Chapter 51
Chapter 51:
“You can pay cash, can’t you?” she asked loudly. “Or are the Kensingtons… illiquid p>
Liam turned red. He had maybe two hundred dollars in his wallet. Not one hundred and eighty thousand.
“I have to make a call,” he stammered.
“Take your time,” Skye said.
She turned to the clerk. “Actually, cancel the order. I realized I have taste p>
She walked out of the store, leaving Liam standing there with a neon fur coat and a handful of useless plastic, the flashes of the cameras devouring him alive.
She got into a taxi. She pulled out her phone.
To: Alistair
I need a place to stay. I’m coming back to The Spire. Make sure the guards know not to let him within a hundred feet.
From: Alistair
The penthouse is secure. I’m coming to get you.
Skye looked out the window. The city blurred by. She was done playing. The war had just begun.
The notification on Skye Sterling’s phone vibrated against her palm like a trapped insect. She didn’t need to look at the screen to know what it was; the whispers that had been following her since she stepped onto the Sea City University campus told her everything she needed to know.
She adjusted her oversized sunglasses, the dark tint acting as a barrier between her and the world. Her hoodie was pulled up, shielding her face, but it did little to block out the sensation of eyes boring into her back. It was a physical weight, heavy and suffocating.
“That’s her, right? The one from the Twitter thread p>
“Yeah, the ‘Kensington Scandal.’ I heard the divorce is getting messy p>
“Look at her clothes. Guess the rumors about her being cut off are true p>
𝖱e𝘀рe𝖼𝗍 𝗍𝗵e о𝗋іgiոal 𝘤𝗼𝗻𝘵е𝘯𝗍 𝘧𝗋o𝗺 𝘣𝗲𝘭𝗻𝗈𝗏е𝘭ѕ.с𝘰𝗺
The words floated through the crisp autumn air, sharp and distinct. Unlike the initial confusion weeks ago, the students now spoke with the conviction of people consuming a serialized drama.
Skye didn’t flinch. She kept her breathing steady, counting the rhythm of her steps on the concrete. In for four. Out for four. Panic was a luxury she couldn’t afford. Panic was for the old Skye, the one who cared what people thought.
She turned the corner toward the cafeteria, intending to grab a coffee and disappear into the library, but a wall of students blocked her path. They were clustered around the large cork noticeboard, their heads bent together like conspirators. A few were laughing. It was a cruel, jagged sound that grated against Skye’s nerves.
She stopped. Her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag until her knuckles turned white. She knew she should walk away. She knew engaging would only feed the fire. But the strategist in her, the part of her that was now The Oracle, needed to assess the damage.
She pushed through the crowd. She didn’t say “Excuse me.” She simply moved with a cold, kinetic force that made people step back instinctively.
The crowd parted, revealing the display.