Chapter 9 · The Bloody Lost-and-Found Key

The key hits the floor with a wet smack.

I'm still breathing hard from whatever Noah just did to the walls, from the weight of stone pressing in and then letting go. My ribs hurt. My throat's raw. And now there's a locker key spinning to a stop two feet from my boot, and it's got Eli's name scratched into the plastic tag.

The guy with the axe is already stumbling back toward the gate, clutching his arm. Blood's dripping through his fingers. He doesn't look at me. Doesn't look at the key. Just runs.

I drop to one knee and grab it before my brain catches up.

It's slick. Warm. The tag says ELI ROWAN in his stupid all-caps handwriting, the way he used to label everything in our shared apartment because he thought I'd steal his leftover curry.

I swallow. My hand won't stop shaking.

"Ivy."

Noah's voice comes from somewhere above me. Soft. Careful. Like I'm a live grenade.

"Don't," I say.

He doesn't.

I stand up slow, turning the key over. There's a locker number stamped on the back: 47. No rust. No scratches. It looks new. Which means someone's been holding onto it. Which means—