I shook off the thought and strode into the chief’s office.

He took one look at the letter and sighed. “It’s not the first threat that has made its way to the opinions page.” He stroked his beard as he read it over once more. “I’ll file a report with the police, and we’ll do whatever we can.” Looking up at me with regarding eyes, he said, “It isn’t just these guys”—he hit the letter with the back of his hand—“that want to find the vigilante. The police do as well. Whoever The Raven is, if he doesn’t stop what he’s doing, he will eventually be caught and brought to justice.”

“Justice!” The cry came sharply, and my stomach clenched. “He’s saved people’s lives. Protected them. He has a cause and he’s standing up for it. The Raven’s a hero.”

Chief Benedict sighed. “He’s a hero that has sent quite a few students to the emergency room.”

“Only because they asked for it.”

“No one asks for it, Mr. Davis.”

“So you think it’s better that innocent guys get beaten to within an inch of their life? That bats get taken to them and they end up crippled for the rest of their lives?” A hiccup rose up my throat, and my eyes stung with unfamiliar heat.

The chief rounded his desk. I flinched when he drew an arm around my shoulder and gently moved me to a seat.

My whole body shook, and my teeth clenched so tightly that my head ached.

Chief Benedict crouched at my side, one hand still firmly on my shoulder. “No, it’s not better,” he said. “It really, really isn’t. But we must work on other ways of stopping senseless violence. Because violence against violence . . . it will go wrong. What happens to the criminals when The Raven swings just a little too hard? Or lands a kick at just the wrong angle? What happens when blood stains his fingers for good? He won’t be the guy with the good cause anymore, and he won’t be admired; he’ll become a killer and his life will never be the same again.” The chief shuffled on his feet as he pushed himself back up. “And what if one day he’s outnumbered, and he ends up in the hospital—or worse?”

At some point I’d started clicking my pen, comforted by the rhythm. But there was nothing I could say to the chief. Nothing at all. He was right, and I hated that.

I picked myself up off the chair and gave the chief a sharp nod. “I have a column to draft,” I said. I shut the door on him and his sigh, and slid back behind my desk.

But I didn’t work on my column. Instead, I stared blankly at my screen and my office “friends.”

The Raven saved me, saved many people, and now—now we had to thank him by warning him about the threat to his life. And we had to save him by getting him to stop.

“You okay, Liam?” Hannah asked, shutting her laptop.

I glanced over. “I need to find The Raven and warn him.”

She gave me a sharp nod and looked toward the piles of paper on her desk. “If I come across anything that will help, I’ll tell you.”

“Thank you, Hannah.”

Her smile was coupled with rosy cheeks, matching the hair tie she wore to pull her mahogany hair off her face and into a bun.

“Off now, are you?” I asked, picking up the phone, fingers itching to press the buttons and dial. I needed to call Beckman Hall right away.

Hannah pushed back her swivel chair and grabbed her messenger bag as she stood. “I’d better get back to my apartment else Lotte will complain I have no life at all. Not even a slumming-it-on-the-couch-in-front-of-the-TV life.”

“But if you’re happy, right? It shouldn’t matter.” I glanced from my laptop screen, glowing with the number for Beckman Hall, to Hannah, who was nervously rounding her desk toward mine. I gave her a small, curious frown and she blinked her gaze away from me. Shyly. Coyly.

I tensed.

What was happening here?

“You’re right, it doesn’t matter. If you’re happy.” She blushed and focused on me. “But I do want more than just working. Like . . . like maybe going out on a date sometime.”

I clutched the phone tighter as she tapped her fingertips on the edge of my desk. “Liam? Do you maybe want that too? To go out sometime”—her voice shook at the edges—“with me?”

I swapped the phone to my other hand as if it would help me think of a reply. I wasn’t sure how I felt about dating. Hannah was sweet; she always brought and shared oranges and grapes. I enjoyed talking to her during the day, and she often gave insightful thoughts on my work. But going out on a date?

I pushed my glasses up the bridge of my nose, even though they were sitting high enough already. Before I knew it, I’d laid the phone down and was clicking my pen.

Tags: Anyta Sunday Love Inscribed M-M Romance
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