Here Lies a Saint (Here Lies #2) - C.L. Matthews Page 0,1

thinking it was in secret.

They really fucking believed I fell for their bullshit, that they cared about her. If they cared about her, if their hearts beat for her and they loved her, truly, then why hurt her by lying?

Colt doesn't know about the Emerald Vestige, nothing more than I've explained before I knew what it was. Even then, I knew nothing. Now, I would never let her join, but she's already a foot in. Becoming part of Student Government is a death sentence she signed in blood.

It's the beginning.

And she fucking fell for it.

I grab a glass of water and watch. Colt dances in the center. Ross and Lux surround her. Those fuckers better keep their distance. They're not worthy. They'll never be worthy as long as they're part of the societal death sentence.

She smiles at them, truly smiles. Her face morphs into one of happiness. Denying my little sister anything isn't something I'm keen on doing, but them? The toxic brutes who aren't who they say they are, the secrets they hide, and the life Colt could never have are all too much. She needs to get away. Get out of here.

My sister and I are always mistaken for twins. They're not far off. She's my Irish twin. Our eyes, our hair, and even our facial features are eerily similar. Being born eleven months apart is supposedly how our similarities happen, but in reality, I think it's our father.

His DNA is strong.

Pure.

A bloodline erased and eradicated from Arcadia years ago.

But Colt doesn't know, and I'll never tell her. Holding onto that information practically promises bad health and the inability to live freely.

Rotating for my water, it's refilled. I take a drink and notice when I turn around Colt is gone. As much as I would love to hunt her down, I have so much more to do.

After sipping the last drink of my water, I set it down and head toward the back entrance of the cabin, leaving the Crystal tower altogether. It's where initiations happen. There are five rooms and the main living area. A fireplace is here, a hearth.

Upstairs, there’s this old attic. All of us have tried breaking the lock to no avail. I'm hoping to get inside tonight, but with the lock, I’m a little nervous. I’m sure it’s like the books state, that there’s only three founding families who hold the keys and will be able to get in, my hope may be fruitless.

I take out my lock-picking kit. I've learned a thing or two over the last few years. It's what you have to do when you're determined to detangle a century's worth of lies and secrets.

Getting to the trunk of a tree isn't what matters. It's going to the roots tangled in the earth spread out as wide as the treetop itself and killing it from there. That’s where it begins to make a difference.

A click in the lock snicks when I've rotated the mechanism enough to match. When I open the door, my heart sinks.

It's empty.

There's absolutely nothing in this room.

Not a chair, nor a desk, and definitely not where I imagined finding the information I need.

Rushing out of there, I feel staying is too much of a risk. I shut the door, going upstairs and wondering if this whole thing is a setup or if they really have a vacant locked room for intrigue alone.

Taking the steps two at a time, I don't stop at the floor where we always hang out. Instead, I go up and up and don't stop until I've hit the top. The attic is another place on my list.

After pulling the drop ladder down, I finagle my way through. Looking around and not seeing any witnesses, I close the hatch and bring out my phone as a flashlight. When I turn it on, my heart stops.

It can't be.

My eyes run around the room, the very room I remember seeing as a kid. There's a hope chest engraved with Grim. A standing mirror is surrounded by cherry wood etched with daffodils and wheat. A big poster bed in the center is attached to a frame that matches the mirror and chest.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

I think of how much I remember about this room. What brought me here all those years ago. The fear laced in every breath I took.

The walls are bare. They're that eggshell color real estate agents inform you sells best when putting your house on the market. There's a carpet, old and withered but entwined