Page 64 of Spearcrest Queen

“Evan,” Inés says, in the most gentle tone I’ve heard from her so far, “she lives in Illinois.”

“Yea.”

Inés shakes her head in disbelief. “Look, I admire the heroics as much as the next person, but let’s be real. Even if you speak to her, it won’t change anything. Manning’s been in publishing for thirty years. You think she hasn’t seen it all before?”

“I know one thing she hasn’t seen.”

Inés lifts an eyebrow. “And what’s that?”

I grin. “Me.”

I gather my files into one thick pile and grab my coat from the rickety coat hanger.

“Look, forget about this. You’re right, all of you. It’s not the right approach, and I need to work out a way of saving Inkspill without distorting in the process. So I’ll start again from scratch and come up with something. And if you want me to find you people who care? I’ll find them.”

A stunned silence reigns, and actually, it’s almost an honour, being able to surprise this hardened group of wary, mouthy fucking academics. Then Patch laughs, a rich sound that feels like a bag of warm, greasy chips.

“Gotta give it to you, you’ve got spirit,” he says, and before I can feel good about this, he follows it up with, “At least, if you fail spectacularly, it’ll be fun to watch.”

Matt laughs, and Mina shakes her head, but Inés’s eyes stay on mine, dark and searching. I meet her gaze.

“Give me until Friday. I’ll get us Manning back.” I give her my most motivational thumbs-up. “And after that—we’re saving Inkspill.”

31

Young Shark

Sophie

The first taste ofrevenge is bittersweet.

The air in the Harvard Law courtyard is crisp with wintry cold, the sky outside dusk-dark despite the early afternoon, snow melting against the windows. Students linger in the atrium between classes, warming their hands on paper cups of coffee from the kiosk outside.

I’ve just stepped out of Mr Park’s office, still riding the mad rush of adrenaline, still feeling the weight of his words settle over me like the cold hard weight of a crown on my brow.

You’ve done it, Sophie. You’ve been selected for Harvard Law Review.

The adrenaline I feel isn’t quite pleasure yet, and nothing close to real joy. It feels more like an absence of something, the waiting hunger before a rich meal.

“You didn’t even want it.”

I turn to the voice behind me.

Anthony.

I wasn’t sure whether he’d wait to do this, whether he’d even give me the satisfaction of this moment. But he got to watch hislast blow land, that night at the gala, so it’s only fair that I should get to watch my blow land now.

He stands a few feet away from me, walking stiffly down the corridor, hands clenched at his sides, eyes as dark and feverish as if he’s sick. The usual sleek arrogance is long gone.

I let the silence stretch between us, saying nothing, tilting my head to watch him like a curio under glass.

“You already have job offers lined up.” His jaw tightens. “You didn’tneedthis.”

“So?”

“You just took it because you wanted to take it fromme.”

And there it is, the real rush: victory, a sensation I couldn’t even describe, an elation with a sharp edge, a pleasure keen to the point of pain.

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