Chapter 13
The bar smelled like stale beer and regret. Andrea wrinkled her nose as she pushed through the heavy wooden door, stepping into the dimly lit space. The air was thick with smoke, the flickering neon sign above the counter casting an eerie glow on the room.
Her eyes scanned the bar until they landed on a man slumped in the corner booth. His overgrown beard was streaked with gray, and his clothes looked like they hadn’t been washed in weeks. A half-empty bottle of whiskey sat on the table in front of him, his fingers loosely wrapped around a glass.
Andrea hesitated. This couldn’t be him.
She approached cautiously, her sneakers barely making a sound on the sticky floor. “Detective Lawrence?” she asked, her voice soft but steady.
The man looked up sharply, his bloodshot eyes narrowing as he took her in. “Who’s asking?” he growled, his voice rough and slurred.
“I’m—” Andrea faltered, unsure how much to reveal. “I’m a student at Blackthorn Academy. I’m looking into…” She hesitated again, then said the name that had brought her here. “Emma. Your daughter.”
The glass slipped from his hand, clattering loudly against the table. For a moment, he just stared at her, his eyes wide and unblinking.
“Emma?” he finally croaked, his voice barely audible. “You knew her?”
Andrea shook her head, sliding into the booth across from him. “No. I didn’t know her, but… something happened to her, didn’t it? And I think it’s connected to what’s going on at Blackthorn.”
Detective Lawrence let out a bitter laugh, leaning back against the torn vinyl seat. “Connected,” he repeated, shaking his head. “That’s one way to put it.”
Andrea leaned forward, lowering her voice. “What happened to her? Why did she disappear?”
He reached for the whiskey bottle, pouring himself another drink with trembling hands. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he muttered.
“Try me,” Andrea said firmly.
Lawrence’s eyes flicked up to hers, and for the first time, she saw something other than despair. There was anger there, and fear.
“They own that place,” he said, his words slurring but sharp. “The Sinclairs. They own Blackthorn, they own the town, they own everyone in it. You think anyone’s gonna stand up to them? You think anyone’s gonna listen to some washed-up cop like me?”
Andrea’s heart pounded in her chest. “Are you saying the Sinclairs had something to do with Emma’s disappearance?”
Lawrence laughed again, the sound bitter and hollow. “Had something to do with it? Hell, they orchestrated it. That Nathaniel Sinclair—” He broke off, his jaw clenching as if the name itself was poison.
“What about Nathaniel?” Andrea pressed, her voice barely above a whisper.
Lawrence’s hand tightened around the glass, his knuckles turning white. “He and Emma… they were close,” he said, his words heavy with implication. “Too close. I told her to stay away from him, but she didn’t listen. And then one day…” He trailed off, his voice cracking.
Andrea’s throat tightened. “And then what?”
“They told me she ran away,” he spat, his voice suddenly venomous. “That she couldn’t handle the pressure at Blackthorn. But I know my daughter. Emma didn’t run. She was taken. And when I started asking questions, they made sure I couldn’t ask anymore.”
His eyes darkened, and he leaned closer, the smell of alcohol heavy on his breath. “You think this is just some school? You think the Draw is just a game? It’s all a way to control people, to keep everyone in line. And the Sinclairs? They’re the ones pulling the strings.”
Andrea sat back, her mind racing. Was he telling the truth, or was this just the ramblings of a broken man? She wanted to believe him, but something about his wild eyes and slurred words made her doubt.
“I don’t know who you are, kid,” Lawrence said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “But if you’re smart, you’ll get out of there before they come for you too.”
Andrea stood, her legs shaky beneath her. “Thank you,” she said quietly, not sure what else to say.
He waved her off, already reaching for the bottle again. “Don’t thank me,” he muttered. “Just don’t be stupid.”
When Andrea reached her dorm, Liam was waiting.
He leaned casually against the doorframe, his golden hair catching the faint light from the hallway. His grin was easy, but his eyes sharpened as they landed on her.
“Well, well,” he drawled. “Back from another one of your mysterious little errands, are we?”
Andrea sighed, brushing past him. “Not now, Liam.”
He followed her inside, his teasing tone shifting as he got a closer look at her face. “Hey.” He grabbed her wrist gently, stopping her. “You okay? You look… I don’t know, pale.”
“I’m fine,” Andrea said quickly, pulling her arm free. “Just tired.”
Liam didn’t buy it, but he didn’t push. Instead, he sank onto Sophie’s bed, stretching out like he owned the place. “You know, you’re a terrible liar,” he said lightly.
Andrea rolled her eyes, dropping her bag on her desk. “You here for a reason, or just bored?”
“Maybe both,” he admitted, propping himself up on his elbows. “You’re… interesting. I don’t like being left out of interesting things.”
Andrea hesitated, unsure how much to say. “Liam, do you remember Emma Lawrence?”
The question wiped the grin off his face. His easy demeanor hardened, his bright eyes dimming just slightly. “Why are you asking about Emma?”
Andrea shrugged, trying to sound casual. “Her name keeps coming up. I’m just curious.”
Liam stood, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Some things are better left in the past, Queenie.”
Before Andrea could press him, Sophie burst into the room, her arms full of books. “Oh, good,” she said breathlessly. “You’re back. Room check’s in ten, and I covered for you, but they’re asking questions, Andrea.”
Andrea shot her a grateful look. “Thanks, Soph.”
Sophie nodded, then glanced at Liam, her brows furrowing. “You’re still here?”
Liam’s grin returned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Always a pleasure, ladies,” he said smoothly, backing toward the door. “Until next time.”
