“Um, and why is he on the warpath?” I venture, my lips still tingling from our kiss. Spencer drops his hands into his pockets and grimaces slightly before reaching one up to run his fingers through his silver-ash hair.

“The twins texted to let us know you were safe, but when your dad started asking, I just said you were on a nature walk … for the last six hours.”

“We've been gone for six hours?!” I choke out, glancing over my shoulder at the darkening sky. There are strings of paper lanterns lit for the evening, as well as an array of decorative torches to ward off mosquitoes. “Crap, shit, fuck.” I chew my bottom lip and wonder if I can't fit in a quick shower before I—

Oh, nope, wait, there he is.

Storming toward me.

Face is … that funny purple-red color.

My mouth twitches.

“Char—” Dad catches himself, grits his teeth, and stops just a few feet from me. “Chuck Carson, where the hell have you been all day?” Wow. For Dad to use even a minor curse word must mean he's truly pissed off. Since he rarely shows much emotion, this is kind of a big deal. “And if you lie to me right here and now, not even your fake engagement to Mr. Montague is going to save you.”

“Excuse me,” Church says, appearing seemingly out of nowhere. I shiver, but also have to hold back a smile when I see him and Ranger waiting behind me, their faces severe, a pair of matching frowns in place. They've most definitely got my back, huh? Literally, in this case. “No offense intended, Headmaster Carson, but I really wish you wouldn't demean the validity of our relationship.”

A group of students passes us by, whispering and snickering. Of course Mark Grandam is part of the crowd, sneering in our direction. My father’s just essentially outed my engagement to Church to the whole school.

Archie’s nostrils flare and his hands curl into fists by his sides. Is this it, the moment he finally snaps? I wonder. It might be hard to understand why, exactly, I’d want my father to go into a rage, but it’s actually pretty simple. He rarely shows much emotion, so little that at times I wonder if he truly cares about me. But if he got mad, then I’d actually get to see that he has feelings, that he does love me.

Instead, he closes his eyes and reins it in, making my chest feel tight and my eyes sting.

“The twins and I stole some plum wine and saké from the restaurant, and drank it in a utility shed,” I say, looking him straight in the eye. If he can’t be honest about his own feelings, then why should I? “But the twins also slipped an extra hundred onto the counter to compensate the owner. We’re sorry we did it.”

“You’re stealing alcohol and drinking in secret now?” Archie grinds out, looking at the two McCarthy boys like he’d truly enjoy wringing their necks. He turns his blue-eyed gaze back to me, clearly struggling with what to do, how to handle me. I'm at that questionable age that straddles childhood and adulthood. Archie wants to fall back on old habits and order me around, but he can't do that anymore. He'll have to use that admittedly intelligent mind of his to find a workaround. “How am I supposed to respond to that?”

“How do you want to respond to it?” I ask, enjoying the shield of protection my engagement to Church is granting me. I keep my voice calm, and for once in my life, I hold my temper in as Archie struggles to grab onto his.

He just stares back at me, surrounded by the Student Council, and then he snaps.

For the first time in his fucking life, Archibald Carson loses it.

He reaches out and snags me by the upper arm in a tight grip, making me cry out.

“No.” That one word from Ranger, booming like a thundercloud. He steps between us, breaking my father's grip on me. “I won't allow you to touch her like that.”

“Mr. Woodruff,” Dad barks, but there must be something in Ranger's face that deters him from pressing much further. “You kids don't know what you're messing with,” he hisses out, a flash of pain crossing his features. It only lasts a split-second before it's gone, and I'm left wondering if I imagined it. “If you think I'm going to stand back and watch while you drink and … and …”

“Make love?” I question, and Dad flips his lid.

“Chuck Carson, you are asking to be shipped off to a military academy. Do you think I can't arrange that? Montagues or no, I am still your father, and until you're eighteen, you belong to me.”

“Okay, boomer,” I say, and this stillness settles over our little group. Dad's eyes darken and he steps back. Maybe that wasn't the best way to respond to him, but I'm getting tired of being yelled at, tired of the lies, and the secrets. Dad knows something, I can tell. Why else would he know what we're messing with? He withheld the information about Spencer and Eugene when he knew I was breaking. So why should I offer him any apologies or excuses right now? “There was a dead kid in those woods. There were people in fox masks. And Eugene Mathers did not hang himself. We all know those are facts. If you don't want to tell me anymore than that, fine, but don't expect me to rearrange my whole life to accommodate your needs.”

A long moment of silence follows my statement.

“Jason Lambert is missing,” Dad says, looking right at me, his face cooling to an impassive stone mask. “There are going to be hourly room checks tonight, and every night until this trip is over—maybe even after that. You might not want to listen to your father, but if you disobey your headmaster, I can and will expel you from this school.”

Archie turns away, leaving me there with an outer calm, and a broken, shattered heart.

“He’s serious about that, isn’t he?” I whisper, and it’s Church that glances my way first.

“I have a bad feeling that he is.”

Slowly, almost in a daze, I move over to my now-dry yukata, hanging on the clothesline, and pull the abandoned note from Mr. Murphy out of the pocket. As I’d expected, the ink’s run, and only one word is still readable.

“Run,” I whisper, just before the wind snatches it away and blows the note over the garden wall and into the dark woods beyond.

I throw my bags down on my new bed, the one that sits opposite Church Montague’s. I've been moved (more like kicked out) from the headmaster’s house to here, as his roommate. Spencer, Ranger, and Church got written up for switching rooms without permission, proving right out the gate that my dad is serious about his threats.

“You want to play a game with engagement? Fine. You can bunk with your future husband.”

That’s pretty much the only thing he’s said to me since I okay, boomer’d him at the hot springs.

“Make yourself at home,” Church says, lounging on his own bed, already dressed in his striped pajamas, the top fully buttoned to his throat, as per usual. He taps his long, elegant fingers on the surface of his bedspread as he watches me. “And don’t forget that tomorrow, you should wear the ring.”

“Are you sure about that?” I ask, flicking my gaze in the direction of the nightstand where the little velvet box sits. “Mark gossiping on social media is one thing, but do you really want to make this official?” I turn back to look at the Student Council President as he rises from the bed, unfolding that long, lean form of his in front of me.