The Lies That Bind

10: Inside Man

Cooper crouched over the toilet, limbs shaking as he braced his hands against the cool porcelain.

Another nightmare. He squeezed his eyes shut, wrestling with the nausea that had woken him. I hate this. I hate this. I hate this.

He stumbled over to the sink and splashed his face with cold water. Most mornings, he liked to take a shower before class. But there wasn't time for that. Not today.

Not with Calla breathing down his neck.

I need you to do something for me.

Cooper still couldn't believe he'd agreed to help her. Admittedly, she wasn't asking for much—just a few harmless insights into his professor's life, like his habits or his favorite restaurant or the name of his golden retriever. Random, meaningless information...

Cooper hadn't been able to refuse her. And not because she'd charmed him, as she'd charmed so many others in her life to do her bidding. But because if he didn't help her, she would take matters into her own hands and upend the life he'd built down at Penn State, fragile as it was. Her presence alone would likely put Vincent right in the middle of things—things he had no business being in the middle of.

She'd left him with no choice, really.

Cooper shrugged into his usual uniform—a pair of worn jeans and the only hoodie he could find that didn't still smell like Lauren—and left the apartment, his backpack slung over his shoulder. Wintery air pinched the back of his neck, an unwelcome reminder of the turning season.

Leery of the cold, he hurried across campus and slipped into the empty lecture hall he called home each Tuesday and Thursday morning. This had better be worth it, he thought as he dropped his bag and took his usual seat. Right on cue, his phone chirped with an incoming text. He silenced it quickly, overly paranoid, and scowled when he snuck a surreptitious glance at the screen.

Calla: Don't overthink this.

Oh, easy for you to—

The door to his left burst open. Cooper flinched, but it was just a student with an oversized backpack and a bad haircut. He took a seat two rows ahead of Cooper without so much as a cursory glance his way.

Cooper stowed his phone with a silent curse. He didn't trust himself to respond to her. Not yet. Not with his temper so close to its breaking point.

The door opened a second time. Another student slipped inside. And then, behind them—

"Morning," Professor Li greeted the near-empty lecture hall.

The girl in the front row mumbled a placid response. Cooper said nothing, his stomach twisted in knots. He busied himself with his laptop while, out of the corner of his eye, he kept watch over his anthropology professor.

Lenny Li was an unimposing sort of man—reserved and well-spoken and a bit restless, the way Cooper had a tendency to be. His hands were never still, moving with practiced efficiency as he unpacked his bag, reaching first for a laptop, and then a stack of papers, a worn water bottle, what looked an awful lot like an orange pill bottle—

Pills. Cooper tracked Professor Li as he excused himself from the room, empty water bottle in hand. Some sort of prescription, I'd bet.

Cooper eyed the clock on the wall, wrestling with the urge to rush up to the podium to get a closer look at the pills. Not possible. More students were arriving by the second, filing into the lecture hall with weary, bed-ridden eyes.

Professor Li returned after just over a minute, his water bottle notably full. He was only gone seventy, maybe eighty seconds, tops. Cooper feigned interest in his laptop, keeping one eye on the professor as he popped a small, unremarkable white pill into his mouth. His spirits sank when Professor Li tucked the bottle back into his bag, out of sight.