Madam Yao raises one pale manicured hand in the air. A ridiculously large emerald ring gleams on her middle finger, beneath a thin band of sparkling diamonds. “You’ve said quite enough, Ms. Cao. All of you have.”

“And?” Chanel prompts, totally unfazed. “What do you think?”

I hold my breath, my heart punching my ribs.

I’m only around seventy-eight percent certain how Madam Yao will respond, which, statistically speaking, isn’t the best odds. But if there’s anything I’ve learned from my time running Beijing Ghost, it’s that the people here care about reputation above all else. Reputation is currency, a source of power. The same way that money is only valuable because everyone deems it so, Airington is only considered elite and exclusive because rich parents keep wanting to send their kids here.

That would change pretty quickly if we made good on our threats.

“I think,” Madam Yao begins, her words laced with equal parts venom and resignation, “that Sun Yan here has proven just how...important she is to the Airington student body, and how much she has to say on the subject. The school board will review her and Andrew’s involvement in the kidnapping accordingly. Now, if you’ll excuse me...” The chair squeaks as she pushes back her seat and rises, straightening her already-immaculate silk blouse with a grimace. “It appears I have a few calls to make.”

And just like that, she’s off, her kitten heels clacking every step of the way to the door.

Once she leaves, the temperature in the room seems to warm by a few degrees. I stretch in my seat and exhale a long, tired breath. I hadn’t realized how tense my muscles were until now.

Andrew looks around at us hopefully. “So, uh, do you guys want to hang out for a bit or—”

“Andrew, again, you’re not part of this,” Chanel interrupts, hands on her hips. “And shouldn’t you be, like, taking this time to reflect on your actions?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he grumbles, his face falling. “Kidnapping is bad. Being a criminal is rough. Never hire smart people to do your dirty work for you.”

Henry pinches the bridge of his nose. “Please just go.”

As Andrew slides out of his chair, still sulking and muttering under his breath the whole time, I turn to Henry and Chanel.

“Thank you guys so much,” I say, instantly hating how awkward I sound. “It really... It means a lot. And Chanel—I’m sorry to have messaged you so last-minute. And for kind of ghosting you these past few weeks. I swear I—”

“Alice. Oh my god.” Chanel shakes her head at me with a kind of affectionate incredulity. “We barely even did anything except flex a little. You’re the one who came up with this whole idea and wrote the article and all that. Besides,” she adds, her voice growing serious, “it’s pretty fucked-up how the school was treating you. If I’d known earlier...”

“You couldn’t have. I didn’t want you to.”