Chapter 239: Of Grenades And Dilemmas
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘⭒❊✿❊⭒∘∙⊱⋅•
Adrien was across from me, legs stretched out, one ankle crossed over the other, staring at the floor like he had a personal vendetta against it. He hadn’t said more than three words since we left the hotel, and the silence between us was thick, filled with all the things we weren’t saying.
Occasionally, his knee would bounce a couple times, then stop, as if he was trying to hold back from pacing the length of the limo. I wanted to reach out and squeeze his hand or crack some silly joke about us being in our own low-budget thriller, but the words just wouldn’t come. So instead, I watched the city lights blur across his face, trying not to dwell on how badly this could all go south.
When the limo finally turned onto the long, winding drive leading to Willow Haven, the estate lights beamed against the night like a beacon that had lost its welcome months ago. Home didn’t feel like home anymore; it was more like the opening scene of a horror film where everyone insists "nothing’s changed" right before the floorboards start creaking.
School the next morning hit me like a bucket of cold water after a fever dream. The hallways still smelled the same—industrial cleaner mixed with teenage sweat and whatever cheap body spray the freshmen overused...and the bell rang with its usual shrill urgency, but everything felt sharper, more real, like my skin was on edge.
Not to mention how everyone seemed to have this fear and respect for me...now that I was now a part of the legendary Fell family.
I waited outside the gym as planned, leaning against the cinder-block wall with my backpack at my feet, scrolling mindlessly on my phone just to look busy while I listened for the unmistakable squeak of sneakers and hushed voices coming through the double doors because I didn’t feel like going in today.
Adrien and Ethan were still inside, supposedly running basketball drills for the upcoming scrimmage, though the muffled shouting sounded more like a verbal showdown with sports gear. I caught snippets through the crack in the door.
"That was a foul, you asshole!"
"Don’t be a sore loser, Seymour."