Page 563 of Lessons in Cruelty

Thatcher blinks. Not surprised, but as if something just clicked into place in his head.

Good man.

Now run off and play detective somewhere else, and for fuck’s sake, leave me out of it.

“You find Kai, I’m pretty sure you’ll find Haven, too.” I slide the strap of my satchel over my shoulder, and gesture toward the door with a wave of my hand, like I’m shooing a horse. “Now, if you’ll excuse me⁠—“

“Actually—” Thatcher begins, cutting off when my cellphone vibrates in my satchel. “I’ll let you get that.”

While you eavesdrop, of course. I glance at the screen.

The Eden House?

Jesus fucking Christ, what now? Did my mother forget what year it is again? I thought she paid these people to remind her.

“This is important,” I snap, knocking shoulders with him in my rush to leave. I don’t even plan on answering the call, but it’s a long way to the door, and my phone just keeps vibrating in my hand.

I glance back to catch Thatcher’s frown. It’s not the cutesy ‘aw shucks, is this a bad time’ expression he normally wears. There’s a sharp, calculating light in his eyes. I like it even less than the tic in his jaw when he clenches his teeth.

Which all disappears the instant we lock eyes. He gives me a faint smile, and a half-shrug.

Watchya gonna do, huh?

Movement forces me to look away from him, to where Parker is still packing up her things. And just like that, Thatcher is walking over to her.

Christ. Now I’m wondering if I’ve ever said or done anything inappropriate around the girl.

What about Haven?

They’re friends.

She must have spoken to Melissa about me.

That dress I sent Haven? Parker could have been there when she opened it. What if she told the girl about our visit to Laramie? Did that lead to a conversation about all the other times we spent together? Haven seems to be a private person, but what about after a few drinks? Some molly? What if that tongue of hers⁠—

“This had better be good,” I snap into the phone as I answer, if only to pluck my mind out of its catastrophizing spiral.

“I’m so sorry to disturb you, Mr. Roo⁠—“

“Professor,” I cut in. “Cut the bullshit. I told you not to call me unless it was urgent. So what’s it this time?”

There’s a stunned silence. “I, uh…it’s Evelyn. She…she passed.”

I stop in the middle of the hallway so abruptly that a student veers out behind me with a muffled curse. When they glance back at me, though, contrition quickly replaces annoyance before they scuttle away.

“What? When?”

“It happened so quickly, Mr.—Professor—” She cuts off. “About half an hour ago. The paramedics⁠—”

She cuts off as if she’s expecting me to say something. To burst out sobbing. To wail and gnash my teeth.

When I don’t, she adds a mumbled, “Are you still there, Professor Rooke?” like I might have gone into shock.

It’s not shock.

I’m just…waiting.

Waiting to feel something.