I should text her first. Give her some kind of warning.
My fingers hover over the keyboard, cigarette dangling from my lips.Hi.Absolutely not.Hey.Even worse.We should talk.Jesus, no. I sound like I’m about to suggest a divorce.I’m coming over.I spam the backspace button, reminding myself that I’m actively tryingnotto get a restraining order from her.
Above the dread that sinks itself right into the marrow of my bones, an unfamiliar buzz of excitement skates along my skin, and as I let sleep drag me under later that night, for the first time in a while, I actually want to wake up.
Chapter 5
OPHELIA
I paid sixty pounds for a private remote GP appointment—it was cheaper than making the forty-minute journey to the nearest doctor’s surgery—about my lack of sleep, only for her to tell me I’m sleep-deprived and need to sleep a bit more.
So, with that invaluable wisdom tucked neatly under my arm, I skipped my final lecture of the day to go back to my room and go to bed early
And naturally, I’ve been lying awake for six hours.
My windows aren’t good enough to stop the breeze slipping through the frame, the crunch of snow and gravel under feet outside too loud for me to fall asleep. My mind is whirring so fast that it might take off, like the staff helicopter that hasn’t flown once since Alex was appointed CEO of Green Aviation. Instead, I pull my phone from where it lies beside the knife beneath my pillow and open a text thread with the newest contact in my address book.
Mack
Thanks for your time.
Mack
I’m going to try to track down the texts to see if they match anything I have on Cain Green.
Mack
In the meantime, Brendan is looking into the article leak. If it was you, now would be a great time to tell us. You’d save him a whole lot of time.
I send a reply, typing my new favorite phrase.
Ophelia
It wasn’t me.
He asked me that when he was here, too, the two of us talking over steaming coffee in the darkest corner of the Nightshade library, where the lamps and the candles don’t quite reach. And like usual, I could see disbelief reflecting back at me when I looked into his eyes and told him it wasn’t me.
But who was it? That’s the question that truly stumps me.
I feel like I did last term: second-guessing every friend, stranger, and act of kindness that I stumble across. This is probably exactly what they want, for my new connections to be eaten away by suspicion, for me to become isolated. Easy to reach.
I’m missing something.Again.
As I stare at Mack’s texts, another one pings through. It’s a phone number.
Mack
Alex’s new phone number, in case you need it. He said I could pass it on.
What?
I sit upright in bed, the duvet sliding down to my midriff.
What?
I’ve spent the first part of this year desperately trying to get over him, trying to get my life back, and now this?
Is he asking me to text him?
