05

"WHOA, WHOA, WHOA," I said, alarmed. I turned to the guy now sitting next to me. "Personal space, buddy," I told him, to which he scooted only slightly.

He had brown hair and a goofy smile on his face, but it did nothing to wipe away my unease.

I had learnt basic self-defence—my father had seen to it. I enjoyed it for most part. I always wanted to learn how to fight. It was the result of watching shows and reading books with a lot of violence.

"I'm Parker," the brown haired, dark skinned guy sitting next to me said.

"I don't care," I replied.

I shifted my gaze to the two others sitting from across me.

One of them was leaning forward, with his hands on the table, pale hair ruffled and green eyes sparkling with curiosity. The other one looked more comfortable. He was leaning back against the back of the seat, an arm thrown over it. His black hair was falling over his face, and his blue eyes just ran over me lazily. He looked somewhat familiar.

He was a perfect portrait of swaggering arrogance.

I felt the irrational urge to punch his teeth down his throat.

"Three questions: Who are you? What do you want? What will it take me to get rid of you?"

I was being a little harsh, but I thought I was allowed to be after my personal space was invaded and I was hungrier than a desiccating vampire.

"Damn," the one next to me—Parker—whistled.

"We need to talk," the green-eyed one said.

Talk about what? I didn’t even know them.

"Answer the questions," I replied.

"Justin," the blue-eyed one answered my first question. "I'm Justin Black, and this is Draco Snow." There was annoyance in his voice which irked me in turn. He had no right to be annoyed when he was the one who had barged into my personal space.

"What the hell? It's just Drake," said Drake.

"Shut up, Drake."

"No, you shut up."

"Both of you, shut up," Justin supplied.

I felt myself blank out at their last names, almost zoning out of the conversation until I made the connection.

I started in my seat, shock filling my voice when I spoke, "Justin Black? As in—"

"Raymond Black, yes," he answered, and there was no emotion in his voice. The words were hollow, like he couldn’t bear to feel them.

"You're Raymond's son?" I said, completely stunned. Justin’s grim told me enough. "And you're William's son," I turned to Drake.

"Yes," Parker replied, smiling, not noticing the change of mood. He seemed a little too . . . exuberant.

"I have no reason to believe you," I said flatly. "You could be imposters."

It was the truth. They could just be pretending to get a kick out of it or something. But the fact that they had recognized me sent a chill down my spine. I couldn’t afford to get recognized this easily. I couldn’t afford to let my father know my whereabouts.

“We’re not imposters—”

“Prove it,” I cut him off.

"When you were eight, you had a life size figure of one of the power puff girls in your room," Justin said boredly. Like he hadn’t gone into her room like a stalker.

I was horrified because it was the truth. I choked, "How did you—"

He grinned lazily, and all of his reckless beauty knocked the air out of me. "I'd been in there once when my father brought me along to wait out a meeting."

"You can't just walk into someone's room like that," I said.

If he had been there with his father then it must have been a long time ago. More than a decade ago.

Had he been there the night his father was killed?

"I was nine," he retorted.

“Show me some ID,” I said. There was no way I was going to believe them without any proof.

Justin dragged a hand down his face in a sort of epic despair, as Drake sighed and fished his wallet out of his back pocket.

He swished out a card and held it directly in front of my face.

And indeed, the driver’s licence read Drake Arden Snow.

"So, you really know who I am, then," I stated shakily.

Raymond and William were never brought up in the Shade Mansion. It was an unspoken decision. I had no clue that either of them had children. I hadn’t had the chance to ask questions about them because every single time I brought them up, dad would shut down my inquiries. I had figured that it was too painful for him to talk about.

It had been understandable. Having your friend murdered by another was as worse as it got. I had often thought of whether the shock and betrayal of it all still stung my father.

Justin smirked, wearing the look of someone who knew a lot more than they let on. "We know a lot more about you than you think," he said.

"Right," I said, meeting his gaze levelly. "Because that's in no way creepy or stalkerish."

"We need to talk," Drake repeated, tipping his head closer like he was telling a secret. "About your father."

"Why?"

"We need your help," he said.

"And why would I help you?"

Why would I help three strangers whom I literally just met? Strangers who could be plotting something horrible as we spoke. All this was absolutely bizarre.

"Because I have a feeling that you'd rather know the ugly truth than hide behind it in your paradise of obliviousness as you have been incessantly," Justin said, and he started to look like he actually cared about what was happening here.

I gritted my teeth. He had no right to say things like that when he didn’t even know me.

"And this is about my father?" I leaned back into the cushion, narrowing my eyes at them.

"Who do you think was to blame for the death of Raymond Black, Autumn?" Drake asked.

This wasn't something I was expecting. I would name his dad but that only seemed cruel and unsympathetic. "I—I was told that William Snow—"

"Eh," Justin imitated the sound of a buzzer. He shook his head. "Wrong."

I didn't like where this was going. I didn't like it one bit.

"But everyone—"

"Eh."

"You know that—"

"Eh."

He was really starting to get on my nerves.

"Why don't you just give me the answer yourself?" I snapped, not bothering to hide my annoyance.

He leaned forward; hands folded over the table. His eyes turned serious, the blue in them like coloured smoke churning under glass.

"Your father did."