Chapter 16: The Check In
It was for a purification by fire. He stayed until the first gray light of dawn seeped around the blinds, until Scott stirred, disoriented and embarrassed. Luke made him eat toast, told him to drink water, and left only after extracting a promise for a check-in later in the week.
A week later, Luke met Scott at a coffee shop to check in on him. The place was all exposed brick and the sharp, acidic scent of arabica beans. Scott was already at a small round table by the window, hands wrapped around a large mug.
“You look better,” Luke said, sliding into the chair opposite. It was true. The hollows under Scott’s eyes had softened, and his posture held less of that crumpled defeat.
“I am. Sort of.” Scott offered a faint smile. “Thanks for being there that night. I was… I was in a bad way.”
“Any time.” Luke meant it as a permanent offer. “What’s the damage?”
Scott took a breath. “The investigation by the program was dropped. My advisor said it was clearly a predatory publication and my academic record stands. They’ve issued a statement supporting me.”
A thread of tension in Luke’s shoulders unwound. One less thing to burn. “Good. That’s good.”
“We have a group session tonight,” Scott said, his finger tracing the rim of his mug. “Me, Veronica, Dale, Rebecca, and Nikki. We talked. We all agreed we want Michelle out. We’re going to tell Dr. Mittal it’s her or us. I don’t think she’ll even show up.”
“She’d be smart not to,” Luke said, his voice casual. Inside, he pictured her car leaving the road, the satisfying crunch of metal. He took a sip of his black coffee. It tasted like nothing.
They chatted about life stuff. Scott talked about his thesis proposal on trauma-informed care. He mentioned Ethan was trying to make up for the party night, but the words felt flat, unconvincing. Luke listened, nodded, offered the appropriate hums of response.
But his mind was a separate chamber, a vault counting down.
Today was the day. Right now, probably. Noah Kemp with his collection of straight razors. The Alpha Rho house. The basement laundry room. Liv Kirishima. The final gate. Nancy’s voice slithered through his thoughts: Once she’s marked by survival, the hunt can begin.
His coffee cup was a ceramic island in a sea of static. Scott was saying something about a new Thai place, his hands animated. The morning sun caught the delicate bones of his wrist.
Luke felt a terrifying wave of double vision. He saw the man before him, smiling tentatively, rebuilding. And he saw his Scott, the prize, waiting in a gilded cage at the end of a path paved with the corpses of five women who had already seen hell once. He just hoped he could keep Scott out of it as much as possible. The hunt was a sacred, bloody line. Scott existed on the other side of it, the radiant destination, and Luke would annihilate anything that tried to blur that line.
“Luke? You okay?”
He blinked. Scott was peering at him, concerned.
“Fine,” Luke said, the word automatic. He offered a smile that felt like a plank laid over a chasm. “Just tired. Long night ahead.”
The lie was perfect. It contained everything.