Breaking News: Seattle woman discovers that you can, in fact, burn pasta.
I’m annoyed with myself for about two seconds before I remember I have a better target for my aggression because there is only one way Flynn knew my dinner was burning. Snatching up my phone, I jab my fingers at the keyboard.
Hazel
You said you’d turned the cameras off!
Dexter
I did.
Hazel
I meant permanently!
Dexter
Oh. If it makes you feel any better, I’m about to turn them back off because watching you try to cook is physically painful.
My mouth drops open.
Hazel
You’re not allowed to stalk me and insult me. It’s rude.
Dexter
New rule: Don’t touch anything hot.
Dexter
Or sharp.
“Says the serial killer,” I mutter, slumping back down at the dining table.
I don’t think I want to dare try make dinner again, so I drag my laptop towards me instead and go back to my latest obsession: deep diving on all of the Vigilante Choker’s victims.
As far as I can tell none of the others have the same tattoo as Randall Leewood and Garret Sleet but they did, however, all go to the same college. Which doesn’t necessarily mean anything, the University of Washington is the biggest college in the state, but it’s enough of a coincidence to have me searching for other connections.
Tommy still hasn’t replied to my message and I can’t deny part of me is relieved. I could happily go my whole life without ever hearing his voice again but without him I’m left trawling through the internet for scraps of information about the Kings Society. It’s like it doesn’t even exist and part of me is starting to think Tommy made it all up when an article on the fifth page of the google search catches my eye.
The Dark Elitism Hiding Behind College Secret Societies
I click on the article. It’s an op-ed piece from eight years ago written for Spokane community college’s newspaper. The piecelists eight rumored secret societies in Washington and right there at the bottom are the wordsThe Kings Society.
Potentially one of the most dangerous societies in America, no one actually knows whether the Kings Society exists. Talked of only in corners of parties, whispers from hopeful pledges eager to earn their spot. It’s said that a place in the Kings Society will secure your future for life. Riches, fames, whatever you desire, if you’re a King you get it. The question this writer wants to know the answer to: how exactly do you become a king?
My neck pricks. I scroll down but that’s all there is and I’m left with nothing but more questions and an uneasy feeling that has me jumping out of my skin when the doorbell rings.
My hand flutters to my chest and I take a breath, shaking off the feeling before getting up and heading to the door.
I open it to find Flynn standing on my doorstep. I blink at him. In hindsight, I really should have expected this, but I blame the article for distracting me.
“Lilac,” he murmurs, the deep timbre of his voice doing unfair things to my body.
“No,” I say, already closing the door.
The bell rings again.
