Chapter 4

Chapter 4 

Cole pov 

“Marlowe happened.”

I already knew that.

News spread through Blackthorn faster than wildfire, especially when humiliation was involved. I had been at the hockey field when a few guys suddenly stopped practice just to stare at their phones, laughing under their breaths like they had discovered free entertainment.

The video had already reached the academy group chat before I even stepped into the building.

Marlowe dragging the new scholarship girl by the hair.

Students recording instead of helping.

That was Blackthorn Elite.

Nobody cared what happened to you here as long as it was entertaining enough to watch.

I exhaled quietly and leaned back against my seat.

The new girl was screwed already.

“Are you seriously not going to say anything about it?” Jason asked bluntly beside me.

I didn’t look at him.

I already knew what he wanted.

He expected me to defend her. Or maybe confront Marlowe. But Mae Lawson wasn’t my problem.

She wasn’t my type either.

Just another scholarship student who had walked into Blackthorn without understanding the kind of place Blackthorn really was.

Jason was still looking at me.

I could feel it the same way you felt weather changing. That quiet pressure of someone waiting for you to say something you had already decided not to say.

“She’s not my responsibility,” I said finally.

“Right.” Jason nodded slowly. The kind of nod people used when they completely disagreed with you but had already decided arguing was pointless.

I had learned to recognize that nod years ago.

It irritated me every single time.

“And Marlowe?” he asked.

“I’ll handle Marlowe.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

I looked at him then. Jason held my gaze with the calm steadiness of someone who had known me long enough to understand exactly which silences meant dropping it and which meant I hadn't decided yet.

Unfortunately for me, he had correctly identified this one.

I turned back toward the front of the classroom.

My phone sat face down on the desk exactly where I had placed it after watching the video for the second time.

Which was information about myself I deliberately avoided examining too closely.

The video had been eleven seconds long.

I knew because I had counted.

Marlowe’s hand tangled in Mae’s hair.

The violent jerk backward.

The sharp sound Mae made when pain ripped out of her unexpectedly.

That sound had traveled through my phone speaker and settled somewhere beneath my ribs in a way I couldn’t explain.

Thirty students had stood there and done absolutely nothing.

Eleven seconds.

I picked up my pen and wrote the date at the top of my notebook page.

Just the date.

As if that counted as paying attention to whatever lesson was currently happening around me.

She’s not my responsibility.

The problem with repeating something to yourself often enough was that eventually you started noticing which lies required effort to maintain.

Mae Lawson isn’t my problem.

She isn’t my type.

She walked into Blackthorn without understanding what this place does to people.

Three thoughts.

Each one less convincing than the last.

I clicked my pen once.

Twice.

Beside me, Jason exhaled quietly. The sound carried the patience of someone resisting the urge to say I told you so.

“The video already has four hundred views,” he said carefully. “And it’s still climbing.”

I said nothing.

“By tomorrow morning, she’ll be the most recognizable scholarship student Blackthorn has had in years.” He paused briefly. “Not for a good reason.”

My grip tightened slightly around the pen.

Then I set it down flat against the desk.

Slowly.

Decisively.

The way you set something down when you had made a choice you weren’t ready to announce yet.

Jason noticed immediately.

Of course he did.

“What class does she have next?” I asked.

Jason didn’t smile.

That somehow made it worse.

******

Practice ran late.

Coach Dermott had apparently decided our defensive formation needed three additional hours of correction, which meant I didn’t leave the ice until the academy had mostly emptied.

The main building lights were already dimming on their automatic schedule when I crossed the grounds. Most students had returned to their residences. The corridors carried that specific late-evening emptiness where every footstep echoed too loudly.

I didn’t mind it.

Blackthorn at night was the only version of Blackthorn that required nothing from me.

I cut through the east wing toward the main exit, my hockey bag hanging over one shoulder while Coach Dermott’s formation notes replayed in my head.

That was a problem with actual solutions.

I preferred those.

The library corridor was dark except for one light glowing near the far end.

I almost kept walking.

Then I heard movement inside.

Methodical.

The sound of someone cleaning.

Cleaning duty.

I had forgotten about that.

Mrs. Aldridge loved assigning scholarship students extra work under the excuse of “discipline” and “character building.”

I kept walking.

Whatever scholarship student was stuck cleaning the library at nine thirty at night wasn’t my responsibility either.

I had already established that today.

*********

The arena shortcut saved seven minutes walking back to the senior residence block.

I had discovered it freshman year and used it ever since.

Through the players’ tunnel.

Past the edge of the rink.

Out through the equipment exit.

The arena sat empty at this hour. Just ice, dim overhead lights, and the strange silence hockey rinks carried when nobody was inside them.

I was halfway across the equipment corridor when something stopped me cold.

A sound.

Not from the ice from the far end near the boards.

A low groan.

I turned instantly.

Someone was slumped against the barrier near the rink wall.

One arm bent awkwardly beneath him.

Dark blood spread slowly across the ice beneath his body.

My body moved before my brain fully caught up.

I crossed the distance in seconds and dropped beside him.

Reece Holloway.

Rival team.

The same guy who had spent the last three weeks making it known he intended to challenge my captaincy during selection review.

“Reece.”

No response.

I checked his pulse immediately.

Weak.

Too weak.

His breathing came shallow and uneven while blood soaked through the side of his hoodie.

“Shit.”

I pulled my phone from my pocket and pressed pressure against the wound with my free hand.

That was when I heard footsteps behind me.

Then suddenly stopping.

I looked up sharply.

Mae Lawson stood frozen at the entrance of the tunnel.

Her scholarship lanyard still hung around her neck. Ink stains remained faintly visible on two of her fingers.

Her eyes dropped to the blood first.

Then Reece.

Then my hands were covered in blood.

Everything inside the corridor went completely still.

Her expression changed instantly.

Shock.

Fear.

Confusion.

And then she stepped backward.

“No—” I stood abruptly. “Mae.”

She flinched.

Then turned and ran.

“Mae!”

My voice echoed violently through the empty arena, but she never stopped.

I watched her disappear through the tunnel while panic rose somewhere sharp and unfamiliar inside my chest.

Because the look on her face had not been uncertain.

It had been terror.

And for one horrible second, I realized exactly what this scene must have looked like to her.

Me.

Blood on my hands.

A rival hockey team bleeding on the ice beside me.

Alone.

I looked back down at Reece immediately and forced myself to think.

Whatever this was with Mae could wait.

Reece couldn’t.

I grabbed my phone again and called for help while the sound of Mae Lawson running still echoed through my head.

The emergency alarm inside the arena activated less than four minutes later.

Red lights flashed faintly across the corridor while footsteps thundered through the tunnel entrance. Two medics rushed onto the ice with a stretcher while Coach Dermott came right behind them, his expression darkening the second he saw the blood.

“What the hell happened?” he barked.

“I found him like this,” I answered immediately.

One of the medics pushed me aside carefully before kneeling beside Reece. Another began cutting through the side of his hoodie to expose the wound properly.

“There’s a lot of blood loss,” the medic muttered.

Coach Dermott’s eyes snapped toward me again.

“You called this in?”

“Yes.”

“How long was he lying here?”

“I don’t know.”

That part bothered me more than I wanted to admit.

Because if Mae hadn’t walked in when she did… I might not have heard Reece at all.

The medic suddenly looked up sharply.

“This wasn’t an accident.”

Silence dropped heavily inside the arena.

Coach Dermott stiffened. “What?”

The medic pointed toward the wound near Reece’s ribs. “This cut is too clean.”

A cold feeling settled low in my stomach.

Not a hockey injury.

Not a fall.

Someone had done this intentionally.

Another pair of footsteps echoed through the tunnel before Principal Aldridge appeared with two security officers behind her. Her sharp gaze swept across the scene instantly.

Blood.

Her expression hardened immediately.

“Mr. Ashford,” she said carefully, “why are you covered in blood?”

I stared at her.

For the first time in years, I genuinely disliked the way a question sounded directed at me.

“I found him like this.”

“And nobody else was here?”

The question landed harder than it should have. Because somebody else had been there.

Mae.

I said nothing for half a second too long. Principal Aldridge noticed immediately.

Her eyes narrowed slightly.

“Cole.”

Before I could answer, one of the security officers stepped forward holding something wrapped inside a cloth.

“I found this near the boards.”

The officer unfolded it carefully.

A knife.

Blood covered the blade.

The arena went completely silent.

Coach Dermott looked horrified.

Principal Aldridge’s face turned dangerously unreadable.

Then the officer spoke again.

“There’s something else.”

He turned the knife slightly.

A hockey number was carved into the handle.

Number 12

I sighed because that isn't my hockey number. Someone else did.