Chapter One: Three Hours From Now
The note was folded into a triangle, the way boys in middle school used to fold notebook paper before they threw it across a classroom, and Wren Calloway stood frozen at her open locker with it pinched between two fingers as though it might still be dangerous even now, even read.
STOP THE VOTE OR SOMEONE GETS HURT.
No signature. No handwriting she recognized, block letters pressed hard enough into the paper that she could feel the ridges on the back of the page. Her pulse was loud in her own ears, a single insistent drumbeat, and for one long moment the hallway noise around her, lockers slamming, someone laughing too close to her ear, sneakers squeaking on polished linoleum, seemed to come from very far away.
That was three hours from now.
She would learn to hate mornings that started ordinary and ended like this. But that Tuesday began the way most of them did, with her alarm going off at six fifteen and her father's voice already carrying up the stairs before she'd so much as opened her eyes.
"Wren. Car's at seven."
She dressed in the Ashcombe Prep uniform she had worn since freshman year, navy skirt, white blouse, the crest stitched in gold thread over her heart, and did not think, walking down the wide curved staircase of the house she had grown up in, that anything about the day would be different from any other. Her father was in the kitchen already dressed for the office, tie knotted with the same precision he brought to everything, reading something on his phone with the particular stillness he got when the Calloway Group's board was giving him trouble.
"Morning," she said.
"There's someone I need you to meet before school." He didn't look up. "In the study. Five minutes."
Wren had learned, over seventeen years of being Richard Calloway's only child, that someone I need you to meet rarely meant anything good. She poured coffee she wasn't allowed to drink black yet and carried it into the study anyway, half out of curiosity and half because ignoring her father in his own house had never once worked in her favor.
The someone was standing by the window, and her first thought, unhelpfully, was that he looked too young to be standing in her father's study with his hands clasped behind his back like a soldier at ease. Eighteen, maybe. Broad through the shoulders in a way his plain gray jacket didn't quite hide, dark hair cut short and neat, and an expression so carefully blank that it read, to her, as its own kind of statement. He didn't smile when she came in. He didn't do anything at all, actually, except look at her once, quickly, in a way that felt less like a greeting and more like an inventory.
"Wren, this is Kai Hartley," her father said. "He'll be starting at Ashcombe today, transferring in. He'll also be handling close protection for you, effective immediately."
"Handling," Wren repeated, "close protection."
"There have been threats made against the company ahead of the merger vote," her father said, in the same tone he used for quarterly earnings. "Serious enough that Voss recommended a full-time detail. Kai comes very highly rated for his age."
"I'm sure he does." She looked at Kai Hartley, who looked back at her without flinching, which she found almost more irritating than if he had smiled the way most of her father's security hires smiled, all teeth and no substance. "I don't need a bodyguard, Dad. I need you to not let people threaten the company in the first place."
"That's not how threats work, Ms. Calloway," Kai said. His voice was low, even, the kind of voice that didn't rise no matter what was thrown at it. "They don't wait for anyone to be ready."
"I wasn't asking you," Wren said.
"You were in the room," Kai said. "Seemed rude not to answer."
Her father's mouth did something that wasn't quite a smile, and Wren decided, right there in the study with her coffee going cold in her hands, that this was going to be a very long ten days.
*
He rode with her to school in the back of the car, which she hadn't expected, and sat with a folder open on his knee that he didn't seem to actually be reading, his attention moving instead in slow, unhurried sweeps between the tinted windows on either side. Up close, in daylight, he looked even younger than she'd first thought, and that bothered her more than the idea of a bodyguard twice his age would have. It was one thing to be shadowed by someone who felt like an adult making a decision about her safety. It was another to be shadowed by someone who felt, disturbingly, like a peer.
"You're actually enrolling," she said, when the silence had gone on long enough to feel like a dare. "Not just waiting in a car all day."
"Your father wants it low profile. A stranger loitering outside Ashcombe every day draws more attention than a transfer student in your econ class." He didn't look up from the folder. "I already have the schedule. We share three periods."
"Convenient."
"Planned," he said. "Not convenient. There's a difference."
"Do you always talk like you're issuing incident reports?"
That got the smallest flicker of something at the corner of his mouth, gone before she could decide if it had been real. "Only to people who make my job difficult."
"I haven't done anything yet."
"You will," Kai said, and it wasn't unkind, just certain, the way he said everything, like he'd already run the numbers on her and come out with an answer he wasn't going to argue about.
*
By lunch, half the junior class had a theory about the new transfer, and none of them were close. Wren sat at her usual table with her friend Priya, who kept sneaking glances across the courtyard at Kai, currently posted near enough to hear every table but not so near that anyone would think to ask why.
"He's not your boyfriend," Priya said, delighted, "and he's not your cousin, so what is he."
"He's a security consultant," Wren said, which was true and told Priya absolutely nothing.
"He looks like he'd catch a bullet for you and apologize for the paperwork after."
"Don't," Wren said, more sharply than she meant to, and Priya, to her credit, let it drop.
It was Milo Draven who didn't let it drop. He arrived the way he always did, unhurried, dropping into the seat across from her like he'd been invited, his tray balanced with the same easy confidence he brought to everything at Ashcombe, from debate club to the fact that his father's company was locked in a bidding war with hers. Wren had known Milo since freshman year. She had never quite decided whether she liked him.
"New friend?" Milo asked, tipping his chin toward Kai without quite looking at him.
"New transfer."
"Funny timing," Milo said, "with everything going on at Calloway Group right now." He said it lightly, the way he said most things, but his eyes stayed on her a beat too long, and something in Wren's stomach turned over that she didn't have a name for yet. "You'd tell me if something was wrong, wouldn't you, Wren?"
"Nothing's wrong, Milo."
"Good," he said, and smiled, and reached for his water, and it wasn't until much later, replaying it, that she would wonder why a boy who claimed nothing was wrong had asked the question at all.
*
The porch steps at the back of the school, three shallow stone stairs down to the athletics field, had never once given her trouble in three years of walking them. That afternoon her heel caught the edge of the top step, her bag swinging her off balance, and the ground tilted hard and sudden beneath her.
She didn't fall. A hand closed around her upper arm before she'd even finished registering that she was going to, steady and sure, and then Kai was there, close enough that she could feel the warmth coming off him through her blouse sleeve, close enough that for one strange, suspended second neither of them moved at all. His eyes, she noticed, up close, were a gray that looked almost silver in the afternoon light, and they were fixed on her with an intensity that had nothing professional left in it, just for that second, just before he seemed to remember himself.
"You're fine," he said, quiet, releasing her arm the moment she'd found her footing, and stepped back to exactly the distance he'd been keeping all day, as though the last five seconds hadn't happened at all.
"Thank you," she said, and heard how unlike herself she sounded, breathless in a way that had nothing to do with almost falling down three stone steps.
"It's the job," Kai said, but he didn't quite meet her eyes when he said it, and Wren, walking the rest of the way to the car with her heart still going too fast, found she did not entirely believe him.
*
She didn't think about the note again until she opened her locker after last period to get her jacket, and found it sitting on top of her books, folded into a precise, deliberate triangle, block letters pressed hard into the paper.
STOP THE VOTE OR SOMEONE GETS HURT.
Wren stood there with it in her hand, the hallway emptying around her, and for the first time all day she understood, all at once and completely, that her father had not been being dramatic when he called in a bodyguard, and that whatever this was, it had already found her.
She turned to look for Kai. He was already crossing the hallway toward her, fast, his eyes on the paper in her hand before he'd even reached her, and the look on his face told her, more clearly than anything he'd said all day, that he had been expecting this note, or one exactly like it, since the moment he walked into her father's study.
"Don't touch anything else in there," he said, low and urgent, already reaching for his phone. "Wren. Who else has your locker combination?"