The late afternoon sun draped golden streaks across the library's polished floor, catching the motes of dust that danced lazily in the quiet air. But Amy barely noticed. Her fingers trembled as she clutched a thick biology textbook to her chest, the corners digging into her palms, nails biting crescents into the soft skin of her fingers. Her eyes darted toward the far table where Lottie sat, head bent over notes, a faint smile curving her lips as the sunlight gilded the edge of her dark hair. It should have been just another study session. But to Amy, every heartbeat was a drum pounding in her chest, shaking her ribs from the inside.
Her phone vibrated in her pocket—sharp, urgent. She flinched as if slapped, breath catching in her throat. She snuck it out, fingers pale around the device, the cold metal trembling against her skin. A message from Evelyn blinked on the screen: "Remember what we agreed. Stay quiet, and you're safe." Amy's throat tightened, nausea curling in her stomach, rising hot and bitter behind her tongue. She jammed the phone back into her pocket, squeezing her eyes shut for half a second as if she could shut out the entire world.
Across the room, Lottie's head tilted slightly, as though sensing the tremor in the air. Her fingers paused on her notebook, pen hovering mid-sentence. Her eyes flicked up, locking onto Amy with quiet precision. There was no judgment in that gaze, only the cool, measured weight of observation—the kind that made Amy feel as if the walls were closing in.
She forced herself forward, each step across the tiled floor scraping against her nerves like sandpaper. Chairs scraped softly as students murmured over their work; the occasional rustle of paper punctuated the hush. Amy's palms were slick against the book's cover by the time she reached the table.
Lottie looked up, the quiet flicker of amusement dancing in her eyes vanishing the moment she saw Amy's pale, pinched face. "Amy," she murmured, voice soft but edged with steel. "Sit."
Amy dropped into the chair like a puppet with its strings cut, knees knocking against the wooden leg. For a second, neither of them spoke. Lottie's fingers drummed lightly on the tabletop, the rhythm precise, almost surgical. The air between them thickened, stretched taut over something unsaid.
Leo leaned casually against a nearby shelf, pretending to scroll his phone, but his sharp gaze flicked up from the screen at intervals, cool and watchful. His weight shifted slightly, the leather of his jacket creaking softly, one boot crossed over the other. His presence was quiet but undeniable, a shadow that hummed with quiet tension.
"Rough day?" Lottie asked lightly, voice lilting with a thread of amusement. But her gaze sharpened when Amy's fingers fumbled with her backpack strap, twisting the worn fabric tighter and tighter. The corner of Lottie's mouth curved upward—not quite a smile, more a blade's edge.
Amy swallowed hard, throat clicking audibly. "I—uh—I just wanted to… check in. About the group project." Her voice quivered at the edges, a thin wire pulled too tight.
Lottie tilted her head, dark hair slipping over one shoulder, eyes never leaving Amy's face. "The project can wait." She reached into her bag, the soft rasp of fabric against skin breaking the quiet. With a whisper-soft scrape, she slid a flash drive across the table. The tiny object caught the sunlight, glinting like a sliver of ice. "But maybe you're here for something else."
Amy's breath hitched audibly. Her gaze dropped to the flash drive as though it were a snake coiled and ready to strike. Her fingers clenched reflexively around the edge of her book. "What's that?"
"Proof," Lottie murmured, voice like a thread of silk drawn tight. "Of things Evelyn would rather keep buried." Her eyes gleamed faintly, catching the light. "Funny thing, Amy. Secrets always want to come out."
Amy's fingers tightened around the strap until her knuckles went white, the blood draining from them. Her phone buzzed again, a sharp vibration against her thigh. She jolted, the small sound snapping through the quiet like a gunshot. Lottie's eyes flicked down, catching the movement with hawk-like precision.
"Amy," Lottie murmured, leaning forward just slightly, her forearms braced on the table. The air between them pulled tight, electric. "You're better than this."
A sharp laugh escaped Amy before she could stop it—high, brittle, like glass fracturing. "You don't understand," she whispered, words tripping over themselves, breathless. "You think you know everything, but you don't. Evelyn—she—she promised—"
"She promised a lot of people," Lottie interrupted softly, her voice a blade sheathed in velvet. "And now they're all paying for it."
Amy squeezed her eyes shut. For one fragile second, it looked like the words might spill out, her lips parting, breath stuttering. But then her phone chimed again, a shrill little demand. The moment splintered.
Leo's voice drifted over, dry and faintly amused, a counterpoint to the crackling tension. "You should turn that off, Amy. People might think you're hiding something."
Amy flinched as if struck. The color drained from her face, leaving it pale as paper. She scrambled to her feet, backpack slipping off her shoulder, books thudding softly to the floor. Her breaths came in sharp, shallow gasps, chest rising and falling too fast.
"I—I have to go." Her voice cracked like thin ice underfoot.
Lottie rose smoothly, the chair legs whispering against the floor. One hand darted out, catching the strap of Amy's bag before it hit the ground. The faintest brush of fingers against Amy's wrist, warm and deliberate, sent a jolt through the girl's tense frame.
"You can't run from this forever," Lottie murmured, voice low and unhurried, gaze steady as a heartbeat. "When you're ready—come find me."
Amy bolted, nearly tripping over a chair leg as she darted toward the exit. The door hissed shut behind her, leaving a faint, uneasy hush in its wake. Somewhere in the library, a page turned with a crisp flick; the clock on the wall ticked on, patient and relentless.
Leo gave a low whistle, pushing off from the shelf with a lazy stretch. "That girl's wound tighter than a watch spring."
Lottie's fingers lingered over the flash drive before sliding it back into her pocket. The cool metal kissed her skin, a small, solid weight against her palm. "She's cracking," she said softly, a flicker of something sharp glinting in her eyes. "Evelyn's grip is slipping."
"Yeah," Leo murmured, rolling his shoulders back. "But so is her patience."
Outside, the sky had deepened to bruised lavender, streaked with the last gold of the dying sun. Lottie walked home with her head down, the sounds of the world muffled around her. The breeze tugged at her coat hem, a chill that licked up her spine. Her thoughts ran sharp and fast, each step on the pavement echoing like a countdown.
She barely registered the soft scuff of footsteps behind her until she passed under a flickering streetlamp—and a shadow broke free from the alley, falling into rhythm just a fraction too close.
Her pulse jumped, the skin along her neck prickling. She didn't break stride, didn't turn her head, but her fingers slipped into her coat pocket, brushing over her phone, thumb hovering near the side button. Her ears strained, catching the faint scrape of a shoe, the faint intake of breath behind her.
At the next corner, she half-turned, catching a glimpse over her shoulder: tall, hooded, lingering by the lamppost with a phone pressed to his ear. Not a classmate. Not a neighbor. Her steps quickened, the soft slap of her sneakers sharp against the pavement.
When she reached home, the hallway lights were dim, casting long shadows up the walls. Mason's message was waiting on her phone when she slipped through the door. "I've received the package." No greeting, no signature, just a blade of text that sliced through her nerves. Lottie closed her eyes briefly, pressing her forehead to the cool wood of the door, steadying her breath.
Her phone buzzed again, a little vibration that felt like a heartbeat skipping.
Amy:We need to talk.
Lottie stared at the words. Her thumb hovered, heart punching hard against her ribs, so hard it almost hurt. Upstairs, in the dim glow of her room, she paced, bare feet soundless on the soft rug. Outside, the wind hissed against the windowpanes, tapping thin fingers of air against the glass. Leo's earlier warning echoed in her mind: "Evelyn's squeezing her people dry. They're going to break."
And Amy was first in line.
Lottie: Name the time.
The reply came almost instantly. Tomorrow. Library. Noon.
Lottie exhaled slowly, sinking onto the edge of her bed. The quilt bunched beneath her fingers, the soft fabric biting into her palms. Below, in the quiet of the kitchen, the clock ticked a steady rhythm, filling the silence with its patient pulse. Upstairs, she pressed a palm to the windowpane, forehead resting against the cold glass, watching the empty street. A faint shape lingered by the corner, a silhouette half-swallowed by the dark, barely visible beneath the broken glow of the streetlamp.
Her phone buzzed once more, the screen lighting up in the dim room.
Mason: Be careful. There's more in play than you know.
Lottie's fingers tightened around the device, the plastic edges digging into her skin. The air in her room felt colder now, charged with something electric, humming just beneath the surface of sound. She turned away from the window, pulse thudding low and steady in her throat, heart steadying with every breath.
Tomorrow, everything would shift.
Across town, Evelyn leaned against a velvet chair, glass of wine trembling faintly in her hand. Her nails tapped a restless rhythm against the crystal, mouth curved in a brittle smile. "Keep an eye on Amy," she murmured into her phone, voice low and sweet as poison. "And if she wavers… remind her what's at stake."
In her own room, Amy curled on her bed, knees drawn to her chest, eyes wide and unblinking as her cracked phone screen reflected a dozen unread messages. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard.
Lottie… I…
Her breath hitched.
And the message remained unsent.