Page 130 of Black Castle

Rolling his eyes, he reaches beneath his collar and pulls out his gold chain. “This.”

Her brows knit, and two heartbeats later, her eyes widens. She clutches the pendant of her necklace, turning it over in her fingers.

“Oh, my god.”

How did she not figure this out sooner? Zev gave this to her. Of course, only him will be capable of such a thing. Only he can go this far to prove a point. So gifting her the necklace wasn’t his attempt at a romantic gesture?

“I feel so dumb for not connecting the dots sooner,” she whispers, clutching the pendant, wishing it to shatter beneath the weight of her fingers.

“Any problem, Vivienne Marchand?” Mr. Fadden’s voice slices through her thoughts.

The way he says her name makes her stomach churn. “No, Mr. Fadden.” She shakes her head.

Her gaze returns to the necklace. She has seen it in movies—trackers being put in jewelry and even hairpins. If there is truly a tracker in her necklace, it wouldn’t be too surprising.

But why did he put a tracker on her? Shouldn’t this be illegal in some big book of law?

“Marchand?!” Mr. Fadden’s voice cracks like a whip, his sinister undertone unmistakable. Startled, Vivienne realizes the entire class is staring at her.

“Um, yes?”

“You don’t seem very present,” he says, a smirk ghosting his lips. “Is my class too boring for you?”

“No.”

“Then perhaps, you’d care to help us out?” He gestures toward the board.

Her eyes follow, landing on the topic scrawled across the whiteboard. Confusion tightens in her chest. That’s not in the curriculum. It’s not even high school material.

“Can you define psychopathy?” He raises a brow, arms folded. “No one seems to have an answer. And given your particular interest, I assume you’d be the one to help us.”

A chill prickles down her spine.

“But this isn’t in the syllabus,” she argues. “It’s an advanced topic—”

“I am the teacher here, Vivienne Marchand.” His jaw twitches, his irritation barely masked.

“Of course,” she murmurs under her breath. “My apologies.”

“Well?” he prompts when she still doesn’t answer.

The weight of the stares from her classmates makes her pulse hammer in her ears. She knows the answer. But why is she so afraid to say it?

“Anytime soon, perhaps?” He urges.

Vivienne clears her throat and begins in one breath. “Well, according to the National Library of Medicine, the act of psychopathy is a neuropsychiatric disorder marked by deficient emotional responses, lack of empathy, and poor behavioral controls, commonly resulting in persistent antisocial deviance and criminal behavior.”

Silence.

Then—

“ Well, perfect.” His smirk is anything but reassuring. “Class, let’s give it to Marchand.”

A hesitant wave of claps ripple through the room. Mr. Fadden turns back to the board, scrawling Types of Psychopathy in large, looming letters.

Vivienne can’t shake the unease pooling in her stomach.

“Psychopaths live among us.” His voice slithers into her ears, dragging her back. “They act like us, look normal like us. They mirror everything we do, fitting perfectly in that no matter what they do, we can never learn of their true nature.”

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