“We’ll work on it, Mum,” I say in my pacifying tone, because even though Bran isn’t antagonistic either, he can definitely channel that energy when it comes to Lan.
I start to get up, my stomach feeling heavy and absolutely refusing to accept more food.
After kissing my parents goodbye and telling Bran I’ll see him later, I contemplate driving to Grandpa’s house, but he’s probably at work now.
Also, if a slight interrogation from Dad rustled my feathers, an encounter with Grandpa will probably make me break down.
So I send him a good morning email. Because my granddaddy doesn’t do texts. Doesn’t even honor them with a look.
I’m about to tuck my phone away when it pings with a text.
I think maybe Grandma is texting on Grandpa’s behalf, but it’s an unknown number.
My heart nearly explodes from my chest when I read the words.
Unknown Number: Maybe you should’ve died with Devlin, huh? After all, that was the plan, wasn’t it?
4
GLYNDON
Brighton Island is a large piece of land surrounded by forests and sea and is riddled with infamous castles from the Middle Ages.
However, almost half of the land has been used for centuries as an education hub. The other half is filled with some locals and a lot of pubs, shops, and entertainment parlors for the students.
Two large, regal universities occupy the north of Brighton. One is American and the other, where I study, is British. Admission into Royal Elite University—commonly known as REU—is as hard as securing an audience with the queen. Not only because of the fees that just the rich and their granddaddies can afford, but also because the educational system is tough.
The campus is divided into different universities with all important majors—such as arts, business, medicine, law, and human sciences. The education goes from bachelor degrees to PhDs.
Some students spend all their youth between the castle-like walls, studying until they collapse. But they still do it anyway.
Why?
Because those who graduate from here are granted a diploma that anyone in the world would immediately accept. The founders of Royal Elite University have picked the best professors, best councilors.
Best everything.
Except for maybe the location.
Because there’s that small detail I mentioned earlier. We share the north of Brighton Island with an infamous university.
The King’s U.
They’re founded by unknown money coming from the other side of the pond. Most students there are American and have a chip on their shoulders. Which is funny because they call us the snobby, posh rich kids.
They, however? They’re the dangerous kids.
The ones who walk with a chip on their shoulders and promise of crime on their faces.
Their university only has three main majors. Business, law, and medicine. That’s it. I think they used to have human sciences, but they closed it.
Cecily says it’s because they have no human bones in their bodies.
While REU is posh, sophisticated, and reeks of old aristocratic money, The King’s U is all about new money, sharp stares, and threatening auras.
We’re specifically told to stay away from them.
As far as possible.
And we do. But it almost always gets muddied in sports events.
But generally, there’s an invisible line between our two campuses. Between our posh English manners and their all-American ones.
It’s been like this for years. Way before my friends and I came along. In fact, there’s a high wall that separates their campus and dormitory from ours.
One that can’t be climbed or jumped over.
A wall that represents the deep hole between the two of us. Unless we have a competition with them, we don’t tread into each other’s waters.
Which is why I’m pulling on Cecily’s hand and promptly stopping her from barging into their campus.
We’ve barely just arrived and we’re currently near the metal gate. A golden lion holding a key sits at the top, under which is the name ‘Royal Elite University’ in sophisticated writing.
Even Ava, who’d usually be hugging her cello for dear life, has abandoned it and is holding on to Cecily’s other arm.
“Be reasonable, Ces. Just because you couldn’t find your notes, doesn’t mean one of The King’s U’s students took them. They don’t have access to our campus, remember?”
Cecily’s silver-dyed hair falls in disarray as she attempts to release herself from our hold. Her black shirt that says How About No kind of translates her whole mood. “Their stupid football team logo was on my locker. It’s them. And I’m going to see this through to the end.”
“And go missing?” I sigh, feeling the tension rising to my head.
“Small price to pay to catch those pricks.”
“You won’t be saying that when they get you locked up in their basement or something.” Ava shudders, then whisper-yells, “You know those rumors about them being financed by mafia money? I totally believe it. And I’m definitely not going to let you be chopped up nineties mafia movie style.”
“We’re in a country of law,” Cecily says with pure determination, and she even sounds to believe it.
“Law is bullshit to some people,” I say, feeling the terror from two days ago mounting to my throat.
“What she said.” Ava bobs her head up and down, then flips her blonde ponytail back. “Now, can we go back to the dorm without worrying about finding Ces’s corpse floating in the sea tomorrow?”
I can tell Cecily wants to continue with her original plan, despite our warnings. She’s usually laid back, but not when her things are touched, and I honest to God think she doesn’t give two flying hecks about the reputation of The King’s U’s students.
She might even witness them doing horrendous acts and would choose to psychoanalyze them instead of running the hell away.
Like her hair, she’s silver to me, not really white, and can be smudged with black.
Ava is, without doubt, pink, like her dress, aura, and personality.
“Excuse me?”
A soft voice interrupts my and Ava’s attempts to drag Cecily back with us to the dorms.
We share a small apartment at the top that costs a fortune but at least gives us the chance to stay together.
I stare back to find a petite girl, around my height but way leaner and with a lithe body, standing near REU’s gate. Her brown hair falls to her neck and her blue eyes are big and breathtaking amidst her small features. Juggling a soft pink backpack with a fluffy kitten keychain on one shoulder, she rests her matching suitcase on the asphalt and stares at us.
She’s wearing a purple dress with a lacy hem with an elegance that rivals Ava’s princess wardrobe.
Having the same reaction as me, my friends study her intently. It’s Ava who asks, “Do you need something?”
“Yes, would you please tell me where the School of Art is?”