***

~Amelia~

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My phone buzzes in my hand again, but I don't look at the screen this time. My eyes are still glued to the message like it might blink and vanish if I stare hard enough.

“Careful what you accuse people of. The truth isn’t always on your side.”

No name. No number. No context.

Just a threat wearing a polite outfit.

I read it again. And again. Each word slicing deeper than the last.

My hands are slick with sweat now. I wipe them against my skirt, force myself to breathe. My throat feels tight, like the walls of this hallway are closing in on me.

What is the truth?

And whose side am I supposedly not on?

I look up and around, scanning the empty hallway. A janitor mops near the water fountain at the far end. A couple of freshmen laugh too loudly outside the girls’ bathroom. No one’s looking at me.

But I still feel watched.

Is someone messing with me?

I quickly screenshot the message, then block the number. It's probably pointless… they’ll just use another, but it gives me a flicker of control. And right now, control feels like oxygen.

My instincts scream Mira. She’s the one with my notes. She’s the one who somehow got access to my binder. She’s the one who smiled like she already knew exactly how I’d react.

But why would she text me? That’s too direct for someone who moves in the shadows. Someone who weaponizes silence and subtlety. If Mira wanted to shake me, she'd do it with a look. Not a message.

Unless…

Unless she wants me to spiral.

Mission accomplished.

By the time I get to history class, my brain feels like it’s been through a meat grinder. I barely register Mr. Lowe’s monotone voice at the front of the room.

Something about the Cold War. Iron Curtain. Nuclear threats.

Honestly, the tension in here has nothing on mine.

I sit two rows behind Nathaniel. His head is down, scribbling something in his notebook. For a second, I imagine hurling my pen at the back of his head. Just to see if he’d flinch. Just to feel something satisfying.

He doesn’t look at me once.

Which is fine. Because I’m not looking either.

Until class ends.

He stands up. I stand up.

And somehow, we both move toward the door at the same time.

We freeze.

Face to face.

The hallway noise around us fades. His eyes meet mine.

They’re tired. Uneasy. Like he’s been waiting for this conversation just as much as I have.

“Amelia,” he says, almost a whisper.

I don't answer.

I just step around him and walk away.

Lunch is even worse.

The table where we used to sit… our table… is filled with unfamiliar voices now. Nathaniel’s there. Mira’s there. Her long braid swings over her shoulder as she leans in close, pointing at something on his phone.

He doesn’t laugh. But he doesn’t look miserable either.

I walk past with my tray and pretend not to care.

Noah waves me over to his table, already halfway through a plate of fries and dipping an Oreo into ranch dressing like a psychopath.

“You look like you just saw a ghost,” he says, mouth full.

“I wish it was a ghost,” I mutter, dropping my tray across from him. “At least ghosts don’t hack my stuff.”

“Any updates?”

I glance around, then pull my phone from my bag and slide it across the table. I’ve zoomed in on the message.

Noah squints at it.

“Creepy. Classic stalker font. You block the number?”

“Yeah.”

“Nice. That always works in horror movies.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m not joking.”

“I know. That’s what makes it worse.”

He wipes his hands on a napkin and leans in. “Okay. So she has your notes. Your binder shows up in the trash. Now you’re getting shady messages. Something’s off.”

“Noah, I think she got access to my locker.”

“Could be.”

“Or she went through Nathaniel’s stuff. Or maybe he gave it to her.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You really think he’d do that?”

I pause.

“I don’t know.”

And that’s what scares me the most.

After school, I head to the science wing again. Noah’s trailing behind, chewing on sour candy like it’s fuel.

“I’m telling you,” he says, “we should booby-trap our stuff. Like, old-school spy tech. Glitter bombs. Hidden ink tags. The works.”

“I just want to get our designs printed without someone stealing them.”

He holds the door for me with a dramatic bow. “After you, partner-in-paranoia.”

We set up in the back lab, and I pulled out the blueprints I sketched in the homeroom… basic designs for a sustainable mini-filtration system. It’s simple but elegant. And hard to copy unless someone had access to our notes.

Noah leans over the table. “This could work. We’d need better tubing, though.”

“There’s some in the back storage cabinet.”

“I’ll grab it.”

He heads off while I upload our 3D schematics to the school drive. As I wait for the model to render, I glance at the lab door.

Mira isn’t here yet.

But she will be.

And I’m done playing nice.

Ten minutes later, she strolls in, cool and casual, like always.

Her eyes flick across the lab. She sees me. Pauses. Smiles again.

Not a real smile.

Not even a polite one.

It’s the kind of smile people use when they already know how the game ends.

She walks to her workstation and begins unpacking her equipment… quiet, deliberate. Like she’s prepping for surgery.

I can’t help myself. I walk over.

She doesn’t look up.

“Interesting notebook you had this morning,” I say, voice sharp.

Still nothing.

“You’re not even going to deny it?”

She finally meets my eyes. “You must’ve been mistaken.”

“No. I saw my name. My handwriting.”

“Are you sure?” she asks softly. “Memory can be… unreliable.”

I clench my fists.

Before I can say anything else, the lab door opens again.

Nathaniel steps inside.

His eyes flick from Mira to me.

“Everything okay?” he asks carefully.

I stare at him.

Then her.

Mira is already back to adjusting wires.

Nathaniel shifts, uneasy. “What’s going on?”

“You tell me,” I snap.

He blinks. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean.”

Before he can answer, Ms. Lanford’s voice comes over the intercom.

“Amelia Monroe, please report to the principal’s office. Immediately.”

I freeze.

Mira looks up, just for a second.

Then looks back down, smiling faintly.