Chapter 192: ~ Wait…

{Mabel's POV}

“honestly Chloe I can't even explain rn just trust me it's insane”

I hit send and went back to scrolling, liking two pictures from Priah's brunch and one extremely questionable selfie from a girl I only followed out of politeness at this point.

A face appeared way too close to mine.

"Back up." I recoiled, phone still raised. "You're breathing warm air on me."

Tessa flinched back, apologizing, adjusting her position like she'd personally offended royalty. Which, fine. Correct instinct.

"My phone's dead," she said. "I still haven't figured out how to fix it. There's nothing else to do."

"Use your power bank," I said, not looking up. "Charge it and keep yourself busy."

"You have my power bank."

I glanced down at my bag.

Oh. I did, in fact, have her power bank.

Well, "Go bother the old lady or something," I said instead, nodding vaguely toward the woman resting against the far wall, and Tessa followed my gaze there too before, mercifully, rising and wandering off.

I sighed in relief and went back to my phone.

My notifications were a disaster. Everyone wanted to know where I was, what was happening, whether I was okay, whether I travelled. I answered the important ones. Vaguely.

There wasn't a version of this situation I could explain to anyone without sounding completely unhinged, so I didn't try. I just checked my posts, liked a few more things, and let myself pretend, briefly, that my life still resembled something normal.

I'd only come here for Adrian in the first place. And yes, fine, it had gone embarrassingly sideways. But that wasn't my fault. That was that frigger, Daisy's fault, plain and simple, and once we got back to actual civilization, I fully intended to fix that particular problem permanently.

A shadow fell across my screen.

I looked up just enough to confirm it was Nathan, then looked back down, already halfway through a message to Priah.

"Hey," he said.

I kept typing.

"Hey. You're not going to answer me?"

"Why should I?"

"Because I'm important to you."

He sat down beside me like that sentence had earned him a seat, and I finally looked up fully, unimpressed.

"No," I said. "Not anymore."

"Why are you acting like this? Why are you being this—" he paused, choosing something apparently softer than what he actually meant "—difficult? All this dismissiveness, this attitude?"

I tilted my head at him.

"Funny. Those words sound familiar. You're in a perfect position to answer that question yourself."

"What are you even talking about?" His frown deepened. "I've been trying to talk to you. I came all the way here for you, and you've just been ignoring me, acting insane."

"First of all," I said, "you did not come here for me. I have absolutely no idea why you actually showed up, but it wasn't that. Second, like I already said — dismissive, aggressive, difficult — you're the expert here. Go ask yourself."

I turned back to my phone.

"This is stupid," he said. "You know this is stupid. All of this — you staying here, following him around, skipping school for this circus — what are we even doing here?"

"What are you doing here?" I snapped back, matching his volume exactly.

"I want to talk to you! I want to fix this, whatever this is!"

"Oh." I let that land, dramatically, because I meant every ounce of the drama. "Now you want to fix this."

I stood.

"We were in school, Nathan. I was right there, constantly, throwing myself at you, giving you every possible sign, showing up whenever you needed anything at all. And what did you do? Ignored me. Completely. Went off with every other girl who looked at you twice, while I turned into what — a prop? Something you dusted off whenever it was convenient? You knew I wanted us back together. You knew that for months, and you left me hanging the entire time. And then someone better, someone hotter, someone actually perfect finally pays attention to me, and suddenly I'm not allowed to want that? You're insane, Nathan."

"You're insane," I said again, louder, and every man stationed around us turned to stare. None of them stepped in. Smart of them.

Nathan stood too. "This is all just a misunderstanding."

The confidence behind that sentence was, genuinely, offensive.

"A misunderstanding?" I laughed, sharp and humorless. "Oh my god. You are trying so hard to make me angrier, so I'm just going to save us both the trouble and leave."

I turned to walk.

He grabbed my hand.

I ripped it free instantly and shoved him, hard enough that he stumbled, and his phone flew loose from his pocket, landing on the rocky platform we'd been sitting on.

He didn't glance at it, because he proceeded to spit out rubbish.

"This is crazy," he said instead. "You know I care about you. This whole thing is just a huge misunderstanding."

"No." I crossed my arms. "That's what boys call it when they refuse to admit fault and understand exactly how much of an ass they've been."

His phone lit up. Rang.

And Nathan moved for it faster than made any sense at all — too fast, almost desperate — snatching it up and pressing the screen flat against his chest before anything else.

"I want to talk," he said after a sigh. "We're both worked up right now. When we're calmer, we should talk."

"I'm not discussing this with you again," I said flatly. "There's nothing left to fix."

He shook his head at me and walked off.

I scowled after him, sat back down, and let out a long breath, waiting for my heart rate to settle. The men around us had already looked away, resuming whatever they'd been doing before my scene.

I took another breath. Then another.

Then, once I'd actually calmed down enough to think straight, something surfaced.

Wait…

Why had the call on his screen said “Lillian”?

Why was Lillian calling Nathan's phone?

{Daisy's POV}

Confusion had settled over the whole group like a fog nobody could see through.

I stood outside the warehouse with the men, watching DeLuca a short distance away, deep in conversation with Torres and a few others, worry etched into every line of his face. Nobody knew what came next. Nobody understood what this meant, except that it couldn't possibly mean anything good.

The dread pressing down on the group felt almost physical. If Nico and Salvatore had known we were coming — if this had somehow handed them the advantage instead of us — we needed to figure out how, and fast.

I stood in the middle of it all, heart hammering, panic climbing higher with every silent minute that passed.

Then my phone rang. I looked down and frowned.

Why was Mabel calling me?