Chapter 4 The Debt Collector
The walk to the bus stop feels like walking through chest-high water. Every muscle in my body is vibrating, a mix of post-dance exhaustion and pure, unadulterated terror.
Arthur Thorne's eyes follow me in my mind. They weren't the eyes of a proud father or even a curious donor. They were the eyes of a man who had found a missing puzzle piece and was deciding whether to fit it into the board or crush it under his heel.
I reach the Flats just as the sun is dipping below the horizon, turning the grey skyline into a bruised purple. I don't go straight home. I can't. Not with the adrenaline still making my hands shake. Instead, I stop at the corner bodega and buy a single, cold can of ginger ale. I hold it against my forehead, letting the condensation drip down my neck.
"Zora! You're late."
I turn to see Jax leaning against a brick wall, his fingers stained with neon green spray paint. He's my only real friend in the Flats, the only one who doesn't look at me with pity when they see me pushing a mop at the Academy.
"Long rehearsal," I mutter, taking a sip of the soda. The bubbles burn my throat, but it's a good kind of burn. It's real.
Jax eyes my gym bag. "How's the Prince? Still acting like his sweat smells like expensive cologne?"
"He's worse," I say, thinking of the way Caspian's hand shook on my waist. "He's a ghost, Jax. He's terrified of his own father. I almost felt sorry for him."
Jax snorts, shaking his head. "Don't. Guys like that don't need your sympathy. They have safety nets. People like us? We just have the pavement."
He's right. I know he's right. I finish the soda and toss the can into a bin. "I have to go. My mom's probably wondering where the paycheck is."
"See you around, ballerina," Jax calls out as I walk away.
The stairs to our apartment are dark. The landlord hasn't replaced the bulbs on the third floor in months. I fumble for my keys, my heart sinking as I see a yellow Notice of Overdue Utility stuck to our door with a piece of tape.
I rip it off and shove it in my pocket before I walk inside.
The apartment is quiet, except for the low hum of the television. My mother is slumped on the sofa, her nursing scrubs still on, her head back. She's asleep, her mouth slightly open. On the coffee table next to her is the Thorne & Associates envelope. It's open now.
Lumi is sitting in her wheelchair by the window, her back to me.
"She cried for an hour," Lumi says, her voice flat. She doesn't turn around. "She called the legal aid office, but they told her they don't handle civil suits of this size. Especially not against firms like Thorne's."
I drop my bag and walk over to her. I put my hands on her shoulders, but she feels cold. Stiff. "I'm going to fix it, Lu. I promise."
"How?" Lumi finally turns, and her eyes are red-rimmed. "By dancing? Zoe, they want two hundred thousand dollars. We don't even have two hundred."
"The Gala prize is fifty thousand for the lead pair," I say, my voice desperate. "And Coach Elias said he has connections. If I win, if I get a scout to notice me, I can get a contract. A real one. Professional."
Lumi looks down at her legs, hidden under the knitted blanket. "You're dreaming. They'll never let a girl from the Flats win that prize. Not when people like Caspian Thorne are on the stage."
"Caspian is part of the reason I'm going to win," I say, though I don't tell her why. I don't tell her that Caspian is the only one who can keep me from falling, and I am the only one who can make him look human.
The next morning at the Academy is different. The air feels heavy, like a storm is about to break. I'm not cleaning today. It's my scholarship morning, meaning I'm supposed to spend three hours in the library studying theory.
I'm staring at a book on Russian technique when a shadow falls over my table.
It's not Caspian. It's a man in a grey suit I don't recognize. He looks like a shark in a tailored vest.
"Zoe Vane?" he asks. His voice is smooth, like oil.
"Who are you?" I ask, closing my book. My pulse starts to quicken.
"I'm an associate with Thorne & Associates. Mr. Arthur Thorne would like a word with you. In his private car."
"I have class," I lie.
"Mr. Thorne has already cleared it with Madam Sterling. It's about your family's current situation. I believe you'd want to hear what he has to say."
My stomach turns over. I look around the library. A few other students are whispering, staring at the man in the suit. I can't cause a scene. Not here. I stand up, my legs feeling like lead, and follow him out.
The car is a black Mercedes, idling at the curb. The tinted windows make it look like a hearse. The door opens, and I see Arthur Thorne sitting in the back, a tablet in his hand.
"Sit, Miss Vane," he says. He doesn't look up.
I slide onto the leather seat. The smell of expensive leather and tobacco is overwhelming. The door clicks shut, and the car pulls away from the curb.
"I did some digging last night," Arthur says, finally looking at me. He slides a finger across the tablet and turns it toward me. It's a photo of the car crash. My mom's old sedan, crumpled like a soda can against the side of a silver Porsche. "Your mother was uninsured at the time of the accident. A clerical error, she claims. But the law doesn't care about errors."
"Why are you doing this?" I whisper. "You have everything. Why do you need to take the little bit we have left?"
Arthur smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "I don't care about the money, Zoe. Two hundred thousand is a rounding error in my accounts. What I care about is my son."
I frown. "What does Caspian have to do with this?"
"Caspian is soft," Arthur says, his voice turning cold. "He has potential, but he lacks the killer instinct. I saw the way he looked at you yesterday. I saw the way you moved him. You're a distraction. A grit in his gears."
He leans closer, and I can see the fine lines of age around his eyes. "I want you to quit. Leave the Academy. Disappear back to whatever hole you crawled out of. If you do, the lawsuit vanishes. I'll even throw in a generous moving allowance for your sister's medical needs."
My heart stops. It's a way out. One signature, and the debt is gone. Lumi gets her physical therapy. My mom stops crying at night. All I have to do is give up the only thing that makes me feel alive.
"And if I say no?" I ask.
Arthur's face hardens. "Then I will not only pursue the full amount, but I will ensure your mother loses her nursing license for negligence. I will strip your life until there is nothing left but the dirt you used to scrub off these floors."
He signals the driver to stop. We are back at the Academy entrance.
"You have forty-eight hours to decide, Zoe. Don't be a hero. Heroes end up broke and forgotten."
I stumble out of the car, the cold air hitting me like a physical blow. I stand on the sidewalk, watching the black car disappear into traffic.
I'm shaking so hard I have to lean against a lamp post. My vision is blurring. I feel like I'm suffocating.
"Zoe?"
I look up. Caspian is standing a few feet away, his dance bag over his shoulder. He saw me get out of the car. He knows.
"What did he say to you?" Caspian asks. He looks pale, his eyes darting between me and the road where his father's car disappeared.
"He told me to stay away from you," I say, my voice cracking. "He told me I'm the grit in your gears."
Caspian steps toward me, his hand reaching out, but he stops himself. "He's trying to control the narrative. He does this. He finds the thing you love and he threatens it until you let go."
"I don't love you, Caspian," I snap, the anger finally replacing the fear. "I don't even like you. But I love my sister. And your father is going to destroy her because of some potential he thinks you have."
Caspian's face falls. For a second, he looks like a little boy who's been slapped. "I didn't know he was going to talk to you. I swear."
"It doesn't matter," I say, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. "I have forty-eight hours to decide if I'm a dancer or a sister. And we both know what the answer has to be."
I turn and run. I don't go to class. I don't go to the locker room. I run until I'm blocks away, until my lungs burn and the Academy is nothing but a distant, white monument to everything I can't have.
But as I sit on a park bench, gasping for air, I feel something in my pocket. It's the duct tape from yesterday. I pull it out and stare at it.
Arthur Thorne thinks I'm a distraction. He thinks I'm soft enough to be bullied. But he forgot one thing.
I've been cleaning up after people like him my whole life. I know exactly where the trash goes.
And I'm not going anywhere.