And completely typical for him.
"You bonded with an Omega you just met," he says again, like repeating it will make it make more sense.
When I don't respond—because what's there to say?—he clarifies:
"We'rebonded to an Omega none of us have met."
"You're not surprised by that."
Jett sighs—a soft exhale that carries more resignation than annoyance.
"No," he admits. "I'm surprised you're still alive." His storm-grey eyes scan the room, taking in the details I'm sure he's already catalogued—the personal touches, the security measures, the evidence of someone who's been surviving alonefor a very long time. "So I guess we'd better run for our lives before Kai shows up shooting this shit down in fury."
The mention of Kai makes my stomach clench.
Kai.
Our pack leader.
The man who's going to absolutely lose his shit when he finds out I've bonded us all to an Omega without permission, discussion, or any consideration for pack politics or cartel obligations.
"Right," I say, suddenly very aware of how badly this could go. "Kai. Forgot about our fearsome leader."
Jett moves toward the bed, pulling something from his jacket—a small device that looks like a lockpick but with modifications I don't recognize.
"The sex better have been worth it, my friend," he says, fitting the device into the mechanism of the handcuffs. "Because when Kai finds out what you've done..."
He doesn't finish the sentence.
He doesn't need to.
I hear the click of the cuffs being unlocked—Jett's specialized tool bypassing the mechanism Seraphine designed—and feel the pressure release from my wrists.
I sit up, rubbing circulation back into my hands, and let my smirk widen into something genuine.
"So fucking worth it, brother," I say, meaning every word. "But this cat and mouse hunt is going to ignite a new thrill in this academy life."
CHAPTER 11
The Golden Ticket Burns
~SERAPHINE~
"Seraphine. Stay behind, please."
The words land like a death sentence.
I freeze mid-step, my foot hovering just above the ground, body caught in that terrible moment of suspension where you know something bad is coming but haven't figured out yet exactly how bad it will be.
Around me, the other students file out of the classroom—a river of bodies and scents and whispered conversations that part around me like I'm a stone in the current. Some of them glance back, curiosity flickering in their eyes. Others deliberately avoid looking, as if my impending misfortune might be contagious.
The mean girls from earlier pass closest.
One of them—the ringleader, with her glossy hair and venomous smile—pauses just long enough to whisper something to her friends. They all laugh, that sharp, cruel sound I've been hearing variations of since I was twelve years old.
I don't react.
One-two-three-four.
