Each day, Calla and her fragile heart are that little bit closer to death... but before she goes she'll prove to the world the boy she loves is no murderer.
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With a life steeped in wealth and privilege, Calla Pierce should be protected from t...
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People are celebrating. Drinking their way up and down the busy street lined with pubs and bars, every single one overflowing with people. Their exam results perched in their hands like medals of honour or screwed up in misery. If I ever bothered with social media, I'm sure I'd see nothing but shiny filtered smiles, overwritten words of joy and gratitude, and whatever else people usually post in situations like this.
Despite everything, I'd got my A levels - As in Biology, Psychology and Photography. It's not hard to study when you do nothing else. When you slam the door on the world. When you sink into a darkness that swells and swallows you. That eats away at you, one slice at a time. It's common, after a transplant, the doctors say. But in reality, it's because of him.
A ring of tea is currently circling my grades, the brown liquid soaking into the paper.
"You ever heard of a coaster?" I glance up from my mug to see Harrison looking down at me. His deep brown eyes soft, his beard twitching as always. He's dressed differently. I guess the man I saw when he was undercover wore a costume. He looks younger, and more relaxed in his well-cut wool bomber jacket and jeans.
"What do you want?"
"Still as charming as ever. I thought I'd find you here."
I snort and glance around at the tiny cafe. Apart from the pretty barista looking longly at the party that's happening on the street outside, the place is bare. Just a few empty tables and the smell of below-average coffee and fried bacon. I'd spent my days here for the last few months. Here, I'd studied. Here, I'd avoided my warring parents. Here, I'd avoided the absence of Alice, who'd already started a new life at a ballet school in London. Here, I'd evaded life at all costs.
"And how did you know I come here?"
"Well, I am a detective," he responds playfully.
I lean back in my seat, chuckling bitterly as I run my finger around the mug.
"Dad says things like that. It is supposed to mean something? Does it make you good people? Honourable people? Trustworthy people? I'm pretty sure there's a lot of people in this country who'd argue against that."
He swallows hard and then sits in the seat opposite me. The bored barista walks over, placing a fat brownie and steaming coffee in front of him with a weak smile. I frown. I hadn't even noticed he'd come in, but he'd ordered in this empty place without me even noticing. This is how separate I'd become from the world. I'm now permanently a beat behind. He doesn't hesitate; the brownie is stuffed into his mouth a moment later. Crumbs tumble down his lips. I roll my eyes, and the barista is grimacing as she walks back to her counter.
"You still eat like a pig," I snap as chocolate scatters into his beard.
"And as I said, you're still as charming as always." But he smiles, taking another bite. After swallowing, he wipes his mouth with a napkin and drops it onto his empty plate. I continue to sip my tea, trying to ignore the general numbness that clings to me. Maybe I should be unnerved by his presence. Maybe I should be curious. But I just feel nothing.
