When Rin calls me in for a shift at the café on Saturday morning, I gladly take the subway downtown, looking for any kind of distraction to take my mind off the revelation at Theo's house. The same revelation that kept me up all night, hence my sunken eye bags and racing mind from the lack of sleep.

I spent all night recalling every morning on our way to school with Ezra and Atlas. What incentive can possibly drive him to scare me off like that? There is the chance that Atlas is in on it too, but that seems unlikely. If Atlas has the slightest idea of my whereabouts or my plans, I would've been long gone by now. The thought occurs to me that it may just be Ezra's plain loyalty to his boss.

Bile burns in my throat at his blind faithfulness to an evil man like David Roman. The man with blood on his hands, and faces like mine and Ezra's under his foot.

I'm roused from my thoughts when the door to the cafe swings open, the bell above the doorway ringing the announcement.

David walks in and strides to his usual table without looking up from his phone, carrying the air of prestige and authority. I shudder when he beckons to me with his fingers, still not looking up.

After my outburst in school, I did not return and immediately took the subway to Marli's house, updating her with our findings. Tave and Zain sent a text to check up on me, but I didn't answer them. I didn't want to know how things turned out after I left it in chaos. But the news didn't get to the press yet, so I take that as a good sign.

Wiping my clammy hands on the black apron strung on my neck, I make my way to his table with a cup of coffee before taking the seat facing him. It burns my fingertips, but I relish the momentary physical pain, to keep my mind from racing a mile a minute.

He sips the steaming beverage quietly. If it scalds his tongue, he doesn't flinch. "You weren't here yesterday."

"I was busy," I lie too quickly. Damn it.

"Hmm," he hums, finally meeting my eyes with a bright pair that penetrates me, almost as if he can see through my lie. "Were your plans of killing Emory Lopez getting in the way of your job here."

There it is. The elephant in the room. I forgot how little he liked to waste time.

"I wasn't going to kill her," I scoff, trying to minimize the significance of my actions. "I didn't even plan on touching her. I just . . . Wanted to warn her."

He sighs and presses his lips into a line. I feel like a child being told that I can't eat too much candy. "And what makes you think you have the power to do that? What makes you think you have the power to do anything?" He puts his cup down a little too harshly on the table. Brown liquid swooshes to the rim. "You don't have—"

"Mr. Roman," I interrupt, and his eyes narrow to slits, "when we made that deal, you knew very well the kind of person you were dealing with. I'm from the streets, not the Hamptons, and I fight like it. You were very wrong to think I'd shut up and let her talk like that about my family."

"When I made that deal with you, I thought I was dealing with a smart girl. A girl who fought to keep her family out of the streets. Not someone who'd let her petty pride get in the way."

I grind my jaw and break away from his piercing gaze, instead focusing on Andy smiling to a customer. I'm walking on thin ice here, and I have the anxious feeling that everything I fought for is about to slip between my fingers. I doubt he cares for my family. The only thing I'm jeopardizing here is his image.

"Emory Lopez's parents filed a lawsuit against us," he pauses to let the words punch me in the gut. "But we paid them off and they dropped it. I also pulled a few strings to keep the press from talking about this."

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I force myself to look back at him. He wants me to be grateful, to be a little girl whose mistakes are being taken care of. Maybe I am that girl. But I still can't find it in me to show the gratitude he expects. I only feel venom. Ugly venom and resentment. And the sewn golden designer brand on his black collar only fuels it more.

"You got off easy this time. But next time, I promise you it won't work out as smoothly." He stands up and looks down on me. "And I'm a man of my word."

A whoosh of air escaped my lungs like a balloon deflating—this isn't the end to my plans. I still have a chance to prove myself, I have a chance to do the right thing. But if I plan on reaching the finish line, I have to do better.

"I'll be hosting a fundraiser two weeks from now for Thanksgiving. You're going to attend, and you will be at your best behavior."

I bite the insides of my cheeks before I can snarl at him as he throws a wad of bills on the table. And then he's gone.

༺༻

After a weekend of imagining all the ways this conversation can play out, the time finally comes where the Audi's engine dies down and it stops in front of the school's main building. Atlas will step out, Theo will take his place, and we'll settle this once and for all.

But today Atlas doesn't step out of the car wordlessly, creating a hitch in my imagined plan. He rips the buds from his ears, turning in his seat to face me.

"Your daddy already had this talk with me, Atlas."

He twists his lips in distaste. "You're lucky my father let you off this easily. Pull that shit again, and I'll find my own way to deal with you. Until then, you're sitting with us at that lunch table."

Exasperatedly, I roll my eyes and heavily exhale. It's one thing taking orders from David Roman, but when Atlas does it, I all but want to poke his eyes out.

With one last glare, he finally steps out of the car. A few beats pass while I sit in my seat, wringing my fingers together over sweaty palms as I wait for Theo to step in.

My eyes flit to the back of Ezra's head. This is the guy that gave me restless nights, second-guessing everyone I talked to. All along, I've been staring at this blonde head every morning for a month.

Ezra turns. "Ma'am, is there—"

Thankfully, he's interrupted when the car door nearest to me swings open. Theo seats himself next to me, our shoulders briefly brushing as he adjusts himself before closing the car door. The backseat floods with his warmth and rich rosewood fragrance.

Ezra stares at us with an alarmed expression, looking between the both of us. I realized that, until this moment, it is the first time that I fully see his face. The middle-aged man's blond hair is streaked with silver and slicked back to the nape of his neck. His protruding eyes remind me of a crow's beady eyes, and when he speaks a set of crooked teeth reveal themselves.

"Can I help you?"

"Yes." Theo fixes him a hard stare as he crosses his arms. "Let's start with the threatening texts you've been sending."

"Wh—what are you talking about, Mr. Roman?"—I flinch at the name—"I don't—"

"Oh, cut the crap. We know it was you behind those texts," I deadpan.

Ezra glances through the windows as if looking for someone—maybe Atlas—to help him. But Atlas is long gone, and no one would dare bother us now.

He returns his gaze in front of him, speaking through gritted teeth. "I said, I don't know what you're talking about."

Theo shifts to the edge of the seat, leaning an arm on the passenger's seat so that he's eye-to-eye with Ezra. "Look, I have a class to get to so let's just get this over with. We've got solid proof that it was you, and we could've easily gone to David. But we came to you first. Don't make me regret it."

Ezra grips the steering wheel tightly, his wrinkled knuckles turning white against the black leather. When he looks back at us, the meek expression is replaced with a hostile glare. 

"I could lose my job."

"I don't care about your job."

The words feel like a slap to me more than it does to Ezra. It came out so easily from his mouth, with no hesitation. Too easily that it's hard to convince myself it is just for the act. I tend to forget that Theo was raised with a silver spoon in his mouth, that he's David's nephew, that he lives in a penthouse higher than a third of the city.

Finally, Ezra looks at me in the rearview mirror. "When I had heard of the fights between you and Atlas, I sent that first text in hopes that you would get scared and drop whatever you were doing," he explains. "But then you didn't come to school last week. And I knew you were still up to something. I had to stop you, Miss Sage."

"Why didn't you tell David?"

"Because he's a dangerous man. How could I?"

"So, you're not with him then?"

He turns to me with a bewildered expression. "Of course not!" He shakes his head, flustered, blinking rapidly as if trying to get rid of the accusation with his lashes. "I've been with this man long enough to know what he's capable of. Those dead workers. The weird secretive meetings. I'm not stupid. But you"—he points a shaking finger at me—"are out of your mind."

"This man deserves to face consequences," I speak in a leveled voice. "If I don't do it, then who will?"

"No one. Unless they have a death wish."

I let my head fall to the back of my seat, looking at the ceiling of the car with a heavy sigh.

Is he right? Am I really out of my depth here? My father's cold voice creeps in my head as the self-doubt pokes at me. You can't do it, silly girl. I push his swirling face to the back of my head, tucked in a dark corner.

Marli's pained face worms its way instead, along with Johnny Miles's curious twins. The fatherless twins in the house with a falling roof. I can still smell the cigarettes and long-cooked onions.

"Thank you for trying to protect me," I say and push the car door open, letting in a gush of cold wind that blows hair into my eyes. "But I've already made my choice."

Stepping out in the open air, I hug myself tightly and curse for forgetting my jacket in the morning. I'd been so anxious to get into that car. And now I wish I hadn't.

Clouds loom above, spreading a grey filter over the brown towers and spirals of Wetherton as students walk around with jackets or sweaters over their uniform. We're only a few days in November but winter seems to come early this year. A few students spot me, staring for a minute too long until I meet their gaze. They look away quickly. It looks like I left my mark last week.

Heavy footsteps—that I know belong to Theo—approach me when I walked to the entrance. His threat to Ezra rings in my head, making me stop short and turn to face him. In my head, I know it's irrational and that it might spark a fight . . . But I am tired, restless, and looking for something solid amidst the confusion and uncertainty I've been spending so much time with. I need reassurance; that he's with me all the way, that I'm doing the right thing.

I grip my arms tighter, bracing myself. "Did you really mean what you said back there? About him losing his job?"

His eyebrows knit together. "Of course, not. I just needed him to talk."

Biting my lips, I study his expression: unblinking steady eyes and earnest. He's telling the truth.

"How could you think that?" he asks. "Did you think I was lying the other day?"

I look away. It's easier to talk to him that way, his gaze too smoldering that the words might just spill out of my mouth like an overflowing sink. It's easier to be angry. "You can't blame me, Theo. You are still David's nephew."

"What does this have to do with anything?" His tone grows harder.

"It has everything to do with it," I laugh mirthlessly. "You're not like me, you—"

Warm fingers grip my chin, so that I'm forced to look back at him. His touch sends shocks that spread from my chin to my cheeks until they regain heat in the cold. I can't speak, can't breathe. He releases me immediately, dark eyes running over my face before landing on my eyes.

"Not all rich people are vultures," he says slowly. "I'm with you all the way."

I close my eyes, letting his words comfort me. It is enough for now.

"Do you think . . ." My voice sounds feeble, and I clear my throat. "Do you think I'm over my head here."

He looks at me for a few seconds before saying, "Does it matter what I think? You don't let anyone deter you from doing what you want."

It's the answer I expect, making me reel backward. I should've known Theo doesn't tell people what they want to hear. He's blunt and straightforward. Just like his uncle.

I want to say something—to deny it—but words fail me. I don't think myself to be a stubborn person, but I know that all the things I do sprout from the believe that it's the right thing to do. 

When I don't reply, he steps away. "Come on. We're late for class."