Chapter 87

The talking and giggling soon starts up again, and I can very clearly hear remarks made intentionally for me. I ignore them. They’ll get what’s coming to them; it’s just a matter of time. I exhale and glance up at the Gallery. There’s a scattering of familiar faces up there: John Hannibal, Gregory Van Horn, Ebony Peterson. And Creed Cabot.

His blue gaze drops down to mine, eyes widening imperceptibly before he controls himself, fading back into the bored royalty routine. I don’t look away and neither does he; it feels like a challenge, and I refuse to back down. Day one, step one, remind the Idols that I’m not one of their groupies. Creed holds my stare, his eyes narrowing the longer our confrontation continues.

All around us, people stop talking and turn to stare, watching the exchange with drool hanging from their mouths. Okay, so not really, but they might as well. They all look like wolves, smacking their lips in anticipation of a fresh kill.

That is, until the