CLARK POV:
After I finished messing with the CCTV footage—giving Clare a vague, manly silhouette and trimming anything that could link her to the late-night beatdown at Bull's Eye Club—I picked up my phone and sent a quick text to Sara.
"Hey, sorry I won't be able to chat tonight. Something came up. Talk soon."
She was cool and easy to talk to, and we'd kind of made it a habit to text each evening. But tonight? It was Clare Night. And when Clare was in one of her post-fight clingy moods, there were rules—unspoken but ironclad. No texting anyone, especially not girls. Not because she actually cared who I talked to. No. It was more like she'd catch a glimpse of my phone, see me smiling at a screen, and suddenly I'd be interrogated like I was hiding state secrets. Not because I had anything to hide, but because Clare had a special radar for these things. If she so much as suspected I was talking to someone, she'd immediately start teasing me into oblivion.
