The midday sun hung low over the campus, casting long, pale beams through the dusty windows of the library's upper floor. The usual rustle of pages and tapping of laptop keys had sharpened into a tense undercurrent—a quiet war zone where glances ricocheted and whispers coiled in the corners like smoke.
Amy sat hunched over an old yearbook, fingers trembling on the edge of the page. Her cracked phone lay beside her, its dark screen reflecting her strained expression, and the faintest sheen of sweat clung to her temples. She chewed her lower lip raw, the skin already split at the corner, her eyes darting to the entrance every few seconds. A pulse hammered at the base of her throat, sharp as a second heartbeat.
A shadow fell across her table.
"Looking for ghosts, Amy?" Lottie's voice was a soft purr, threaded with amusement, but her eyes held a sharp glint, cutting straight through Amy's defenses. She slid smoothly into the seat across from her, dark eyes flicking to the yellowed pages with a faint quirk of her lips. "Or just skeletons in Evelyn's closet?"
Amy jolted, breath catching in her throat with a soft, choked sound. Her fingers spasmed on the edge of the yearbook, leaving faint dents in the old paper. "I—I was just—"
"Researching," Lottie supplied smoothly, leaning forward, elbows on the table, the faintest curve at the corner of her mouth deepening. "You're not subtle, you know."
The words prickled under Amy's skin, sharp and cool. Her cheeks flushed a painful shade of pink, eyes darting down. Her heart hammered like a trapped bird, beating itself bloody against her ribs.
"You said there was something… about the missing-child case." Amy's voice cracked halfway through, breaking like thin ice underfoot. "What did you mean?"
Lottie's smile deepened, but her eyes stayed hard, unblinking. She reached into her bag with measured calm, fingers brushing over old papers with the soft rustle of worn pages, extracting a folded clipping yellowed with time. With delicate precision, she placed it on the table between them, the paper whispering softly as it met the wood.
Amy's breath hitched as she reached out. Her fingers brushed Lottie's briefly—a shock of warmth against cold, a static jolt that made her flinch—and then closed around the brittle edge of the paper. Her eyes flicked over the faded headline, the words swimming slightly as her vision blurred.
"Local Girl Missing: Hayes Family Refuses Comment."
Her pulse roared in her ears, drowning out the hum of the library. A cold shiver rippled down her spine, settling like a stone in her stomach.
Across the room, Leo leaned against a shelf, half-hidden by the stacks, phone in hand. His eyes met Lottie's over the bookshelves, a flicker of acknowledgment passing between them in the brief lift of an eyebrow. Outside the library window, the pale winter sky pressed close, the light bruised with streaks of gray, cold as bone.
Amy's hands trembled so hard the paper rattled, a dry, whispering sound. "Why are you showing me this?" Her voice was barely a whisper, the words scraping from her throat like broken glass.
"Because," Lottie murmured, her gaze steady and unrelenting, "you need to know what you're defending."
Amy's throat closed. Her fingers clenched around the edge of the paper, crinkling it sharply. She wanted to fling it away, deny it, pretend none of this was real—but the knot in her stomach only tightened, coiling tighter with every second.
"I don't know anything about this," Amy rasped, shaking her head in short, panicked jerks. "I—I was never part of that—"
Lottie's head tilted slightly, a shadow of sympathy flickering across her face, softening her mouth if not her eyes. "Not yet."
Amy's phone vibrated sharply against the table. Both girls jumped, a sharp crack splitting the tense hush.
Evelyn: "Stay calm. We'll talk tonight."
Amy snatched the phone up like it had burned her, thumbs trembling over the screen, knuckles blanched white. Lottie's gaze flicked to the device and then back to Amy's face, something cool and assessing curling at the corner of her mouth.
"Careful," Lottie murmured, voice pitched low and soft as silk. "That leash is shorter than you think."
Amy's chest hitched, a soft, desperate sound escaping her lips. Her shoulders trembled, the strap of her bag slipping halfway down her arm. For a moment, it looked like she might break right there—eyes shining, jaw clenched tight, fingers trembling around the phone—but then she sucked in a sharp breath, shoving her phone into her bag with too-quick hands.
"I can't," she choked out, voice rising, cracking. "I can't do this."
Lottie didn't move. Her voice dropped to a murmur, a thread of steel wrapped in velvet, cutting through the library's hush. "You're already doing it, Amy. You just haven't decided which side you're on."
Amy surged to her feet, the chair legs screeching against the floor with a sharp, scraping cry. A few students looked up, heads turning like sunflowers toward tension. Amy's breath came fast and shallow, chest heaving.
"I have to go," Amy gasped, clutching her bag like a lifeline. Her eyes darted toward the door as if calculating the distance, the steps it would take to flee.
Lottie's hand darted out, fingers brushing Amy's wrist—a whisper of contact that burned through the fabric of her sleeve, leaving a ghost of warmth in its wake.
"When you're ready," Lottie murmured, voice soft, threading under Amy's ragged breaths, "you know where to find me."
Amy fled, footsteps thudding unevenly across the polished floor, the door whispering shut behind her with a final, delicate snick. Her scent lingered faintly—shampoo, stress-sweat, and something sharp like panic.
Leo approached, phone swinging casually at his side, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth. "She's cracking," he murmured, sliding into Amy's vacated seat with loose-limbed ease. "You've got her on the line, Whitaker. Just don't pull too hard."
Lottie's fingers tapped absently on the table, eyes fixed on the door as if trying to see through it. The faintest flicker of tension played along her jaw. "I don't need to pull," she murmured, almost to herself. "Evelyn's doing the pulling for me."
A beat of quiet stretched between them, thick with unspoken calculations. Then Leo's phone buzzed, the vibration humming softly on the wood.
"Mason," he reported, glancing at the screen. "Legal records just came in—there's something about the missing-child case. He says it's bigger than we thought."
Lottie exhaled slowly, pressing her fingertips together, closing her eyes for a beat as the weight of it pressed against her ribs. When she opened them again, her gaze was steel.
"Tell Mason to hold it for now," she said softly. "I want Amy to cross the line herself."
Outside, the clouds thickened, gray smudges bruising the sky, the light in the library shifting to a colder, flatter tone. Dust motes spiraled slowly in the dimming beams.
After school, Lottie slipped down the back steps, coat collar tugged high against the wind. Her breath puffed white in the chill air, curling up and away like smoke as she cut through the narrow alley behind the administration building. The wind bit at her cheeks, sliding cold fingers under her collar, rattling dead leaves along the pavement.
Footsteps echoed behind her, soft but too close.
Her shoulders tensed. Fingers curled in her coat pocket, brushing the smooth, familiar edge of her phone. She angled her head slightly, catching the faint reflection in a window: a figure, dark jacket, head down, pace matched to hers.
Her pulse quickened, a flicker of heat sliding under her skin despite the cold. Not Leo. Not Mason. Not Amy.
Lottie's steps slowed fractionally, the gravel crunching softly under her boots. The figure held steady at the edge of her vision, a shadow threaded through the fading light.
She tightened her grip on her phone, thumb hovering over the side button. A thin bead of sweat prickled at the back of her neck, her senses sharpening, every small sound—wind, footsteps, the rustle of branches—etched in sudden clarity.
The figure vanished at the end of the alley, slipping into the shadow of a side street like a wisp of smoke.
Lottie didn't breathe until she was inside her room, door locked behind her, back pressed to the cool wood. Her heart thudded against her ribs, slowing only gradually as the silence of the house settled around her, thick and muffled.
Her phone buzzed again, a sharp jolt in the quiet.
Mason: "Breakthrough. Overseas lead. Call me."
Lottie pressed her fingers to her forehead, exhaling a shaky breath, the tension in her shoulders easing by degrees.
She sank onto the edge of her bed, laptop flickering to life in front of her. Papers fanned out across the blanket, each one a sharp-edged piece of the puzzle. Her hand hovered over the keyboard, mind racing with a dozen unfinished strategies.
Her phone buzzed once more.
Amy: "I have something you need to see—meet me tomorrow."
Lottie stared at the message, heart thudding hard in her chest, the beat loud in the hush of her room. For a long moment, the world seemed to narrow to the glowing screen, the shape of those words curling like a hook in her chest. The air tasted electric, sharp with the scent of coming storms.
Her mouth curved slowly, not quite a smile, not quite a sigh.
Across town, Evelyn Hayes sat poised in front of her mirror, fingertips white where they clenched around a wineglass, gaze fixed on her reflection. Her smile was flawless, honed like a blade, but her eyes flicked, sharp and restless, as though searching the glass for cracks.
And on her narrow bed, Amy sat hunched in the dark, knees drawn to her chest, the glow of her cracked phone screen painting pale light across her face. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, breath shivering in and out, skin prickling with cold.
I have something you need to see—meet me tomorrow.
She hit send.
And the silence closed in around her like a fist.