breaks across my forehead and along my spine as our gazes lock.
His expression reveals nothing to anyone watching, but I see the hunger beneath, the calculating gleam that transforms his features from pleasant to predatory.
Time resumes its normal pace, and Carson excuses himself from the group, taking a half-step in my direction, his lips parting to call out a greeting that would trap me in social obligation.
I turn before he can speak, pivoting toward a side corridor without breaking stride. My heart hammers as I increase my pace, not quite running but moving with purpose to discourage interruption.
The new hallway curves past the school office, offering an alternate route to the exit.
My leather shoes squeak on the freshly waxed floor, each sound amplified in the emptying corridor. Sweat dampens my collar as I navigate past bulletin boards advertising after-school programs and PTA meetings. Every door I pass offers potential refuge, but stopping would mean capture.
The only safety lies in escape.
A memory surfaces of Carson’s office at Westbrook, the way he positioned my chair with its back to the door so I never saw who might enter during our “mentoring sessions.” The way he emphasized my potential while undermining my confidence.
The way he isolated me from colleagues who might have become allies.
The side exit appears ahead, its push bar gleaming under emergency lights.
Three more steps.
Two.
One.
I hit the bar with both palms, the door swinging outward into the cool morning air. Sunlight spills across me as I emerge into the side courtyard, deserted now that classes have begun.
My pace slows only when I reach the parking lot, the distance great enough to loosen the vise around my lungs. I unlock my car with trembling fingers, sliding behind the wheel and slamming the door shut, engaging the locks.
My reflection in the rearview mirror reveals pupils dilated with adrenaline, skin pale beneath my tan. I force air into my lungs in measured breaths, four counts in, four counts out, the same technique I taught to Quinn.
The irony doesn’t escape me.
As I struggle to slow my racing pulse, I stare at Pinecrest Academy, which fills my rearview mirror, half expecting Carson to chase me down.
But he doesn’t need to run me to ground. He already has what he wants.
Complete authority in a controlled environment where I have no choice but to return every day if I want to keep my job.
It’s only a matter of time before I’m back within his grasp.