"Open the door, son. I know you're in there."
Gregory's voice slid through the cheap motel door like oil. I could smell the whiskey even from across the room—sour and sharp. Jace stood frozen beside the doorframe, his hand wrapped around the lamp base, knuckles white. His eyes were fixed on the doorknob like it was a live grenade.
"He's not leaving," Jace said quietly. "He'll stand out there all night."
"Then call the police."
"They won't get here fast enough." He looked at me, and his expression was unreadable. "Stay behind me. Don't say anything. No matter what he says."
"Jace—"
"Promise me."
I nodded. He opened the door.
Gregory Kingston stepped inside like he owned the place. He smiled when he saw me, and it was the kind of smile that made you check for exits. "The tutor. Still
