Thornhill Academy (By Sheridan Hartin) novel Chapter 65

My jaw drops. “You’re insufferable.”

He smirks without missing a beat. “And yet, here you are.”

“I’d rather eat glass.”

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12:50 Tue, Dec 30

My Tutor Abandoned Post

“Bet you’d complain less.”

:

73

I’m halfway to throwing my pencil at his face when the click of heels breaks through our bickering. I don’t even need to look up to know who it is, that voice, that purr, it’s unmistakable.

“Caaaage,” Vannah croons, dragging out his name like a melody as she slinks over to the table. A siren, the worst kind of distraction in a short, glittering skirt and an ego twice as shiny. I’ve learned the hard way to steer clear of her.

She slides an arm across his chest, pressing close enough that I actually hear his breath hitch. “You promised you’d help me with my project,” she pouts, lips in a perfect little mock frown.

Cage doesn’t even hesitate. He stands, smirking, letting her hand trail down his arm. “Guess we’ll have to continue our session another

time, Stray.”

And just like that, he’s gone, trailing after her like a lovesick puppy with a god complex.

“Good,” I mutter to myself, flipping my notebook shut. “Useless anyway.”

Except…he was supposed to help me with this damn question, and now I’m staring at it like it’s written in another language. After what feels like ten minutes of mental torture, I sigh, pushing my hair back. That’s when I notice movement near the back shelves where we have a smaller library. Professor Hill. He’s pacing down one side of the room, books in hand, his dark coat trailing just enough to make him look even more foreboding than usual. I hesitate; every student knows better than to bother Hill unless they want their soul examined under a microscope, but I need help.

“Sir?” I call softly, stepping closer.

He stops, slow and deliberate, and turns. The moment his storm-grey eyes land on me, I wish I could take the words back. They darken, sharp and unreadable, a silent weight pressing down on me until I actually take a step back. My throat goes dry.

“Miss Rivers,” he says in that deep, measured tone that feels like it can peel away your thoughts. “To what do I owe this…interruption?”

Oh, perfect. I’ve just volunteered myself for public execution.

I muster up every single ounce of courage I have and stutter out, “I… need help with a question, and my tutor just left me to go fuck some blonde bimbo.”

For a second, I swear I see Professor Hill blink, not in shock, but in that slow, did-she-just-say-that-to-me kind of way that makes my

stomach twist.

“I” I start again, realising exactly what just came out of my mouth, “I mean, not literally fuck, probably, but maybe? I don’t know, he

didn’t specify-”

His eyebrow arches, the faintest twitch of something like amusement flickering across his otherwise stoic face. “I see,” he says finally, voice smooth but edged like a blade. “So your… tutor has abandoned his post.”

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