21. Mallory
MALLORY
By Monday, my nerves were frayed down to exposed wire. I’d been in my head too much, too many thoughts boomeranging around inside.
Paisley and Atlas planned to meet me at lunch in the library today to go over the footage from Raven Night, the footage I’d spent most of the weekend splicing and editing on my laptop, hunched over the screen until my eyes burned and my back ached.
I cut out the entire chunk of what happened in the cellar.
Not because it wasn’t important.
But because it was…complicated. Personal.
And also, because the last thing I needed was for my friends to judge me.
Watching it, I wasn’t sure I recognized the girl in the mask.
Or perhaps I didn’t want to acknowledge she was me.
Seeing myself play the game, the way I melted into Maddox, abandoning all common sense, I wasn’t sure if I was protecting myself, Maddox, Paisley, or all of the above by deleting the proof.
The SD card sat in my bag like a secret I couldn’t wait to get off my chest. I just had to get through my morning classes, and I was already halfway there.
I was anxious about seeing Maddox again. My brain obsessed over what happened in the cellar all weekend. Was it just a fling? Did it mean anything to him? To me? Would he pretend as if nothing had happened?
Was I overthinking every tiny detail? Yes.
Did I want to kiss him again? Yes. Yes. Yes.
Was I afraid he didn’t like me? Yes.
It didn’t help that I had no experience with guys, dating, relationships, or hookups.
I didn’t want to come off clingy or desperate, but he wouldn’t have kissed me if he didn’t like me, right?
Especially the way Maddox kissed. My cheeks warmed thinking about how his mouth moved over mine.
How possessive his hands felt on my skin.
How he had been hungry for the taste of me.
I snuck a glance at Maddox, who hadn’t so much as mumbled a hi to me when he sauntered into the room, plopping into his chair beside me. The avoidance of eye contact from him amped up my anxiety so much that I barely heard a word Mr. Gifford said.
Tapping my pen against my open notebook, I tried to tune in.
“Your first project of the semester,” Mr. Gifford announced, turning to face the class, “will be a partner assignment. You’ll be designing an experiment from the ground up, collecting data, analyzing results, and presenting your findings to the class.
This is not busywork. This is your foundation for the year. ”
Maddox shifted subtly beside me, the movement impossible to miss, given how hyperaware I was of him.
His shoulder brushed mine as he adjusted his position, sending heat radiating through the thin fabric of my shirt.
We were still sharing my textbook again, and his knee grazed mine under the table, making my focus wobble.
“I expect a detailed proposal by Friday. Topic, hypothesis, methodology, and expected outcomes. Don’t wait until Thursday night to start thinking about it,” he informed. “It will be due at the end of the semester.”
I scribbled a few notes in the margin of my notebook to look busy because I wasn’t actually processing any of what he was saying. My handwriting came out messier than usual.
When Mr. Gifford turned back to the board, launching into a discussion of independent and dependent variables, I angled toward Maddox, catching the cedar and smoky scent of him.
“Hey,” I whispered, keeping my voice low enough that only he could hear.
“Are you free one day after school this week? To work on the project, I mean.”
He glanced at me, those light-green eyes catching mine for a fraction before sliding away. “I’ve got practice every day after school.”
Of course, he did.
“What about after practice?”
He thought about it for a second, his eyes clashing with mine and staying this time. “Yeah. I’m usually done by six. Sometimes earlier if Coach is in a good mood.”
“Okay,” I said, trying to sound casual even though my pulse had picked up. “You could come over to my place.”
His brow lifted slightly, surprise flickering across his features. “Your house?”
“Unless you prefer the library or a coffee shop,” I added quickly, giving him an out if he needed one.
The idea of being alone in my room with Maddox Corvo did unthinkable things to my body.
Should I be doing this? Paisley would definitely say no, and yet, I couldn’t stop myself from wanting more from him. More of him.
“After practice,” he said. “Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow works,” I agreed, feeling a strange mix of relief and nerves settle in my chest, tangling together until I couldn’t separate one from the other.
As Mr. Gifford launched into a lecture, I tried to focus. Really, I did, but between Maddox and the tiny SD card in my bag, my brain didn’t have the capacity for anything new.
I chewed on my lower lip, second-guessing my decision to invite him to my house. Perhaps I should have pushed for a public location, not because I couldn’t keep my hands off him but because I wasn’t sure I was ready for him to meet my mom.
It could be a terrible idea; one I might end up regretting.
The bell rang, sharp and jarring, and I jumped slightly.
Maddox was already standing, gathering his things with efficient movements. “Do you know where Paisley is?” he asked, surprising me. “I need to talk to her.”
“About?” I replied, picking up my bag and slinging it over my shoulder.
“Just an assignment for history. I need her notes.”
We started walking out of the classroom side by side. He was lying. I knew it. Maybe he knew that I knew it as well and just didn’t care. “Uh, I think she has sociology next.”
“Great. Thanks,” he mumbled before disappearing into the hallway, crushed with bodies and chatter, leaving me staring after him.
Why did that feel like a bullshit excuse? He was up to something. Just what did he want with Paisley? I had to find a way to ask her without raising suspicion.
The library had always felt like a sanctuary to me. Quiet. Orderly. Predictable—rows of books, the smell of old paper and dust, and the hushed atmosphere.
Today, the sanctuary became a place of conspiring.
Paisley and Atlas were already tucked into a corner table by the back windows when I slipped in. The afternoon sun filtered through dusty glass, casting long rectangles of light across worn carpet.
Paisley sat at the computer with Atlas on her right. I took the empty seat on the other side of her, glancing past Paisley at Atlas. “Do you forgive me yet?”
“It’s a good thing you’re cute, matcha. It makes staying mad at you difficult,” Atlas muttered, but there was no real bite to it. “Besides, I’m not one to judge. And I’m definitely not your dad.”
I smiled. “I don’t have one of those.”
“Dark,” Atlas replied dryly, one eyebrow arching. “We all got our personal trauma.”
Paisley glanced from the screen. “Do you have it?”
I reached into my bag, my fingers closing around the small SD card nestled in the interior pocket, and I pulled it out, holding it between my fingers. “The quality’s shit but not the worst considering I was wearing it around my neck. I’m…bummed I didn’t get something useful.”
Paisley’s expression softened as she took the card. “You got out in one piece. That’s what matters.”
Had I though?
Atlas leaned back in his chair, his sapphire eyes directed to Paisley and me. “Before we go any further, can we address the fact that you two are reckless idiots?”
Paisley shot him a look. “Atlas, not this—”
“No,” he cut in, shaking his head. “You snuck into Raven Night without telling me. We’ve done some crazy shit, Pais, but this… It’s a good thing I didn’t know beforehand because I would’ve killed both of you.”
You think I would get used to people throwing around idle threats of murder. I wasn’t.
“I know, but the thought of another girl getting hurt…I couldn’t sit and do nothing.
Can we just watch the footage and be done with it?
” Paisley slid the SD card into the reader, the computer whirring as it recognized the device.
Grainy footage popped up on the screen, jerky from the movement of the necklace.
“You’re allowed to be mad,” she said quietly, not looking at him, her eyes fixed on the computer. “I would be too.”
Atlas exhaled through his nose, settling into his chair.
The shit-quality footage played, and I twisted my fingers together in my lap, hoping I did a good enough job altering the footage. I didn’t like lying to my friends, but what happened between Maddox and me wasn’t for the world to see.
Bodies blurred past the lens, unfocused.
The three of us leaned in, our heads bowing toward the screen, trying to identify who was who behind the masks.
Some were far easier than others. It was like watching a bad homemade movie.
I spent more time sneaking glances at Atlas and Paisley than watching the screen. I’d already seen it a dozen times.
Paisley sped up the footage, whizzing through the night from my perspective. I could tell she was disappointed at what looked like just another teenage party. Drinking. Laughing. Dancing. And people generally having fun and acting wild.
Sighing, she sank into her chair. “Well, that was a bust.”
I gave her a regretful glance. “Sorry, I tried.”
She rubbed a hand at her temple. “It’s not your fault, and I shouldn’t have put it on you to try and fix what I couldn’t.”
Atlas pushed up his sleeves. “Instead of dwelling on the past, I think we should be looking at what’s happening right now.”
“You mean Sienna Michaels?” Paisley supplied, bringing up the missing girl on the news.
Atlas nodded.
“She’s the first in months,” Paisley said quietly. “I secretly hoped it had stopped.”
“You really think it’s the same person as before?” I recalled her theory about Maddox’s family being involved.