Miller was sitting next to the wolfman.

It wasn’t that he wanted to be sitting next to him, but the only two open seats at the head table had been between the wolfman and Mr. Vasil, or between the wolfman and the end of the table. With the choice between two intimidating strangers or one, Alex Miller had opted for the one.

He had hoped that Miss Cole would show up. She seemed friendly (not to mention less terrifying), but by the time he caught sight of her, Wes Osborn was already leading her toward his table.

Miller hummed, then muttered, “He caught another one.”

“Who did?” The wolfman asked.

Miller jumped. He had tried to engage the wolfman in conversation several times and had only received monosyllabic responses in return. He never expected Conrad Bauer to actually say something to him.

Once he recovered, Miller motioned with his glass. “Wes Osborn. One of the contenders for king of the school.”

“What?”

“King of the school,” Miller repeated. He finished taking a drink and put his glass down. “Surely, you know. The effortlessly popular. The person that everyone knows. Our microcosm is a bit competitive—it has four in the running—but Osborn’s unique because he doesn’t seem to know he’s in the running.”

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Miller tried to look up at the wolfman and almost succeeded before his nerves gave out.

“Didn’t you have a king at your school?” Miller asked.

As soon as the question was out of his mouth, he grimaced. Could something like that even go to school?

“My school was a lot smaller,” Conrad said.

Miller’s eyebrows shot up. Apparently, they could.

He grabbed for his water again and wished it was the weekend. He could do with some wine. He took a drink and laid the glass down.

“Anyway,” he said, “Osborn seems to have captured Miss Cole. Maybe it’s fitting. At least we know they have something in common.” He picked up his fork and played with his food for a few seconds before he worked up the courage to say, “That Miss Cole—can she handle herself pretty well, do you think?”

“It depends on what’s trying to kill her.”

There was a clatter when Miller dropped his fork on his plate.

“I’m sorry. What did you say?”

The corner of Conrad’s lips lifted. He looked down at the personal assistant. “It depends on what’s asked of her.”

“Oh.” Miller let out a weak laugh. He picked up his fork again. “Right.”

“Should we be worried about her?”

The assistant squeezed and flexed the hand that was under the table. He wasn’t used to that kind of direct question.

“Not…uh, not exactly. I have no doubt—” He sliced through the air with his utensil. “No doubt at all when it comes to a question of Miss Cole’s behavior, but…well…you know about our students.” He flexed his hidden hand again. “Don’t you?”

Conrad shifted in his seat so he could look at Miller with both eyes. “No, I don’t. Tell me about your students.”

Miller swallowed.