Spirit. Brigid Kemmerer

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      She’d also taunted him, claiming to be responsible for his father’s death. Hunter had drawn his gun.

      And then he’d been unable to pull the trigger.

      Hunter squeezed his eyes shut. “People would have died—”

      “They didn’t. You saved them. But you allowed Calla Dean to get away, and now she has leverage.” He paused, a weighted silence full of judgment. “You made your bed, kid. Now you lie in it.”

      The phone clicked off.

      The shock settled into something like fury—at himself. Twice before, he’d had the opportunity to fix a problem, and he’d hesitated before employing lethal force.

      And then he’d stood in the library, surrounded by fire, listening as Calla recounted her crimes.

      All that training, and he couldn’t pull a trigger.

      Now he’d have to confront her. Here, at school, where she couldn’t cause a scene.

      The school hallways were crowded: the main corridors that led past the library were blocked with yellow caution tape, forcing people to go through the basement locker areas just to cross from one side of the school to the other. Hunter was bumped at least three times while he was trying to get his books together for morning classes.

      Then a hand came out of nowhere and shoved the books straight out of his arms, sending them skidding across the tiled floor. “Welcome back, jackass.”

      Gabriel Merrick.

      The gesture had been casual. The venom in his voice had not.

      Hunter stared after him, wondering if he should retaliate—or if he should swallow his pride and take it.

      Because he kind of deserved it.

      “Hey,” he called.

      Gabriel flipped him off and disappeared around the corner.

      Hunter figured he was lucky Gabriel hadn’t set his books on fire.

      In homeroom, he ignored the morning announcements and tried to think of a plan. He shared fourth period with Chris and Becca. Maybe he could start there. If they knew what Calla was up to, they’d want to help.

      Or they’d tell him to screw off.

      He needed a backup plan. He couldn’t stop Calla by himself.

      Someone cleared her throat, and Hunter blinked, realizing that the room had gone silent. Everyone in class was staring at him, including the elderly teacher who only monitored homeroom and study hall.

      He’d missed something important.

      “Hunter?” Mrs. Goodchild said. “Did you hear the intercom, dear? You’re wanted in the guidance office.”

      Hunter sighed and grabbed his things. This would be the third time he’d been called to the office since school started. It seemed like every week they needed a new form signed by his mother. Maybe they needed another backup-backup emergency form filled out in triplicate. The headache from this morning was back, like a ball-peen hammer at the back of his eyeballs.

      The main office was crowded: kids clamoring for late slips, a guy on crutches with medical forms in one hand, two men in suits who looked like salesmen but were probably college recruiters, and the hottest girl Hunter had ever seen.

      For half a second, he could barely think to put one foot in front of the other.

      She was standing by the main secretary’s desk, a messenger bag slung over one shoulder. Her hair was thick and blond and chin length, and a few strands fell across her face, framing green eyes. Striking eyes, full of intelligence instead of boredom. Her lips were pink and full and almost pouting. Her clothes were fitted and current and expensive-looking: a short brown leather jacket that flared from her waist, jeans that clung to the slight curve of her hips, and knee-high boots with just enough buckles and zippers to be intriguing.

      But it wasn’t just her looks that held him spellbound. It was the energy in the air around her, as if the light and the air flared with tiny sparks.

      Her eyes flicked sideways and she caught him looking.

      Now his pulse tripped, but at least she couldn’t see that. He needed to shut this down. Girls were a complication he didn’t need right now. He shifted his bag higher on his shoulder and didn’t flinch from her look.

      Her eyes narrowed and she tossed the hair off her face. Her lips parted, as if she were about to speak—but the secretary hung up the phone and held out a packet of papers to the girl. “Miss Sullivan, here’s your locker combination and some emergency forms for your parents to fill out. First period is about to start, so . . .”

      She was a new student. Maybe fate was repaying him for that crap with Calla this morning. Maybe he’d been called down here to escort her around school. Maybe—

      “Alice?” A voice called from the guidance counselor’s office. “When Hunter Garrity gets here, can you please send him in?”

      Damn it.

      He sighed and headed toward Ms. Vickers’s door.

      As he moved past the new girl, he caught her scent, something sweet with a spicy kick to it, cinnamon over apples.

      She was still watching him. “Like what you see?”

      She said it boldly, but not cattily. Like a genuine question—without any doubt of the answer.

      It embarrassed him anyway. He shouldn’t have been staring.

      He opened his mouth to answer, not even knowing what to say. An apology? Something cocky, like Yeah, I do?

      But one of the guys in the late line said, “I like what I see, baby!” And the guy next to him gave him a high five and said, “Why don’t you show us a little more—”

      “Leave her alone,” Hunter snapped. He took a step toward them, and they mocked him, pretending to be afraid.

      “Boys!” said the secretary.

      The girl rolled her eyes, shoved the papers in her messenger bag, and turned for the door.

      So that was that.

      Like it mattered. He turned back for Vickers’s office. The door was half open, and he pushed it wide, wondering why on earth he’d been called down here.

      And then he saw the student in the chair, the girl with a tear-streaked face who was cradling her wrist, and his heart just about stopped.

      Calla Dean.

      Kate stood in the empty hallway and checked her phone. Already, a message from Silver.

      Honestly. She’d been here fifteen minutes.

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