The Cursed Series, Parts 3 & 4 (Cursed #3-4) - Rebecca Donovan Page 0,25

as difficult as I imagined, convincing her to break the rules, and all I had to do was tell the truth. Or twist my way around it.

Convinced he was mine. But he never was. He belonged to no one but himself.

Do you know where he is right now?” Sophia whispers, looking over her shoulder every other second like she’s expecting to be caught.

“No.”

“How are we going to get in?” I can practically hear her heart pounding out of her chest.

“Through the back doors.”

She wrings her hands while chewing her lip. “Is Mr. Walters awake?”

I guess everyone knows that the guys’ dorm monitor sleeps during the day, oblivious to just how much trouble teen boys can get into when the sun’s out.

“I don’t know.”

Her breath comes in wheezes.

“Sophia, you don’t have to do this. You can wait for me in our dorm’s yard, and I’ll return the key card when I’m done.”

“I want to help,” she answers feebly.

Just before I cross the wooden bridge that leads to the guys’ dorm, I turn to face her. “Try to relax. I won’t let anything happen to you. Okay?”

She nods and gulps visibly. Her eyes are huge. I look into them, wondering if she really can handle this without having a panic attack. Last thing we need is for her to pass out in the middle of the stairwell.

Sophia doesn’t blink, just stares back at me with a petrified expression, like she’s prepared to be the next victim of a slasher flick.

I grip her shoulder. “We can do this. For Ashton.”

“For Ashton,” she squeaks with a tight nod.

We turn and march across the bridge and through the double doors like we’re taking over. At least I do. Figuring the bravado might give Sophia some confidence. But it doesn’t work. She cowers next to me, trying to hide in my shadow.

A boy passes us in the foyer. He walks blindly toward the Court, wearing headphones, his attention absorbed by a game on his phone. Not sure how he has access to the gaming site. But I’m grateful his obsession keeps him ignorant of our presence.

We fly up the stairs as quickly as we can, the navy-blue carpet absorbing our footfalls. A door shuts on a floor below us, but we keep moving without hesitating. Sophia is breathing heavily when we reach the fifth floor. My breath is even. Thank you, Mack, for torturing me; evidently, it’s paying off. Although I doubt he meant to train me to be a stealthy thief. Or whatever it is we’re doing. Still hate running—that’s not about to change.

When we reach Brendan’s door, I step aside, so Sophia can swipe the card. She looks up at me, silently asking if we’re really doing this. I nod. He could be in his room right now. We have no idea.

So as soon as the beep alerts us that the door’s unlocked, I strut in as if I belong there … just in case. That’s the only way to enter if he is here, like I’m looking for him. He’s done it to me a million times. Except the room is empty.

I let out a tense breath.

Sophia leans against the closed door, sagging like her legs are about to give out from under her.

“You okay?” I ask her. “It’s not too late to change your mind and wait for me outside.”

She shakes her head, unable to speak. Sophia may be at Blackwood because she popped a few too many pills, but she’s not a natural rule-breaker. Her neurosis probably makes going against the establishment feel like the ultimate betrayal. I hope I’m not doing more damage by asking her to participate in this break-in.

“They won’t know it’s you,” I remind her again that I’m willing to go down for this if we’re discovered.

She nods blankly.

I inspect the bookcase with the rolltop desk and begin pulling books from the shelves, flipping through pages in hopes that something will fall out.

“What should I do?” Sophia whispers.

“Search the unlocked drawers. Look for anything … weird.”

I don’t know what I’m hoping to find exactly. But I’m convinced I’ll recognize it when I see it.

“Speaking of weird,” I murmur, sliding out a book of love poems by Rumi. There’s no way Brendan is the romantic type. As soon as I open it, I know … he’s not.

The inside of the book has been hollowed out, and instead of pages, it houses pictures. I flip through them. Most of them are of his mother, as a teenager and in