chapter 7

The email did not have a sender. It did not have a signature. It did not even have a name in the “from” line. It had only those three words in the subject: We should talk. Sheila Feint held her eyes on the message until it faded out of frame. Her chest tightened as if the words had weight, as if they were burdening her ribs. She had read the message ...... one, two, three times, and each time it had a sensation of being drawn deeper into something she didn’t want to know. Her first instinct was to delete it. Her second was to dial Dr. Harlow. Her third move was back in the arena to confront Carter again. Yet none of these options felt safe. Not anymore. Why she said so: Because, now, she had a realization she hadn’t known. This wasn’t about her job. This was about her. Sheila swallowed, dry and sick to her throat. She didn’t love how quickly her brain flashed to possibilities. Someone wanted her. Someone wanted to dominate her. Someone wanted to use her. And she didn’t know who. Her fingers hung suspended above the phone screen. She didn’t click the message. She didn’t open it again. She just had to sit there, body rigid , rigid body, head rumbling, she felt. A world she had been told before, in the past, that was dangerous. She had ignored it. Now she was starting to believe it. A gentle vibration from her phone shattered the silence. Another message. Same sender. No name. No number. Just words. Don’t trust him. Sheila’s heart froze. She looked at the screen; she couldn’t breathe. She knew exactly who “him” was. Atticus Finch. So the words were not just warnings, although they were as though they were. They were a threat. Sheila’s reverie swirled back around to the day he had stood between her and Carter. How he had told her then, “She’s not part of your game.” How he had acted like a wall. The way he was treating her as if she was something. And now she had a message telling her to not trust him. Sheila closed her eyes. She despised how much it impacted her. She hated how much her mind tried to determine whether the warning was real or a trap. She didn’t trust anyone. But most of all she didn’t trust him. She didn’t know whether or not to laugh. She stood up and took her keys. She didn’t know where she was going, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep in her apartment because of those messages haunting her. She walked to her car, hands shaking, emails buried like stones in her mind. While driving, her eyes kept darting to the rearview mirror, as though hoping to catch her eye. She kept telling herself she was paranoid. But the reality was that paranoia was a perfectly appropriate reaction in a society that relied on cameras for falsehoods. Sheila didn’t know how long she drove. All she remembered was walking up to the arena, and the building appeared to be a fortress , frozen, tyrannical, unfeeling. She parked far from the entrance. She didn’t want anyone to know who she was. She was reluctant to give up hope. She didn’t want to draw a feeble image. But she also didn’t want to enter. She stood there a long moment, gripping the steering wheel and gripping it as tightly as she could. The air around her was thick with anticipation for her and felt more like an arena itself was expecting the moment of arrival. Then she did. Sheila entered through the doors as she was meant to. Like she wasn’t afraid. As if she wasn’t being observed. But she knew she was. The guard at the entrance looked at her, then looked away. His eyes were alert, as if he were running a trap. Sheila felt a cold pricking discomfort grow near her. She wasn’t sure if it was either fear or anger. She entered the training room. The noise hit her immediately. How skates cut through ice. The clatter of sticks. The men’s grunts pushing themselves to maximum limits. But underneath it all was the tension that had been building since the camera incident. It was about the same feeling that something was about to break. Sheila turned to the corner where she has always gone, clipboard in hand, and set about writing. The notes were stiff and mechanical, the form stiff and the style mechanical. She wasn’t in the numbers. It was in the emails. Her eyes continually dropped to the bench. Atticus Finch was there. He sat in silence, his helmet removed, eyes on the ice. His jaw was tight. His shoulders were tense. He seemed like a man who was holding himself back from something. Sheila watched him. She hated to watch him but she couldn’t stop. She heard him like a pulse in the air. Like a heartbeat. Then, seemingly sensing her attention, as if by sensing it he looked up into her eyes. Their eyes met. For that moment, Sheila was the familiar shock of being seen. Not as a person. Not as an intern. Not as an outsider. But as a target. Atticus’s eyes were pointed, watching, cold. He didn’t smile. He didn’t mock. He didn’t move. He simply stared. Then he stood. He didn’t walk toward her. He didn’t approach. He stopped a few feet away, close enough to be a threat. His voice was low, almost a whisper. “Did you get another message?”

Sheila’s heart stopped. She didn’t answer. Atticus’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t lie to me.”

Sheila swallowed. She hated that he could read her like that. She hated that he was right. “No,” she said quietly. Atticus’s expression tightened. “Then why are you staring at me like I’m the reason you’re here?”

Sheila’s mouth opened, but no words came out. Her heart pounded. She felt like she was drowning in the tension between them. Like every breath was a risk. Sheila finally forced herself to speak. “I’m here for my job.”

Atticus’s eyes flashed. “Your job isn’t in this room. It’s in your phone.”

Sheila’s skin prickled. “What do you mean?”

Atticus’s jaw tightened. “You don’t belong in this world, Feint. You’re not safe.”

Sheila’s voice rose. “I know that.”

Atticus’s eyes narrowed. “Then why are you still here?”

Sheila’s voice was sharp. “Because I’m not leaving.”

Atticus’s expression didn’t change. But there was something in his eyes that looked like frustration, like anger, like fear. “You don’t understand,” he said quietly. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”

Sheila’s hands tightened on the clipboard. “And you do?”

Atticus’s gaze held hers. Then he said, softer than before, “I do.”

Sheila felt her breath catch. She hated how that made her feel. She hated that she wanted to ask him what he meant. But she didn’t. Instead, she said, “Why are you protecting me?”

Atticus’s eyes flickered. “I’m not protecting you.”

Sheila stared at him. “Then why did you stop Carter?”

Atticus’s jaw clenched. “Because he was going to use you to get to me.”

Sheila’s stomach dropped. The words hit her like a punch. She didn’t know what to say. Atticus’s voice was steady, but there was a darkness underneath it. “You’re not just a problem to me. You’re a threat.”

Sheila’s eyes widened. “A threat?”

Atticus nodded slowly. “You don’t understand this world. You don’t understand how people like me survive. You don’t understand the rules.”

Sheila’s voice was icy. “Then teach me.”

Atticus’s expression hardened. “I’m not here to teach you anything.”

Sheila’s voice rose. “Then why are you talking to me?”

Atticus’s eyes narrowed. “Because I’m not the only one watching.”

Sheila’s heart pounded. The tension in the room suddenly shifted, as if something had been released. The players’ voices seemed louder. The ice felt colder. Sheila’s eyes moved to the bench again. Carter was there. He wasn’t approaching. He was watching. He was smiling. A slow, calculated smile. Sheila felt a chill run down her spine. Atticus noticed it too. His eyes snapped toward Carter. His body stiffened. He moved like a predator, stepping between Sheila and the man with the smile. Carter’s eyes met Atticus’s. “We’re still talking,” he said softly. Atticus’s voice dropped. “You stay away from her.”

Carter’s smile widened. “She’s not your property.”

Atticus’s eyes darkened. “She’s not yours either.”

Carter laughed. “You think you can protect her? You think you can control her? She’s just a pawn.”

Sheila’s blood boiled. She stepped forward, the clipboard trembling in her hands. “I’m not a pawn.”

Carter looked at her, amused. “Then why are you still here?”

Sheila’s voice shook, but she forced it steady. “Because I’m not scared of you.”

Carter’s smile faded. His eyes hardened. He leaned closer to her, voice low. “You should be.”

Sheila stood her ground. Atticus’s eyes locked onto Carter’s. “She’s not afraid.”

Carter’s gaze moved to Atticus. “Is that so?”

Atticus’s voice was quiet, dangerous. “She’s not afraid of you.”

Carter’s eyes narrowed. “Then she should be.”

The room felt like it had gone silent. The players watched. The trainers watched. Even the ice seemed to hold its breath. Sheila felt her heart pounding so hard she could hear it. Atticus stepped closer to her, so close she could feel the heat from his body. His voice was low. “Stay behind me.”

Sheila stared at him. “Why?”

Atticus’s eyes didn’t leave Carter’s. “Because he’s not the only one who wants to use you.”

Sheila’s breath hitched. She didn’t like the fear in her chest. She didn’t like how much she trusted him in that moment. But she did. Sheila Feint didn’t trust anyone. Except, apparently, Atticus Finch. And she hated that.