“Yeah, Damon?”
“Extraeyes on the perimeter. I’m taking Mackenzi for a walk.”
“Oh, this should be?—”
“Jagger,” I huff the admonishment through the comms.
“Right. Copy that.”
Mackenzi blinks at me in surprise. “Really?”
I meet her gaze steadily and gruff, “Do not make me regret this.”
We walk the compound in silence, the late-afternoon sun hanging low across the estate grounds, washing everything in a veil of gold. Gravel crunches softly beneath our feet as we walk along the winding garden paths. Somewhere near the outer fence, guards rotate positions while birds chatter noisily in the trees overhead.
Mackenzi breathes deeper the farther we get from the house, like the walls themselves were suffocating her. I keep half my attention on the perimeter, while the other half stays entirely fixed on her. The conversation between us flows surprisingly easily.
“So,” I say after several subject changes from one meaningless topic to the next with unexpected ease. “What’s got you so worked up, trouble?”
She snorts softly without looking up at me. “Besides being held prisoner?”
“Yes,” I reply dryly. “Besides that.”
Silence stretches for a brief moment before she answersquieter than before. “I haven’t been able to reach anyone at school.”
“Anyone,” I ask carefully, something ugly twisting unexpectedly low in my chest, “orsomeone?”
Her gaze drops toward the gravel path.
“… someone.”
The jealousy that hits me is immediate and irrational.
“Their loss.” My thought comes so fast, it surprises me. Her eyes snap toward me, and I realize the words spilled out of me as quickly as I thought them, leaving me to wonder whether I have somehow developed Jagger’s brain-to-mouth filter issue.
“How can you say that?” she asks softly. “You don’t even know me.”
I study her profile for a moment before answering, “I already know a lot about you.”
Her eyes lift back to mine, the dark pools suddenly full of curiosity.
“Really?”
I nod once.
“Mackenzi Ann Bradenburg. Born September nineteenth to Richard and Camille Bradenburg.”
The second her mother’s name leaves my mouth, the air changes. It’s subtle but immediate. The lightness disappears from her expression so quickly, it feels like watching a door slam shut.Camille. Nobody in this house says that name. When she died, she became a ghost in memory, too.Something tightens painfully across Mackenzi’s features before she looks away.
Fuck.
“Sorry,” I whisper.
She swallows hard before nodding once. “It’s okay.”
But it’s not. I can tell it’s not.
We walk in silence for a few steps before I continue, “You were an early graduate from Monte Claire Prep. It obtained you early acceptance into Westbridge, where you are double-majoring in chemistry and bioengineering.”
