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The other thing that’s clear is although Syn has a cut on his face and a few marks on his body and the old man managed to land a few hits, he’s now winning.
I’ve never been interested in fighting. My brother would occasionally watch a boxing or MMA match, but this seems more like an attack, and no referee in sight. If there was, I’m sure he’d be calling the fight by now because although the man is somehow still standing, the hits from Syn feel like he’d get disqualified in an official fight.
I’ve seen enough.
Quickly I step back into the shadows, scanning the room to make sure no one has noticed me. I don’t stop until I’m back in the corridor, and the door is closed behind me, blocking all sounds from the room behind it.
There’s something about that whole thing that just seems…
Wrong?
Out of place?
Both?
This is a college for the richest people in the country. Any fights they have feel like they should be held in a boardroom. And if they are interested in fights, they should be watching, not participating—especially not someone like Syn.
That fight felt raw and vicious. Organized but unsanctioned. The kind of underground fight with a cash price paid in actual notes by people who need it.
The last thing Syn needs is money. The man he was fighting probably does, which makes the whole thing feel like a scam. If something like this was made public to the world, it would do more damage than good, which means if Syn isn’t in it for money, and he’s not in it for a title, he’s there for violence.
I know Syn is dangerous. At first, I underestimated how dangerous, because until he had his hand wrapped around my throat in the library, I hadn’t thought he would physically hurt me.
But seeing how he was laying into that man, it’s obvious I’ve underestimated how dangerous he is again.
Syn isn’t someone who should be running a country, if that really is his goal in life. Anybody who saw that fight would think the same thing.
That’s when I realize I should have recorded it.
The thought is forced from my mind as quickly as it enters it. Going back in would be too risky now. I need to leave here, and not only never come back, but find some food I can eat in my room, so that I don’t ever have to cross Syn’s path again.
Judging from the man’s state, the fight is going to be wrapping up soon, and the last thing I want is to be here when people start filing out of the door. I head for the stairs, and just as I’m about to go up, I hear the door open, shouts and cheers spilling into the corridor.
Breaking out into a run, I charge up the stairs, slowing only when I reach the door at the top and make sure there’s no one in the church, even though the other option is being caught by the owners of the voices I can hear following me.
I’m barely in the church before the main door starts to open. I’m about to dive behind a pew and hope for the best, but at the last minute, I spot another archway with more steps, this time, leading upwards.
Without thinking, I charge up them, trying to keep light on my toes. The stairs lead to the upper balcony that lines three of the four walls of the church. The balcony is narrow with one row of benches, and just enough space for a single row of people to stand in front of them.
I stay in the entrance, my side pressed up against the cold stone, as I stare down at the people below. The one who comes in from the outside is a senior who I think is called Rich. He’s skinny and tall with a long face and long nose.
“Is it over?” he asks, his voice carrying clearly up to me.
“Will be soon,” someone responds.
“Really?” Rich looks at his watch and arches an eyebrow. “Guy lasted longer than I expected. Where did they find him?”
Two people come into view from the direction of the door I came out of. One is a guy I’ve seen on campus but don’t know what year he’s in or what his name is. The other, I recognize. He’s the one who was with Dawn when she attacked Penny in the dining hall—Nicholas.
The two quickly walk over to Rich, and then the three of them walk back outside. I only manage to hear that the man Syn is fighting was brought in from the Bronx before they get outside.
Letting out the breath I’m holding, I close my eyes. Until those three come back and safely disappear back into the depths of the church, I’m stuck up here waiting foreveryoneto leave.
Unless there’s a fire exit that I can escape from.
Behind me, someone clears their throat.
The sound catches me so unaware, that I manage to trip over my own feet. Somehow, I stop myself from completely falling to the floor, instead, smacking my shin against the edge of the bench in front of me. Ignoring the pain in my leg, I turn.
