Page 65 of Jayson
Pressure builds behind my ribs. “Why?”
She exhales—small, shaky, fogging the window. “I don’t think college is the right place for me.”
As though that is explanation enough. But it will never be. She’s hiding something, that much is clear.
“Tell me why, Keira.”
There’s a long silence before she starts to speak again, her voice soft, measured.
“You have no idea what it’s been like since the story broke about the Aviary… and the rumors about my father—” Her tongue trips over the word father like it’s poison. “Everything changed.”
My grip tightens.Aviary.The trafficking ring. The scandalthat burned half the city’s good names to ash. The first domino that toppled into the bullet I fired. I swallow hard.
“That shit’s over,” I remind her.
“Is it? It’ll never be over, Jayson.”
I steal a glance at her, just a flick of my eyes before I focus back on the road.
She says nothing—for so long it starts to ache. The silence stretches, heavy and uncertain. I stay quiet, unsure if speaking will crack something open or just make it worse. So I wait. For her voice. For the moment she decides I deserve to hear it again.
“Friends stopped answering my calls,” she continues, voice flat. “Professors started acting… polite. Too polite. They said they supported me, but I could see it in their eyes: I was a liability. Too much bad press happening. The support was gone.”
She laughs, brittle. “The student paper ran an article calling me‘the daughter of darkness.’Nice headline, right? Made for a great viral clip. Comments flooded in before I even finished reading the damn article.”
She goes quiet. I can almost feel the comment thread wrapping around her throat.
“You could transfer,” I offer, though the words sound stupid. “Fresh start somewhere else.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “Universities like clean headlines. I’m radioactive, Jayson.”
My name on her lips scrapes sparks across my spine. I clear my throat. “You’re not radioactive.”
“Yes, I am.” Her eyes finally meet mine, and the raw hurt there punches the air from my lungs. “And you know what hurts? I get it. If I were them, I’d stay away from me too.”
Anger prickles under my skin. “They’re cowards.”
“Maybe.” She shrugs one shoulder. “Or maybe they’re just smart. People like my father make enemies. Enemies shoot first, ask questions never. Guilt bleeds by association.”
Guilt. Association. Yeah, I know something about that.
I nod slowly, processing. Keira’s knuckles twist in her lap, white as mine.
There’s more. I can feel it—secrets coiled tight beneath her skin. But pushing her now will only slam a door I’m still prying open, so I shift focus.
“We’ll figure something out,” I say. It sounds hollow, but I mean it. “You can study from the estate if you want. Tutors, remote classes, whatever you need.”
She doesn’t answer, but her shoulders loosen by a fraction, like the promise at least lands somewhere inside her.
The mansion’s gates appear on the horizon—tall iron bars like sharpened spears cutting through the hazy afternoon sun. As we approach, they creak open with slow, deliberate menace. The SUV rumbles over the gravel drive, tires spitting dust, and the house comes into view—massive and still, its windows glaring back the afternoon light like shuttered eyes.
I kill the engine.
Silence settles. The hum of insects fills the thick air, and somewhere in the distance, a bird cries out. The day presses down on us, yet neither of us moves.
“Keira.” I tilt toward her. “I know you’re still keeping things from me. I can practically hear the locks clicking shut in your head. But I… I can’t protect ghosts. If something else is bothering you?—”
Her breath catches. For a flash I glimpse stone-cold fear. Then it’s gone, buried under that quiet, stubborn mask she’s perfected.
