Danny's POV
The mirror in my dorm room was smaller and cheaper than the one back at the house, but it didn't hide the truth any better. I stood there for twenty minutes, dabbing thick, beige concealer over the side of my jaw. Every time the sponge touched the skin, a sharp, electric throb reminded me of the basement. I wasn't just hiding a bruise; I was trying to bury the evidence that my life had turned into a crime scene overnight.
I checked my backpack for the third time, my heart doing a frantic double-thud against my ribs. It wasn't there. My new sketchbook, the one where I had drawn him with his gun, the one where I had tried to capture the terrifying grace of the Chadwick.
I knew Chadwick had the first one, the one with the naked sketches of him, but this new one was different.
