Page 75 of Cross My Heart

OK then.

I shake my head, emerging into the cool night air. I’m not about to go wading into someone else’s business—not when I need to keep Max close to try and uncover more about Wren. If Annabelle ever asks me about it, then sure, I’ll tell her the truth. But right now, these people are still practically strangers to me.

I don’t know what kind of games they like to play.

I setoff back towards Ashford. It’s late, and the streets are dark and quiet, lit with the glow from the old-fashioned street lamps. I walk, thinking about Jia’s comments.

She’s right, I know. I don’t deserve the job at the Ambrose Foundation—but I want it all the same. Does that make me a bad person?

I sigh, torn. I understand why my roommates look at Saint and his friends with such suspicion and resentment. They’re wealthy, privileged, and live in a different world to the rest of us. They don’t ever have to do the mental math on whether they have enough cash to cover a bar tab or work extra hours just to pay rent.

But still, that doesn’t mean they don’t have struggles of their own.

Like Saint, losing his brother—and suddenly finding himself thrust into a role he never wanted. Heir to his family’s title and business. I can see now how his reckless, libertine behavior is more than just a mindless pursuit of pleasure. To him, it must feel like a last-ditch statement of rebellion, to reject the life he should be leading—that his family is pressuring him to take up—and follow his own path instead. He likes to act as if it’s all careless self-indulgence, but I caught the shadows in his eyes when he talked about Edward…

Deep down, he thinks he’ll never live up to his brother—so why even try?

I feel an unfamiliar swell of emotion. Damn it. So much for keeping our connection purely sexual. Already, I’m finding how much I have in common with him, the past grief driving both of us on, and shaping our every choice. Just as Saint has defined himself against everything his brother stood for when Edward was alive, I’ve wound up defining myself by Wren’s death. The blame for her suicide has haunted me, sharpening my anger and driving me on.

But now that I’m here in Oxford, closer than ever to the truth, it feels like that anger is… Not softening, but easing its tight iron grip on my heart. I have a hundred new distractions, pulling me away from my mission, and even though I’ve told myself the only reason I’m hanging out with Saint and his friends is to follow these clues towards this secret society and Wren’s attacker, I know it’s not the whole truth.

For the first time since Wren died, I’m feeling more than just blind rage and grief. The desire that Saint draws from me, the satisfaction of brainstorming those fundraising ideas at the Ambrose Foundation, even hanging out, chatting to Annabelle and Imogen at these events…

I’m having fun.

Guilt rises, bitter in my mouth. This isn’t a field trip I’m on, I remind myself. And these people could know more than they’re telling me. I can’t let myself be seduced by the glitzy parties and wild, sensual nights with Saint, and forget what’s really important here.

I need to see through the dazzling displays of wealth—to the dark truths that might be lurking beneath the surface. Because if I find that any one of them knows what happened to Wren…

I won’t stop until I burn them to the ground.

I turn a corner and find myself on an empty street. The sound of footsteps comes, behind me.

Moving closer.

I glance back, but it’s too dim to see who’s there, just the dark outline of someone strolling, about thirty feet behind me.

I grip my shoulder bag more securely at my side. For all its historic charm, Oxford is still a big city, and I’m a woman walking home alone at night. I cross the street and speed up, my feet tapping on the cobblestones.

The person behind me crosses, too. Following me.

Shit.

I’m just a couple of blocks from my building, so I pull out my phone, and pretend to answer a call. “Yes, I’m right around the corner,” I say loudly, my heart pounding now as I speed-walk down the empty street. “You’re outside the building? Great. I’ll meet you there. No, it was a fun night…”

I keep chatting to my imaginary friend, keeping one ear out for my pursuer. Maybe I’m overreacting, and it’s just someone else heading home, but my body is prickling with awareness, and there’s nobody else around.Just one more block, I tell myself.You’re almost home.

Then I hear the footsteps, closer, and I can’t stop myself from turning to see.

They’re just twenty feet away now, closing the distance between us, a tall male frame in a black jacket and joggers. He passes under a streetlight, and in the flash of illumination, I see that his whole face is covered with a black and white mask, like the one from the movieScream.

He sees me looking. For a terrible moment, we’re both frozen in place. Then he lunges, breaking into a run—straight for me.

Raw panic flashes through my entire body.

Fuck.

I flee, my boots clattering on the ground as I race desperately to the end of the street. I can see the lights of the main road up ahead, cars passing, even the sound of people nearby. But I don’t even have time to scream for help before the masked man grabs my arm, yanking me back.