Page 86 of Ghost Ribbon

After another hour of listening to some old bastard drone on about “the future of our great institution,” I slipped away. I moved through the crowd until I reached the side door that led to the narrow stairwell. The same one I had used last year.

The rooftop was different this time.

Someone had clearly prepared it. Thick blankets were spread across the stone in careful layers, layered with an absurd number of pillows. Several telescopes stood on tripods near the edge, their lenses pointed toward the sky.

I walked to the center of the roof and stopped, tilting my head back to stare at the stars.

Last year, this same rooftop had changed everything.

I had killed a man here. Matt Langford. Strangled the life out of him while the stars watched. And then Marco had appeared in that doorway and turned my world upside down.

The door behind me creaked open.

I turned.

Marco stood in the doorway.

He was wearing a cream-colored top that looked soft against his skin, tucked into dark, loose pants that moved when he walked. A thin silver chain served as a belt, tied at the front with a very small black ribbon. The outfit was simple but elegant in a way that suited him far better than the stiff formal wear most people had on downstairs. His curls were slightly tousled from the wind, and the city lights below caught on the delicate chain at his waist.

God, he was beautiful.

Isn’t this déjà vu?

“I didn’t know you were coming to this, I would have picked you up,” I said.

He hesitated in the doorway, one hand still resting on the frame like he wasn’t sure if he should stay or turn around and run.

“I’m expected to attend,” his voice was soft. “Previous scholarship students have to be here. It’s part of the agreement. The academy wants us visible during big events, proof that their program works. We’re supposed to represent them. If we skip something like this, it looks bad on the whole scholarship initiative. They can make things difficult for us after.”

“I won’t be lonely then.”

Marco blinked, clearly surprised by the answer. His cheeks colored faintly as he stepped fully onto the roof and let the door close behind him.

His eyes flicked around the rooftop before finally settling on me.

When he was close enough that I could see the way the city lights reflected in his hazel eyes, I spoke. “Are you scared?”

He swallowed.

The motion was small but telling. His throat bobbed, and for a second his gaze dropped to the stone where Matt Langford’s body had once lain last year. When he looked back up at me, his voice was quiet.

“Is there a dead boy here?”

I chuckled. “No. Not this time.”

Marco took a deep breath, then stepped forward until he was standing beside me at the edge of the roof. He didn’t look at me again right away. Instead, he tilted his head back and stared up at the stars, the same way I had been doing before he arrived.

“…Can I ask something?”

I glanced at him.

“Why did you kill that person?”

“He annoyed me.”

Marco turned his head then, looking directly at me. I couldn’t quite read his expression. There was something thoughtful in it. Something searching.

I knew what he was thinking.