Page 9 of Shattered Ice
I untie my stained apron, the exhaustion of the day settling deep in my bones where fear and anger have already taken root. I take a breath that tastes like metal, and the words spill out—clipped and clinical because it’s the only way to say them without shattering. Lansing’s ambush. The threat to my scholarship. The noose knotted from someone else’s GPA. The way my entire future is now yoked to a boy who probably uses his textbooks as coasters.
Zoë listens, eyes wide and shining with a kind of horrified delight. When I finish, she lets out a long, low whistle. “Holy shit. They chained you to the Titan’s anchor. That’s not a tutor assignment; that’s a human sacrifice.” She leans in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “But also—you’re going to be trapped with him. Alone. The kind of dangerous that turns caution into obituary headlines.”
A groan escapes me as I drop my head into my hands, nails digging into my scalp. “That isnothelping.”
“She’s not wrong about the dangerous part,” Genny says quietly, her humor gone, her voice cutting close to a warning. “This is more complicated than just grades, Clara. You need to be careful.”
Zoë scoffs. “Oh, come on, Gen. It’s a tutoring session, not a mob hit.”
“With the Hales?” Genny’s eyes never leave mine. “The line is thinner than you think. Their family doesn’t just have money, Clara. They have power. The kind that makes problems—and people—disappear.”
My breath catches. I’m thinking of the Laurent name on half the buildings on campus. “Like your family?”
Genny’s mask of composure slips for just a fraction of a second, her gaze turning distant. She pauses, then meets my eyes again, her voice a cool, even tone. “The game is the same,” she says softly. “Just different jerseys.”
She lets the weight of that settle before continuing, her focus sharpening back to my problem. “Briarcliff has worshipped Adrian Hale since the moment he set foot on campus. He’s never been told he’s failing. He’s definitely never been forced to accept help. Especially from…”
She trails off, but I finish the thought for her, the words thick with shame.…a scholarship girl. The help.
A cold dread, sharper than the fear of failing, crawls up my spine. This isn’t just an academic problem. I’ve been thrown into a game where the other players own the board, and I’m the piece they’ll break if it serves them. One rumor, and I won’t just be a tutor. I’ll be branded his shadow.
“So what am I supposed to do?” The words scrape out, low and jagged.
“You go in there and you handle it.” Genny’s tone is steel, a lifeline. “Don’t be intimidated. Don’t be impressed. Don’t let him see any weakness. This is a transaction. You provide a service. Set your terms, stick to them. Document everything—every session, every assignment. You build a paper trail.”
Zoë throws her hands up. “Or! Hear me out—you wear that little black top I love, make him so flustered he can’t even see the book, and get him to do whatever you want.” She winks. “There’s more than one way to get an A at Briarcliff.”
“I’m not trying to seduce him, Zoë. I’m trying to survive him.”
“Same thing at Briarcliff,” she mutters.
Genny ignores her. “She’s right about one thing, though.” She looks at me, gaze unwavering. “Don’t let him think you’re a pushover. The second you walk into that room, you’re in charge. He’s on your turf now.”
Her words drive in like rebar, bracing me against collapse.A paper trail. Set your terms. You’re in charge.My mind latches onto the concepts, the strategic coldness a welcome antidote to my panic. All my life, I’ve survived by being meticulous, by planning ten steps ahead because I could never afford a mistake. I’ve always seen it as a defense mechanism, but Genny’s right. My over-preparedness isn’t a weakness. It’s a weapon. I can use the skills I honed in the shadows to protect myself in the spotlight.
My panic calcifies into something sharp enough to cut. My hands, which had been trembling, are still now on the table.
“Okay,” I breathe, sitting up straighter. The fear is still there, an icy knot in my gut, but now it has a purpose. I cross to my laptop and shut his stats with a flick that’s almost violent. I open a new document:Adrian Hale—Tutoring Log. The title looks like a threat stamped on the screen. “Okay. Terms. A paper trail.”
Zoë groans. “Ugh, you two are so boringly practical. Can we at least get a detailed report on his muscle definition and general scent profile? For science.”
A tight, unwilling smile cracks through. “No promises.”
“I’ll take it,” she proclaims.
Genny gives me a slight, approving nod—a rare, silent blessing. “You’ve got this, Clara. Just don’t forget who you are. And don’t forget that you have us if he tries anything.”
Looking at them—Zoë, all bright, chaotic energy, and Genny, a fortress of calm, strategic strength—the knot in my stomach loosens, just a fraction. I’m not alone in this, even if the fight is mine.
“Thanks, guys,” I say, meaning it as I shrug on my battered jacket.
Zoë grins, linking her arm through mine. “Of course. Now, let’s go. I’m buying you a real coffee—one you didn’t have tomake yourself. And you’re going to spill every rumor you’ve ever heard about the hockey team. Your survival may depend on it.”
As we step outside, the evening wind claws at my cheeks, sharp and biting. The October dark already presses against the edges of campus, swallowing the golden light from the library windows. I pull my jacket tighter, welcoming the sting of the cold on my skin. It’s a shock to the system, a dose of harsh reality that chases away the last of my panic and leaves a cold, clear sense of purpose in its place. The world feels smaller now—not safer, but more focused. A battlefield narrowed to a single room, a single opponent.
Every gust of wind whispers his name, as if the night already belongs to him.
I can feel the storm gathering, waiting for me to step into the lion’s den.
