Page 24

Summer: You won’t even tell me who you are. At least Grant formally introduced himself. What’s wrong with him? He’s athletic, attractive, smart, and most importantly, real. You’re just annoying.

SF: Are you trying to make me jealous, pretty girl?

My heart jolts at that pet name. I didn’t realize how much I missed it.

There’s a change in his tone from before. Small things that suggest his moods swing dramatically.

Summer: Maybe.

SF: Well, it’s working. And that’s not very nice.

I shift and tilt my head at the screen.

Summer: Are you going to tell me who you are?

SF: Where is the fun in that?

I pause and rest my hand on my bare thigh. As usual, a hint of warmth begins to build inside me. Only he can arouse me so intensely. In fact, only he can arouse me at all. My thighs part and my gaze shoots to the window, at the open blinds and the inky darkness outside.

Is he watching me right now?

Summer: So you were watching in class. I thought I told you to stop messaging me.

A pause… I also stop to consider Lincoln wasn’t in class today. Not that it means anything.

SF: We’ve never stopped watching you, Summer. We’ve been watching you for a long time.

My pulse ticks a little faster, and I stare at the word on the screen.

We…

My memories of his visits are few and far between. His soft hands caressing me and the honeyed whispers in my sleep. There was never a we in the equation…it was only ever him.

It’s possible, I guess, if there’s more than one person in the secret society, and if they are behind this. It’s too intimate, too sensual for a group to be involved.

Whatever this is, it’s bigger than the Order of the Shadows. This is about him, not about them. And the only connection point is that burlap mask.

I press my lips together, my fingers drawing circles on my thigh, instantly regretting what I’m about to ask him.

Summer: Are you watching me right now?

He doesn’t answer. Two long minutes go by and nothing, and I think I scared him off. Until⁠—

Incoming video call

Shit.

I throw my phone onto my bed like it’s on fire, my heart racing as I fix my gaze on it. He’s actually calling me. No, he’s video calling me. I guess I wanted to know who he is, and this is my opportunity to find out. I snatch the phone and answer the call, making sure the camera is facing toward the bed. I remain silent, yet his breathing is audible on the other end.

“What do you want?” I finally say in a voice that’s weaker than it sounded in my head.

His voice is robotic and distorted, as if filtered through a machine. It reminds me of a horror movie.

“To watch you,” he says. “Do you want me to watch you, Summer?”

Those stupid butterflies… Why do I like the thought of him watching me so much?

“This isn’t normal,” I respond. I’m clearly not normal. That missing girl still hasn’t been located, and whoever is on the other end of this line is directly responsible. He’s indicated as much.