Page 3 of The Order of the Bitter Hunt

Chapter Two

Isit at the center of the quiet stage with my feet dangling off the edge. There are only two options for me: I either revitalize my love of performing or mourn it once and for all. Professor Connolly wasn’t as dramatic during our conversation, of course, but it’s a matter of principle. A life of mediocrity isn’t an option for me.

But… she was right.

I haven’t been able to put my heart into performing lately, and I can’t pretend otherwise. Everyone on campus thinks the murders will end now that Amelia is gone, but I know they won’t.

It will happen again. And again.

At last, I understand Tobey and their all-too-erratic nature—damn them. We’re surrounded by people who are ignorant about the murders, and if no one else will fight for the truth, we will. Tobey spent last year feeling like they were screaming into a void, begging anyone to see the world as they do.

Well, they have me now, and I’m determined to stay by their side, no matter how bleak the position is.

That may require giving up my dreams, and I don’t want to. It’s unfair. Why must I be burdened with knowledge whileothers prance around campus, free of the stressors of life and death?

Just when I think my day can’t get any drearier, Jun approaches. Of course,he’shere; this semester’s play rests on his broad shoulders.

He pushes his long, black hair out of his face and fixes me with a disgruntled look. His dark jeans and leather jacket perfectly pull together his wannabe bad-boy aesthetic, but no matter how much effort he puts into looking effortless, I find him unimpressive.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” he says. “Are you practicing your three lines already?”

His voice is rough, even when he doesn’t mean for it to be, and I’ll admit the gravel in his tone makes him far more attractive than he has any right to be. I would never say it aloud, of course, and I don’t need to. He gets enough compliments from his many adoring fans around campus.

Adding to his massive ego is not on my agenda.

“No.” I cross one leg over the other. “Not practicing just yet. I was having a moment of peace until you interrupted it.”

“This isn’t the best place to do that.”

“Sure, it is. It’s not as if you need to practice on the stage.” I roll my eyes. “You can go somewhere else. Ta-ta.”

“I need more practice than you do.”

“Strange way of admitting you’re a talentless hack.” I jump from the stage in a smooth motion, prowling closer.

He and I met in our freshman year. At first, we were mere acquaintances, but as we worked together more, tensions rose. Strode has the best supernatural theater program in the country, and with Jun constantly picking at my performances—and me doing the same—we began to view one another as competition rather than collaboration. Somewhere along the lines, it twisted into our current rivalry, and it’snotthe friendly sort.

No, the way he looks at me is anything but affable. Venom flashes behind his crimson gaze.

“Lashing out at me won’t get you a better part,” he says. “The only way you can do that is with a time machine.”

“There will be other plays. Professor Connolly is giving someone else a chance, that’s all. She’s a charitable woman.”

But I won’t be around for many future performances. Nor will Jun, unless he’s a worse student than I assume him to be. Next year is my last at Strode. We’ll both be able to move on, to star in plays during our immortal life—until the mortals grow bored of us, I suppose. I should be excited, but…

I’m not. I’m not ready.

He lifts a brow. “Is that so?”

“It is. That’s exactly what she told me.”

Desperation to remain on top of our little game leads me to tell such silly lies.

“Maybe if you spent more time on your craft and wasted less time being a third wheel for your friend, you would have a better part.”

I step closer, my eyes narrowing. “Do you really want to talk about friends?”

He flinches. “Watch it.”