Page 83 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

"—absolutely disgusting, if you ask me."

"Like, we always knew something was wrong with him."

"Right? He told the pharmacist the suppressant was for his girlfriend. Can you imagine being his girlfriend?"

Wait…

Are they talking about Wraith?

My hands curl into fists.

The urge to turn around and physically throttle these people is almost overwhelming, but I stay frozen, ears straining to catch every word.

"I heard there might be more pictures coming. From some medical facility he goes to, and⁠—"

My phone vibrates.

Then vibrates again.

And again.

I pull it from my pocket with shaking hands.

WHISKEY

Emergency. Tunnels. NOW.

Ivy seriously please come now

Wraith's ID got leaked and he's freaking the fuck out

I don't know what to do

Please

The word please from Whiskey—the man who jokes about everything, who thinks it's funny when he almost dies—scares the fuck out of me.

I fly out of my seat.

The couple in matching jerseys grumble as I squeeze past them, my knees banging against plastic seats. The college guys don't even notice me leaving. I duck down the stadium stairs, my heart hammering so hard I can feel it in my throat.

IVY

Oh my gods

On my way

Where exactly?

WHISKEY

Equipment storage closet, I'm in the hall. He won't let me near him

The maintenance entrance is exactly where I remember it. Two months of hiding in these tunnels means I could navigate them blindfolded. The familiar citrus tang of industrial cleaner hits me as I slip through the unmarked door.

My phone is still clutched in my hand, and against my better judgment, I open the fan chat that Whiskey's always scrolling through. The one he monitors obsessively because he thinks it's hilarious.

The first post makes my stomach drop through the floor.