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Even though I’m exhausted, I get up and start pacing the room. I know I would be able to think more clearly if I got some sleep, but right now, my mind is in overdrive, so a nap isn’t going to happen.
After a while, I sit back down at the laptop to try again.
Lucy Barnes, Keyingham.
And just like that, I get hits.
Eyes wide, I lean forward and click on the first result.
Lucy Barnes was a girl who had just graduated the small high school in Keyingham. She’d been working at a bar in town—one that is now closed down. She’d gone missing a few years ago… the same time Cole was at James Keyingham University.
There is nothing about a murder, though. In fact, the only suggestion as to what happened to her was one article which suggested she’d run away to avoid a debt of some description.
Her picture is on one site. She was really pretty. Light brown skin, big brown eyes, and, in this picture at least, she has shoulder-length white hair, which I’m almost certain is a wig.
The longer I stare at her picture, the more familiar she feels. Which is ridiculous since I’d never met her before.
I sit back in my chair, frowning. Even though I know who she is, this still doesn’t make sense. How does Dr. Wright know her? How does he know she’s dead? Why does he think Cole did it?
Cole could have met her if he went into town, but there wasn’t a single article linking her to James Keyingham University. And none of the articles mentioned my brother either.
Whateverthisis, I don’t have time to waste on it now. Dr. Wright can accuse Cole of killing this girl all he wants, but until the police are involved, it’s not something I’m going to focus on.
Today, I need to re-write the stupid assignment for the stupid professor, make it to my afternoon classes, and then I have an appointment in the library to go through the Keyingham Ledger and try to figure out what happened with the murder my brother is accused of.
But first, I really do need a nap. After closing the internet browser, I move over to my bed and flop on top of the covers, still fully clothed. At the last minute, I remember to pull my phone out of my pocket, set an alarm and put it on charge. Then I close my eyes and let the sleep win.
Today’s dinner of barely-warm rice is as filling and nutritious as ever. I decided earlier to write off what was left of my morning, skip lunch, and then head to my afternoon classes. We were mostly reviewing the topics likely to be on our midterms next week, so I spent most of the afternoon recreating my assignment. I rushed to the library after the last class to add the references that I needed, and then submitted the assignment.
And then I was starving.
The dining hall menu—for everyone else—is either lasagna, coq au vin, or a vegan risotto. All around me, students are digging into their restaurant-quality meals, and the smell is making my stomach grumble.
In front of me, Syn is eating the coq au vin, and never have I longed for chicken more. I glance down at the rice in front of me and sigh. I’m trying to eat as slowly as I can, hoping that if I can draw it out, I might end up feeling full.
“Where have you been?” Syn asks.
Royal takes the seat next to him. “Gym.”
Royal’s hair is damp, but since there’s no sweat on his body or the T-shirt he’s wearing, it’s probably because he’s just showered. Determined not to stare at the bare arms with his veins showing, I drop my gaze back to the unappetizing meal in front of me.
“Gemini?”
“Gaming,” Royal responds.
It’s been a while since I’ve seen Gemini in the dining hall. Then again, I discovered that he, Syn, and Royal have a butler who probably cooks their meals for them.
The bigger mystery should be why Syn and Royal eat here, but it’s probably because Syn gets his kicks out of watching me eat. With that thought, I sit up a little more and try to act like the meal in front of me is the last of a huge bowl of the most delicious bibimbap I’ve ever had.
I glance up and find Syn watching me. Flashing him a smile, I reach for my glass and lift it before taking a sip.
He rolls his eyes, but in doing so, freezes. Slowly his eyes narrow. “What the hell is he doing back?” he asks Royal.
Both Royal and I look in the direction of the door. Walking towards their table, carrying a plate of lasagna, is Declan Salaway. He’s in the weird waiter uniform all the Elite initiates wear. As far as I can remember, it is his day to serve the president. If anything, as Syn has almost finished eating, he’s late.
Despite their confusion, neither Syn nor Royal say anything as Declan sets the lasagna down in front of Royal and then steps back to the usual spot at the back of the room beside the other initiate, Cassie.
I don’t think I’ve seen Declan smile once since I’ve known him. He seems to have a permanent scowl on his face, like Syn. Only, annoyingly, Syn looks like that moody bad boy whereas Declan looks like he’d be the one reporting the underage drinking at a party.
