The morning's chill still clung to the air outside Whitewater Charter, while inside, the hallways pulsed with a frenetic energy. A wave of students flooded the hallways, a lively mix of laughter, hushed grievances, and the swift sharing of snacks. Violet moved gracefully beside Lucien, her essence palpable even in the bustling crowd. Her gentle, magenta-brown eyes danced between Lucien's features and the recognizable faces of the students streaming by.
"I still can't believe that car," Violet murmured, adjusting the strap of her rucksack. "It looked straight out of a spy movie, or something a celebrity would pull up in! Sleek, black—no driver in sight. Not even a speck of dust."
Lucien chuckled, hands lazily tucked into the pockets of his trousers. "Mm. That'd be the Houghton's for you. Always making an entrance."
"Houghton?" Violet's brow creased in a delicate furrow. "So... they're siblings, right? Arleigh and the guy who got out after her?"
"Yeah. Aedilbert Houghton," Lucien confirmed, his tone dry but not unkind. "Older brother. Year 12. Head boy and star player on both the rowing and volleyball teams."
Violet blinked, processing the information. "Whoa. That's uh...a lot to juggle."
Lucien grinned, a hint of cynicism in his expression. "I guess that's the luxury of having wealthy parents. Being the perfect kid demands more than just looking the part."
"That explains why they looked so… intense," Violet admitted. "It was surprising to see his personality suddenly change when his friends showed up though, like someone flipped a switch. Smiling, laughing, calling out to everyone. But she... didn't change at all."
"That's just Arles," Lucien's grin softened into something more thoughtful. "That icy demeanour of hers is practically built into her personality. It's like someone raised her in a glass palace and told her emotions were uncivilized."
"Sounds like someone's scared of her," Violet teased, a playful smirk on her face.
"I'm not scared," Lucien protested, a hint of defensiveness in his voice. "I'm respectfully cautious."
They shared a gentle laugh, a soft, intimate sound that filled Violet with warmth. As she gazed at Lucien, he ran his hand through his hair, pushing the tousled strands away from his face. And that's when she saw it.
A bruise.
A dark, purplish-red bruise blossomed right at the nape of his neck, contrasting sharply with the collar's edge. The kind of bruise someone would get from being grabbed—held—with force.
Violet's steps faltered. "Lucien… what's that?"
"Hm?"
"That bruise. On your neck." Her voice dipped, gentle but concerned.
Lucien stumbled mid-step. The easy brightness in his eyes fractured, replaced by something stark and vulnerable. His eyes darted away from hers, avoiding her gaze. His lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to speak, but the words caught in his throat. Fear flickered, quickly followed by a surge of shame.
Then—snap. He was smiling again, charming as ever, like someone rewinding film. "Ah—rugby! Took a bad fall during drills. Happens more often than you'd think."
Violet blinked, her brow furrowed. "Really? But that looks like—"
"Like someone strangled me?" he offered lightly, a touch too casual. "Yeah, it does. But I swear it's not that exciting. I just bruise easy."
"You're High-Rank though… shouldn't it have healed already?"
Lucien shrugged, his shoulders tight. "Healing's still slower than Low-Ranks. Mine's barely a party trick compared to you guys. But give it a day, it'll vanish. No big deal."
Violet didn't say anything. She didn't need to. Her gaze lingered a little longer on the dark mark, but she nodded eventually, sensing the boundary in his voice.
She tried to pivot. "So… rugby, huh? Do you actually like it? Or is it just an excuse to get tackled by sweaty boys in the mud?"
Lucien glanced sideways at her, some of the tension visibly easing from his shoulders as he chuckled. "I'll have you know, I live for the adrenaline. And the post-game snacks. Mostly the snacks, though—"
"Lucien," came a voice behind them—sharp as frost and equally unwelcoming.
Both of them turned in unison.
Arleigh stood a few feet away, arms folded loosely. Her stance was rigid, every inch the picture of perfect poise. The fluorescent lights glinted off her student council pin. Her uniform was pristine, blazer impeccably pressed, tie knotted with precision. Her smooth hair, pulled back in a half-up twist, was held in place by a black claw clip. Her icy blue eyes, sharp and unwavering, locked onto Lucien with glacial intensity.
Lucien blinked, surprise flickering across his face—a fleeting expression.
"Well, well," he drawled, his lips twisting into a smirk. "Didn't expect you to seek me out so early, Arles. Were you waiting for me?"
Arleigh's expression tightened, as if the very question caused her physical pain. "No. I'm here because you offered to help me with student council work yesterday. I'm holding you to it."
"You remembered? I'm touched," Lucien's brow arched, a lopsided smirk instantly appearing. "But did I say I'd help today?"
"You did."
A moment of silence hung in the air before Lucien chuckled. "Alright then. What riveting council duty are we tackling today? Alphabetizing the fire drill logs? Planning the arson of a rival school?"
"Inventory for extracurricular budgeting," Arleigh replied, her voice unwavering. "Some of the old forms need manual checks."
His eyes narrowed, understanding dawning, though he kept his intentions veiled. "Sounds thrilling. I'm in."
Arleigh's gaze shifted to Violet. Her posture remained rigid, the coldness almost palpable—but something in her face shifted as their eyes met. A subtle softening, like frost melting ever so slightly beneath morning light.
"You're Violet, correct?" Arleigh inquired.
Violet was taken aback but nodded. "Yeah. That's me."
She extended a hand in greeting. "I'm Arleigh Houghton. It's nice to finally meet you."
Violet blinked, surprised by the gesture, before tentatively reaching out to take it. Arleigh's grip was cool but firm, a surprising strength.
"I'm looking forward to working with you," Arleigh added. "We'll be in classroom 3C for our tutoring session today. After last period."
"Right! Of course." Violet managed a smile, a nervous flutter in her chest. "I'll be there."
Arleigh offered a brief, polite smile in return. "Great. Try not to be late."
"I won't," Violet responded quickly, her cheeks flushing. "T-thank you!"
The polished mask Arleigh wore remained firmly in place, but her attention shifted back to Lucien, the brief moment of warmth toward Violet erased as if it never existed.
"Come on. We don't have all day, and I'm not wasting my morning waiting for you to flirt with every girl in the hallway."
Lucien threw his hands up in mock surrender. "Wouldn't dream of it. You're the only woman for me, I promise."
Arleigh rolled her eyes in momentary disgust before she offered Violet a short, respectful nod. "Excuse us."
Without waiting for a reply, Arleigh pivoted and strode down the hallway.
Lucien offered Violet a theatrical sigh, punctuated by a playful wink. "Duty calls, my dear. If I should fall, avenge me!"
"Yeah, yeah," she replied, a chuckle bubbling in her throat as she gave him a dismissive wave. "Just try to stay out of trouble."
Violet watched the unlikely pair vanish down the corridor, a quiet amusement dancing in her eyes. Arleigh's steps were sharp and measured, while Lucien seemed to practically skip alongside her, a mischievous cat playfully batting at a lion's tail.
She lingered for a moment, the ghost of a smile still gracing her lips, before turning and heading down a different hall towards the restrooms.
⋯
The courtyard had fallen silent, the students drawn inside the school's embrace. A faint haze of cigarette smoke still clung to Chelsea's coat, clinging to her like a scent she wore on purpose. She appeared unfazed by the smell, as if it had fulfilled its purpose.
Chelsea tucked her phone away and glided toward the building, a casual grace in her step, her eyes scanning her surroundings. Just as she hoped, Mia was there, a solitary figure standing just outside the main doors with her arms folded, the morning light painting her face with a golden glow.
Chelsea's face transformed, a bright, sudden animation taking over her features. "Mimi~! There you are!" her voice rang out in that practiced sing-song tone she used like a perfume—artificial and saccharine.
Mia remained still, her gaze narrowing as Chelsea approached. "Cut it out," she responded, her voice devoid of any inflection.
Chelsea's lips formed a pout, but the expression felt hollow. "What, no hello?"
Mia's brow furrowed, her dissatisfaction evident. "I said cut it out. No fake voice. No fake smile. No fake anything."
A moment of silence hung in the air between them, possessing an almost palpable tension. Then, the feigned pout lifted, replaced by a subtle, knowing smirk.
"You're no fun," Chelsea sighed, discarding the charade with a practiced ease. Her demeanour shifted subtly—the charming façade dropped, exposing a more perilous side beneath.
Chelsea draped an arm around Mia's shoulders, the familiarity forced and overdone, like long-lost friends staging a reunion.
Mia stiffened. "Jesus—get off of me. You stink."
Chelsea chuckled, but her arm remained heavy on Mia's shoulders. "Still so sensitive. You always did hate the smell, huh?" She lifted her shoulder theatrically to sniff it. "Yeah… okay, I reek. But hey—necessary sacrifices. Building rapport, making connections, laying foundations…" A sharp, toothy grin flashed across her face. "They take priority."
Mia twisted her head away, disgust etched in every line of her face. "You mean bribing them with cigs and feeding them lies about Violet."
Chelsea hummed, clearly entertained by Mia's disapproval. "You say it like it's a bad thing."
"Because it is," Mia snapped, finally shrugging Chelsea's arm away. "She's literally done nothing wrong. Not to you. Not to anyone. She hasn't even rejected your friendship yet..!"
"Are we really doing this again?" Chelsea's voice dropped, a hard edge surfacing.
Mia hesitated, her anger momentarily checked.
The unasked question lingered between them, thick and heavy. Chelsea went silent, her expression shifting as she simply turned and beckoned Mia to follow her into the sombre school building. Mia stood frozen for a brief moment, but despite her instincts, her feet started to carry her forward.
The fluorescent lights hummed a monotonous tune in the long hallway. The early morning air, though filled with the murmur of students heading to class and the rhythmic shuffle of shoes on the tiled floor, held a tense sort of quiet.
And just like that, Chelsea's demeanour fractured.
She stopped, pivoting to face Mia, her voice losing its warmth, replaced by an unexpected edge. "You have no say in what matters to me," she stated. "You forfeited that privilege long ago… Don't you remember?"
Her eyes, once familiar, were now cold and inscrutable, devoid of emotion. "If you interfere this time…" Her voice fell to a near-whisper, a chilling promise hanging in the air. "There will be consequences."
Mia felt a knot tighten in her stomach, but she stood firm, clinging to her resolve.
Chelsea advanced, invading Mia's personal space until their faces were mere inches apart. "So, do you still want to play the saviour again?" she said. she taunted. "Have you forgotten what happened the last time you tried to play hero? No? Fine...But don't come crying when you end up worse off than she did…"
Mia clenched her jaw. "You're threatening me now?"
"I'm reminding you," Chelsea whispered, her breath a mix of warmth and stale cigarette smoke. "Of what'll occur when you fail to remember who you belong to in this school."
A heavy silence settled between them, vibrating with unspoken danger.
Chelsea straightened, her easy-going façade returning as quickly as it had vanished. "Good chat," she chirped, her voice light and airy once more. "Now come on. We can't be late."
Chelsea spun on her heel, her shoes clicking against the tile floor, and started walking away, Mia trailing a beat behind her.
But Chelsea's forward momentum stalled as a familiar colour snagged her attention—a flash of blonde, unmistakable even from a distance.
Violet.
She watched Violet stroll down the hallway, moving with that same oblivious grace she always possessed. So unaware of everything, so vulnerable.
Without a word to Mia, Chelsea broke away, her intentions now set.
She closed the distance to Violet with a silent, predator-like efficiency, then launched herself onto Violet's back, the gesture a bizarre mix of an affectionate sibling and a parasitic leech.
"Vi!" Chelsea chirped, her voice syrupy sweet.
Violet stumbled forward with a surprised gasp, her hand flying out to catch herself against the wall. "Wh— Chelsea!" she wheezed, twisting in a struggle to dislodge her unwanted passenger. "What the hell? I told you not to do that!"
"Did you? I must've forgotten," Chelsea feigned innocence, not apologizing in the slightest. Finally, she got off Violet's back, giving her the freedom she required. "Where're you off to, hmm?"
Violet's eyebrows drew together into a confused frown. She smoothed the wrinkles from her blazer and took a calming breath. "I was going to the restroom."
Chelsea made a dismissive noise. "Pfft~! There's no time for that. Tutor period's about to start!"
Violet blinked. "Wait—what? It doesn't start for another ten minutes—"
"Nope," Chelsea interrupted, already looping an arm around Violet's and steering her in the opposite direction. "Gotta get there early! C'mon, you've gotta make a good impression on our tutor and fellow classmates, it's crucial that we all start off on the right foot, don't you think?"
"Yeah, I guess...But I really—" Violet started, trying to pull back. "Chelsea, seriously, I need to—"
"You'll survive~"
Violet shot back a confused, almost defeated look, yanked along by Chelsea's overwhelming energy. "You're exhausting..." she mumbled, the words barely audible.
Chelsea simply giggled, a sound that didn't quite match the calculating spark in her eyes.
Down the corridor, Mia watched them vanish around the corner—Chelsea beaming with a dazzling, practiced smile, and Violet, unknowingly swept into her orbit.
And behind Mia's quiet, seething stillness… was fear.
Not for herself, though.
But for Violet's sake.