Page 58 of Freestyle
Phoenix
Phoenix:
Where are you, little juvie?
It doesn’t take long for her to reply, mostly because she probably knows we have eyes on her.
Rowyn:
None of your damn business.
Oh, baby. So predictable. I type slower this time. Let itdraw out.
Phoenix:
Oh, but it is. You see, we want to make sure you don’t get into any trouble.
She doesn’t know about the tracker.
That’s what makes this fun.
The phone pings again, a small red dot, corner of the library. Same table she always gravitates to, tucked between classics and the psychology section like some poetic irony. I picture her there; hoodie pulled up, earbuds half-in, pretending the world doesn’t touch her when really, she catalogues every stare, every breath.
There’s a pause.
I imagine her frowning at the screen. Knowing me well enough to be suspicious, but not quite enough to piece it together.
Gray leans across from me in the car, arms crossed, watching the message bubble appear and disappear like a heartbeat.
“She’s going to freak out when she finds out,” he mutters.
“She’ll forgive us,” I say, tugging on my hoodie. “Eventually.”
He raises a brow. “You’re betting that on charm?”
“Always.”
I tuck the phone in my back pocket and swing the door open. The late evening air is crisp, but something in my chest runs hotter than it should.
Because this isn’t just a game.
It’s a reminder.
She can run. She can fight.
But we’ll always find her.
The second we step into the library, the smell hits; fresh ink, processed paper, and that sterile school-cleaner scent that clings to polished floors and anxiety. Fluorescents hum above, casting everything in a sharp, institutional white. Less sanctuary, more academic pressure cooker.
Awareness is on us the second we enter. Heads lift. Eyes slide over. Some linger. Some look away too fast, pretending we aren’t the gravity center in the room.
Not because they’re scared of us.
Because on this campus, we’reeverywhere.
Gray with his quiet dominance, the kind of presence that doesn’t announce itself but makes everything shift around him.
Me with my mouth, my grin, my games. The one who starts fires while he keeps them burning.
