Haunted Rayne

26 | The Sun's Requiem (part 3)

Rayne Foster's heart was pounding as she filed books in the library. She worked mechanically, her fingers tracing the spines of books as she organized them on the mahogany shelves. Every few moments, she would steal a glance at the entrance, hope dwindling with every minute that ticked by. The silence of the library was occasionally interrupted by the creaking of a door and the soft rustle of paper. Rayne's heart sank every time the sound of footsteps didn't belong to Lucas. The lavish surroundings—golden tapestries, intricate carvings of mahogany—felt cold and distant.

As Rayne's shift neared its end, she was thoroughly panicked. The dread had already been building since detention, an insidious whisper in the back of her mind telling her that something was wrong. She kept picturing him in her mind, as clear as a vision, stepping through that entrance, garden stains over affluent clothing. But the library remained still. Neglected. And the minutes dragged on in oppressive silence.

When her shift was over, Rayne wasn't sure what to do, where to go. She had to find him—find someone who had seen him, at least. She pushed open the heavy doors and almost collided with something. 

Cole had been waiting for her, just outside the library. 

His face was a map of violence—a freshly split lip, glistening with the sheen of drying blood, a jagged cut across his high cheekbone, and a white bandage over a bruised nose. Another bandage still circled his knuckles from the fight a few days ago, too.

The sight of him battered and bruised was a reminder of the last time they saw one another. The explosive confrontation between Cole and Lucas in the courtyard—only this time, it seemed Cole was the one injured. She wondered what mess he had gotten himself into now, but at the moment, didn't really care enough to ask.

Cole's usual smirk was shadowed with a concerned frown, though he seemed to force its resurrection. "Well, well. Look who's still throwing herself at me."

"Cole," she said, nodding and pushing past him.

"That's all I get? An awkward nod?" He stepped in front of her again, his movements a little too quick, too urgent. The sight of his tattooed arms, flexing as he crossed them over his chest, combined with the disheveled state, amplified the uneasy air of intimidation that circled him. "At least Luke gave me this." He pointed to his face.

Rayne's eyes widened. "You two fought again? Is that why he missed detention? Cole, where is he? Did you hurt him?"

"Uh, hello? Look at me. Would it kill you to send some of that concern my way?"

Rayne's brow furrowed, but the worry clawing at her insides only deepened, and Cole stepped closer, the closeness making her body tense up. The panic in her eyes must have done something, though, because his expression softened, a flicker of doubt crossing his eyes, like he hadn't expected to find her so shaken up.

"Rayne," he said slowly. "What's going on?"

"Nothing."

"Yeah, Luke said that, too." His tone sharpened as he spoke, the edges of frustration curling into his words. "But you've both lied to me enough that I'm finally starting to catch on. What's really going on? He looked terrified."

"Do you know where he is?" she asked, her composure cracking. She hated how her voice wavered, but the image of Lucas somewhere hurt—or worse—drove needles of fear deeper into her heart.

"No." His jaw tightened. "Came to see you."

Rayne huffed and tried stomping past him. "Look, another time, okay?"

"Well, I'll help you find him," he said, rushing to keep pace beside her. She shot him an irritated glance, only to be met with something softer. His bravado slipped. "Look, I know things between us are . . . complicated right now. But it's obvious you're in trouble, and I can't just sit by when you clearly need me." He ignored her scoff and faced the corridor ahead. "And you're sure he's not just in his dorm by now?"