GREY

I spent the entirety of basketball practice wearing the best poker face I could muster. Jac is up to something—whatever it is, I hope it works.

Another day of practice without Cody around had been rough. But whatever Jacquarious was plotting seemed like it might work...and like it might give us all a chance to make things right.

I finished dressing out in the locker room, then bolted upstairs and out the gymnasium double doors to arrive at the parking lot.

"Let's...take my car," Jacquarious spoke up.

"Huh?" Brayden turned to him. "But—"

"Trust me," Jacquarious said with a somber edge. "It needs to look like you guys are...my entourage."

What?

"No argument here," Dash answered, more like an order than a reply. "Whatever you need, man. I'll ride shotgun."

The locks to Jacquarious's chromed sedan unhitched; Brayden and I piled into the back as he slid the keys into the ignition, engine whirring to life.

We pulled onto the main road, and I slumped against the window. The chilly January day was still bright, overhead sunshine deigning to welcome the cold but not the gloominess of overcast clouds.

I sighed before fidgeting my phone from my pocket, bypassing the thumbprint scan and tapping into Messages. My finger hovered over the group chat that Dash, Brayden, and I shared with Cody.

Brayden's hand caught mine. "Don't," he whispered, glancing once toward Dash in the front seat, his back still turned to the two of us.

I tapped the screen.

"Grey," Brayden's voice fell even quieter, even more anxious. His grip tightened on my arm.

"Okay, okay," I whispered back, navigating away from Messages and clicking off my phone.

It wasn't much longer until Aldridge Lane, Jacquarious doubling inside the bricked awning overhanging the entrance.

We crept up the road, passing each mailbox numbered in gilded letters: 649, 656, 663—"There it is," I pointed to the next home in sequence.

I gulped once as we pulled to a stop beside the curb, wincing across the front lawn at the shuttered eyes of 670 Aldridge Lane, its bricking swept in ivory and its rooftops sloping down us.

Jacquarious was the first to emerge from the car, donning a pair of sunglasses stashed in the driver door's map pocket. Arms swaying in a soft refrain, he sauntered toward the front door of Cody's house before pressing the doorbell.

The entrance creaked open seconds later, Casey Ashford peeking through the narrowest of slits. She barely seemed to notice Jacquarious before her eyes settled onto me. "You've got some nerve, Grey."

I held up both hands. "What? Hey, come on. I just—"

Casey pushed the door wider to stare me straight in the face. "You said Cody wasn't in any trouble. Guess you just left out the part where you told that cop he murdered some boy from Browning Heights."

"That's not true! All I did was—"

"Casey," Jacquarious tried, his voice even. "Do you know where Cody is right now?"

She folded both arms across her chest. "Why would I tell you?"

Jacquarious shook his head. "Never mind. But...can you at least answer one question?"

She leaned her hip against the doorframe, eyes narrowing.

"Your boyfriend—is he here right now?"

Her face darkened, glare softening under the frosty outdoor air. "What does it matter?"

"Babe!" came a heavy voice from inside the home. "Who's that at the door?"

Casey sighed, hugging both arms to herself and shivering all the while.

A tall and bulky man lumbered into view, his dark skin glinting with the blear of the sunlight sheening against his gigawatt smile.

"Miles," Casey mused, "these are...Cody's friends."

He bristled in an instant, his arm moving to circle Casey's shoulder. "Are they now?"

Jacquarious stepped forward. "Friend is a...strong word. Not sure I'd throw in my lot with a guy who's under investigation for murder."

Casey whimpered the moment he spoke—but Miles grinned. His grip tightened at his girlfriend's shoulder, and Jacquarious took another soft step forward to look the man in the eyes.

I glanced once at Dash, once at Brayden, both of their faces statues of stone. What is even happening right now?

"I'm Jacquarious, by the way." He extended a hand for Miles to shake. "But if you don't speak AAVE, you could always shorten it to Jac." He glanced briefly at me, then back to Miles.

The man chuckled, his gaze also sweeping in my direction before returning to Jacquarious, who met his thawing demeanor with another question:

"Not to pry, but...you're not from around here, are you, Miles?"

Miles grinned and shook his hand. "Not at all, my man. Born and raised in Gridiron Valley, the West Alessandro District."

Jacquarious quirked both eyebrows. "West Alessandro? That's old money if I've ever seen it."

Miles's grin widened.

"Though I can't say I expected less—not with a painting like Life Among the Lowly hanging in your foyer."

"Classic take on a classic tale," Miles deigned. "African-American art in the City of Gold. Almost feels illegal."

I winced as Jacquarious laughed in sync with him. Could this Miles guy's head get any further up his own—

"Mind if we take a look?" Jacquarious's easygoing question flickered with the briefest uncertainty.

My eyes flitted to Dash; he saw it too—Jacquarious was nervous. He was doing a good job hiding it, but I could tell. All the guys could...but could Miles?

Miles's palm loosened around Casey's shoulder, eyebrows arching as he took a single step back, as his dark features hardened to frost-marbled obsidian.