“Mackenzi Bradenburg?” the dark-haired man confirms. His eyes are even more intense up close, a deep, weary brown that seems to have seen a lifetime of things.
“Yes,” I say, my voice steadier than I expect. “Who are you? What is this about?”
“My name is Damon,” the dark-haired man answers before gesturing toward the Greek statue beside him. “And this is Hawk. We’re here on behalf of your father.”
My father. This has his fingerprintsallover it. Another overreach, another well-intentioned disaster that strips away my autonomy and puts me back in the gilded cage nestled in Cartagena.
“My father?” I ask, frowning. “Why?”
“Your safety,” Hawk answers before motioning for me to follow him toward the exit.
“My safety from what?”
“We’ll give you the details on the way,” Damon answers for him.
“Okay, no. You don’t just walk into my class, pull me out, and then not explain anything. What’s going on?” I shift my weight onto one hip and cross my arms as my jaw tightens. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on.”
The big one, Hawk, watches me with an unreadableexpression. Damon sighs, a sound of profound exhaustion. “There’s a situation. We need you to come with us.”
“A situation?” I echo. “That’s not an explanation.”
“It’s enough for now.”
I stare at him for a second, waiting for more, but it doesn’t come.
“Yeah, that’s not happening,” I snip. “I have class. I have a life here. You can’t just?—”
“I figured you’d say that,” Hawk grumbles, already pulling out his phone.
“What are you doing?”
He doesn’t answer me. Instead, he taps the screen a few times, lifts the phone to his ear, and turns slightly away from me. After a short pause, he says, “Yes, sir. We have her. She’s… well… reluctant to comply.” He faces me again, holding the phone out. “He wants to talk to you.”
I hesitate for a moment, partly from shock, then tentatively take it from him. “Hello?”
“Mackenzi.”
“What is this?” I ask immediately. “Why are there two men pulling me out of class like I’m being arrested?”
There’s a brief hesitation on the other end before my father repeats my name, more measured this time. “Mackenzi. I need you to go with them.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s what needs to happen.” His tone is firm and paternal, leaving no room for debate.
“Why?” I push anyway. “What’s going on?”
“I can’t explain everything right now, but you are not safe at Westbridge.”
My grip tightens on the phone. “Not safe from what?”
“Please,” he urges. “Just listen to me, for once. Go with them. They’re bringing you home.”
“Iamat home,” I say.
“No,” he replies, and there’s something sterner in his voice now. “You’re not.”
Silence stretches between us until I huff a disgruntled surrender, “Fine. But when I get there, you’re explaining everything.”
