In Saturday Club, Vinh came over carrying a long, thin package. He held it like it was something holy.

  “Ms. Cho thought you’d prefer getting this from me rather than her,” he said.

  Curious, I sat down on the grass and pulled it into my lap. The paper rasped as I unwrapped it.

  Inside, lying on a length of dark silk, was a sheathed sword.

  “Oh,” I said. “She figured I needed one for patrols.”

  That made sense. What didn’t make sense was all the ceremony.

  Vinh must’ve seen the question on my face. “It was your father’s,” he said quietly. “It’s all that—” He cut himself off, guilt flashing across his features. “Sorry.”

  My throat tightened.

  He didn’t say anything else, just sat beside me on the grass for a moment, hands folded, giving me space to exist with it.

  I lifted it with both hands. The leather sheath was worn smooth in places, as if someone had gripped it a thousand times. I drew the blade halfway free.

  Blood red. Not painted—colored all the way through, like Vinh’s knife but longer. Shorter than Lillibet’s or Theo’s, a short sword. A line of runes marched down the blade starting just below the guard, carved clean and deep.

  Bone.

  I’d learned a while ago that all Kindred blades were made from Darklings’ bones, crafted by a specialized class of Kindred called bone smiths, for obvious reasons. The weapons held a piece of what the monsters had been—a twisted echo of their power, turned against their own kind.

  Tears blurred my vision.

  This was his. A connection to a man I barely remembered but missed every day. I ran my thumb lightly along the flat of the blade, careful of the edge, and for a second it felt like touching a ghost.

  I slid it gently back into the sheath, fingers lingering on the worn leather.

  Vinh cleared his throat. “Ms. Cho…ah, gave you permission to wear it on campus,” he said. “If you want.”

  I looked up at him. His expression was as calm as ever, but there was something careful in his eyes, like he was handling something fragile.

  “If I want,” I echoed.

  My fingers tightened around the hilt.

  “Yeah,” I said quietly. “I want.”

  ***

  Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  The next few weeks slid past like a collage.

  Saturday Club on the back field—grass stains, wooden swords, Mr. Okafor’s dry corrections. Theo’s easy smile across a sparring ring, sweat darkening his T?shirt. Laughing with Sketch under the study tree, pizza boxes between us and homework mostly ignored. Jamal belting out the song “Hey! Baby” at the top of his lungs while Ronni watched him with obvious heart eyes.

  Theo in Latin class, head close to one of our classmates—a human boy this time—their fingers casually entwined as they argued over a translation. The twins speaking in tandem in history, finishing each other’s sentences while the rest of the class tried to keep up. Janessa holding court in the dining hall, a half?circle of admirers tilted toward her like sunflowers.

  Theo snuggled between the twins on the couch in the student center, their legs a tangle as they shared a blanket and a bowl of popcorn. Theo leaning against my locker, flirting shamelessly; me pretending it didn’t make my pulse trip and absolutely failing.

  Sketch and Artem at a table in the quad, heads bent together over a drawing, graphite smudged on both their hands. Patrolling alleys and parks, the city a maze of shadow and sodium light—fighting monsters in ones and twos. Me cautious, counting exits. Lillibet untouchable, death’s line always a step behind her. Theo, reckless, throwing himself at teeth and claws with a wild grin and a black blade, like he was daring the Darklings to try him.

  One patrol blurred into another. Cold air burning my lungs, the taste of iron after a close call. My hands shaking just enough afterward that I had to sit on them while Lillibet calmly wiped her blade clean. Theo laughing too loud when it was over, adrenaline still buzzing in him like static, like he hadn’t noticed how close it’d been.

  ***

  I was halfway through my fries, sitting with the twins at our usual table, when I saw him.

  Theo, at the next table over, holding court like he’d been born there. Three girls, two boys, and the woman clearing trays in that section—all of them laughing, leaning in, glancing at his mouth when he talked. He brushed a hand down one boy’s arm as he made a point, bumped shoulders with a girl as he stole a fry off her plate, flashed the cafeteria worker a grin that made her shake her head and smile back as she wiped the table.

  It was…a lot.

  Heat crawled up my neck. I told myself it was secondhand embarrassment. It felt suspiciously more like something else.

  He caught my stare mid?gesture. His eyes met mine. The smile twitched, then he refocused.

  He murmured something to his audience, patted someone’s shoulder, and in the next breath he was sliding onto the chair beside me, displacing an empty tray. All charm and easy warmth.

  “Sinclair,” he said, leaning in. “What’s eating you?”

  “You are,” I snapped, then instantly regretted the wording.

  One of his eyebrows arched. “Flattered, but—”

  “How can you do that?” I cut in. “It’s shameless.”

  He blinked, genuinely confused. “Do what?”

  “The flirting,” I hissed, keeping my voice low so the twins wouldn’t have front?row seats to my meltdown. “The touching, the…everything. With everyone you see.”

  “Oh.” He sat back a little, considering. Then shrugged. “That.”

  He picked up one of my fries, twirled it between his fingers, then pointed it at me like a tiny, greasy sword.

  “Sinclair, life is messy, bloody, and short,” he said. “We might as well enjoy it while we can. Right?”

  He popped the fry in his mouth and beamed, like that settled that.

  I opened my mouth to tell him exactly what I thought of that philosophy, but I saw it happen—the mental lightbulb going on over his head. His grin managed to find a higher notch.

  “Oh,” he said again, in a different tone. “Are you…jealous?”

  The word landed like a slap.

  I made an inarticulate sound somewhere between a scoff and a growl, shoved my tray away, and stood up so fast my knee bumped the table.

  “Get over yourself,” I muttered, and stormed off before he could see that my ears had gone bright red.