The Missing Link (Book 1: Outcast) [CURRENTLY EDITING]

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX: THE SCALE OF JUSTICE

Rain pattered down in a bleak drizzle as I stared at the line of autumn-tainted buckthorn trees that bordered the courtyard. Their leaves faded from a yellowish green to a washed out orange color, each waiting for the moment a waft of wind whisked them away. For all intents and purposes, much like my case, they were struggling to hold on in hopes to avoid an unpreventable destiny.

I leaned back into the wall and closed my eyes. There were two secret spots only Jared knew I used to get away from everyone: the old music classroom that laid vacant since they constructed a new studio for band practice and the small bench in the far end corner of the courtyard. I'd chosen the bench today. Something about being close to the neighboring forest gave me a sense of freedom.

If only I climbed the fence and ventured through the thick trees and overgrown bushes, perhaps I could get away from it all. Perhaps the city would finally conspire with me and swallow me up before anyone got a chance to do it first.

The shrill scream of the bell told me otherwise, though, forcing me to gather up my things and head back into the crowded hallways. My blazer felt wet to the touch with the remnants of the weather outside, and I found one small leaf attached to the back of my shoulder once I hung it on the locker's hook.

Sighing at life's way of secretly confirming my ridiculous analogies, I turned around with the intention to head to Mr. Newman's class.

I was ready to face his lecture on the importance of responsibility when he asked for an essay I didn't do. Truth be told, it's not like I could validate the lack of homework from my part with the fact that I'd been too busy chasing a shape-shifter into the city, disturbing my comatose classmate at the hospital, getting attacked in the middle of the subway, and trying to escape a psychedelic teen who wanted to kill everyone by breaking an invisible wall no one knew about.

He would be reluctant to put the safety of the human world over Francis Bacon's approach on philosophical anthropology—that, and I also knew he wouldn't believe me.

Before I could step foot into the hallway that led to the second floor, though, a pair of hands gripped my shoulders, and I found myself spinning like a tango dancer until my back kissed the wall. I stared at the green-eyed brunette, a shameful smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Sorry about that. Our target was crossing the hallway."

"You need to decide whether you want me to talk to Hunter or not."

He blinked. "I thought you wanted a heads-up. You were about to run right into him."

Jared was right, but I doubted any heads-up or warnings from now on could lessen the nerves stirring inside of me. Regardless, I thanked him.

"Don't mention it," he said, peering over the side of my shoulder into the other hallway. "Coast is clear, Rhodes."

"Jared?" a familiar voice asked.