The first time the cops showed up at Blackthorn Academy, half the school treated it like a goddamn Netflix premiere.
Phones out. Snapchats everywhere. *Cops in the halls. Murder investigation. Somebody's going to jail.*
I hated it. I hated the whispers, the stares, the way everyone leaned in like vultures circling roadkill. Because guess who was always front and center in the rumour mill? Yours truly.
"Lyra Vale, Tessa Wynn, Zara Quinn, Damien Cross, and Lucian Draven. Principal's office."
The announcement crackled over the PA system like a death sentence.
Tessa groaned beside me. "Well, shit. Guess we're all on the chopping block."
"Don't joke," I muttered, clutching my books tighter.
"Oh, come on." She slung an arm around me as we walked toward the office. "What are they gonna do, waterboard us with expired chocolate milk? Relax."
Easy for her to say.
---
The investigator was nothing like I expected. Not some washed-up TV cop knockoff. This guy—**Detective Monroe**—was sharp as broken glass. Mid-forties, buzzcut, gray eyes that didn't blink enough. He looked at each of us like he already knew we were guilty.
"You five were the last people seen near Celeste Marrow the night she died," Monroe said flatly. "So until further notice, you're my priorities."
Zara tossed her hair, scoffing. "This is ridiculous. I barely even *liked* Celeste."
"That makes motive, not an alibi," Monroe shot back.
Her smirk faltered.
I tried to shrink in my seat. Beside me, Tessa crossed her arms, glaring like she was ready to fight the detective himself. Damien cracked his knuckles in boredom. And Lucian…
Lucian sat back, perfectly calm, dark eyes steady on Monroe like he wasn't afraid of a damn thing. Like he was untouchable.
Our gazes collided for a second, sharp and hot. I wanted to look away, but something in his stare pinned me there. A challenge. A warning. Hatred.
Monroe cleared his throat, snapping me out of it.
"None of you are leaving this investigation clean. Not until I have answers," he said. "And trust me—I *will* get them."
Great. Exactly what I needed. A detective with a hard-on for ruining my life.
---
By the time we got to class, the air was thick with whispers. Everyone knew who'd been called to the office. News traveled at Blackthorn faster than STDs at a frat party.
Our teacher, **Mr. Harland**, was new. Fresh out of grad school, too young to realize Blackthorn would chew him up and spit him out by Christmas. He pushed up his glasses nervously, trying to get control of the class.
"Everyone, settle down. Today we'll be discussing Macbeth."
The room erupted into groans.
"Of course," Tessa muttered under her breath. "A story about a power-hungry psycho who murders people. How fitting."
I bit back a laugh.
Across the room, Lucian lounged in his chair like the king of the fucking world. He didn't even pretend to pay attention. Just spun his pen between long fingers, jaw sharp, gaze occasionally flicking toward me.
And every time our eyes met, it was like a punch to the ribs.
Hatred. Fire. Challenge.
A whole conversation we weren't having, but everyone in the room could feel.
"Vale," Mr. Harland said suddenly, pulling me back. "Why don't you tell us what you think Macbeth's downfall was?"
I froze. Every eye in the class was on me. Including his.
My mouth went dry. "Uh… ambition?"
"Ambition," Lucian echoed quietly, smirk tugging at his lips. "Figures."
Heat flared in my chest. Fuck him.
Tessa nudged me with her elbow. "Careful," she whispered. "You keep glaring at him like that, and people are gonna think you're fucking."
I choked on air, smacking her arm. "Shut up."
But the worst part?
When I dared one last glance at Lucian, the corner of his mouth twitched. Like he'd heard her. Like the idea wasn't entirely unappealing.
And I hated—*hated*—that it made my stomach flip