RIOT HOUSE (Crooked Sinners #1) - Callie Hart Page 0,84

away, anyway. We have plenty of time to train for it if you’re interested. In the meantime, let’s get this assignment out of the way and ace this motherfucker. My mom promised I could go to Spain for spring break this year if I maintained my grades, and there’s this amazing tango festival in Granada I wouldn’t mind checking out. Hey! You should come! Oh my god, traveling through Europe together for a couple of weeks would be so much fun!” Carina’s enthusiasm’s contagious. I find myself nodding along with her, getting swept away in the excitement, but there’s no way I’ll actually be able to go with her. My father would never allow it. He’ll either expect me to stay put at the academy or come back to Tel Aviv, and I am so torn between the two options. I miss my friends and desperately want to see them, but staying with him in that house? For two whole weeks? I honestly don’t know if I would make it through to the other side.

We study, flipping through pages of textbooks and reference documents, sitting in companionable silence while we work, and the calm of the library sinks into my bones. The place is serene and full of light. I love being able to look out of the window and see the trees stretching on forever into the distance.

At around midday, my phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s on silent, but the vibration’s still noisy enough to get Carina’s attention. Her dark eyes flick up to meet mine, her brow arching into a question mark. “You gonna check that?” she whispers.

I take the phone out, tight-lipped, dreading what I’ll find. And sure enough, there’s Wren’s name blazing across the screen, sending my pulse rocketing skyward. “I’ll read it later,” I say, turning the phone over in my hand.

“Don’t be stupid. We’re miles away from the front desk. They can’t see you over here. Read your message. We aren’t prison inmates on lockdown.”

It’d be weird if I refused. I think it would be, anyway. I can’t remember how to not act suspicious now, and I’m questioning every little thing I want to say or do. I flip the device over in my hand, opening the screen with my passcode and the text messages open up automatically. Wren’s message sits there at the top in bold, ready and waiting for me to read it. My hand trembles as I tap his name, my eyes quickly skipping over the brief message that opens up for me.

WREN: Where are you?

Three words. Gee. I mean, I don’t know what I was expecting but three short, clipped words that somehow manage to convey the bastard’s extreme arrogance—well that’s underwhelming to say the least. Where am I? Like he has a right to know my location at all times? Uhhh, I don’t think so, buddy.

ME: None of your damn business.

“You okay, girl?” Carina asks, around the end of the pencil that she’s chewing. “You look like you’re about to hurl a chair through one of these windows.”

She’s too perceptive for her own good. Or I’m just really terrible at hiding my emotions. I should probably work on that. I cut her a sorry smile, sighing heavily. “Yeah. Just my dad. He’s…difficult to please. We don’t really see eye-to-eye on much.” The things I’ve just told her are one hundred percent true. Describing Colonel Stillwater as ‘difficult to please’ has to be the understatement of the century. And we don’t see eye-to-eye on anything whatsoever. I still lied to Carina by pretending it was my father who just messaged me, though. Wren Jacobi’s turning me into a liar, and I don’t fucking like it.

WREN: Are you at the academy or off-campus?

ME: I repeat: None of your damn business.

WREN: You might as well tell me. I’ll find you either way.

I send him the thumb emoji—the most passive aggressive of all the emojis.

ME: Good luck with that.

I stick my phone back into my pocket, resisting the urge to growl. Tapping the end of her pencil against the pages of the open book in front of her, Carina studies me sympathetically. “I’m lucky I get on with my folks. Seems as though every other student in this place has fucking sociopaths for parents. What’s your dad’s damage?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Yeah, y’know. Why’s he such a prick to you? Why does he treat you like dirt all the time?”

Because I remind him of my dead mother. Because I’ve seen what he’s capable of, and