Here Lies a Saint (Here Lies #2) - C.L. Matthews Page 0,37

She's rocking her normal pantsuit with heels, and she appears somber.

"Arcadia Crest Academy has been my home for the last four years," she announces. Her voice feels softer, sad, and it takes me a moment to realize what she's building the mood for.

Yang.

"In these four years, we've encountered countless achievements, things we can all celebrate and be proud of. But with great success is great departure and loss."

My eyes well up immediately, my chest feeling pain I can't quite fathom. She glances passively into the crowd. There's a cough and a pregnant silence. Why is she pausing? Does she want to build momentum?

"Two days ago, an alumnus snuck onto campus."

There are hushed whispers. Gossip isn't any less here than any public school. If anything, they're desperate for every ounce of drama. The voices pick up, causing the Dean to continue.

"She was mentally ill, sad."

Lies. Fucking lies. I knew it was coming. That's how Arcadia works. You never die from murder, hysteria, or anything scandalous. You die from mental illness, being sick, or unknown causes.

"She was a troubled young woman, unable to cope with graduating, going to Duponte, or even her studies. It's a lot of weight to bear."

We sit, barely escaping from teetering off the edge, waiting on what they've ruled her murder as. I refuse to look at Melissa, the twins, anyone but our Dean.

Trust no one.

Everyone's voice repeats in my mind. That random stranger wasn't the first to warn me from trust, but god, the way he looked into my eyes like he could see my soul scared me.

The realization that he is knowledgeable about the nefarious things that occur here isn't lost on me. It's fucking intimidating.

"She decided to take some substances," Rimbaur continues. "It affected her in ways we aren’t aware of, and she drowned in the lake."

Gasps ring out around us. Are they really this fucking daft? Seldom do we have deaths, but with Cassidy, Oliva, a senior the year before that... there's some bad shit going down, and they're ignorant if they can't see it. Do they not realize the lake is practically frozen?

I go to get up, but a hand on my shoulder stops me. When I peer to the left, I see Ross.

Bowing his head, his breath tickles my ear. "I told you to stay away, Colty. Why the fuck don't you ever listen?"

Turning toward him, I barely miss his lips. There's a deep-rooted concern in his eyes. They're hopeless. The sad boy I've always cared too much for is coming to the surface. "Keep your head down, okay? Whatever happens, just know... it wasn't intentional on my part."

"What are you talking about?" I whisper-hiss.

He closes his eyes slowly. Dropping a kiss to my forehead, he leaves, walking toward the front with the rest of the McAllisters. Everyone except Olivia... She never had a chance.

Rimbaur continues speaking about Yang as if she was troubled and not killed. After she finishes it, having the fucking balls to pretend to cry, she starts going over school announcements. We'll continue onto winter break. Tests are still finalizing this week, and the new semester will start January.

"We have a special guest here. He has come to announce something different. Apparently, it's a treat, one we're not used to."

What the fuck does that mean? I shake my head.

A man walks up the steps and to the podium. He's brutal and harsh looking. Not a smile or nice bone to be found anywhere near his face. There's this chilling way he absorbs the whispers of the room, demanding attention in an uncharacteristic kind of way.

"Arcadia," he bellows over the mic. Everyone flinches at the strength of his voice. It's deep, gravelly like a rocky road straight to the cemetery. "I haven't stepped in these halls for nearly twenty years."

He adjusts his tie, and then almost as if he knows I'm sitting exactly where I am, his eyes find mine.

"Today is special. Very much indeed."

People whisper, and I'm in the same boat, wondering what this man has to say and why he's taking this long to articulate it.

"What is he on about?" Mel asks, nudging my shoulder.

"Not sure," I mutter, not wanting to look away from the brutal man standing at center stage, staring at me like he's about to destroy my life.

"The Edgington Fund was created a few years back with the loss of my son, Maximillian. We always select a student to receive an internship position. As long as they're present during the assembly, of course." His