The soft glow of Lottie's laptop cast long, blue-tinted shadows across her room, the screen's light flickering over the sharp line of her jaw and the tight set of her mouth. Fingers danced across the keyboard in precise movements, the faint click of keys the only sound in the stillness. Her eyes, cool and intent, skimmed over rows of filenames—footage, notes, screenshots, each one a tiny shard of the larger picture she was stitching together with ruthless care.
She paused, drawing in a slow breath, the taste of cold air sharp in her throat. Her thumb hovered above the trackpad, tension crackling through her knuckles. Each file she labeled with a quiet, methodical precision: "E_Hayes_ApologyDraft," "Amy_TextLeak," "Forum_Chaos_Clip3." Her breath left her in a quiet, controlled exhale, the ache in her chest twisting tight, the knot of adrenaline pulsing low beneath her skin.
A sharp ping jolted the silence. Her phone vibrated where it rested on the edge of the desk, the buzz sharp against wood, rattling faintly. Lottie's gaze flicked to the screen.
Leo:Stay sharp. Tension's spiking.
A faint smirk ghosted over her lips, quickly gone, like a crack of light under a door. Her fingers flew again over the keys, saving backup copies to an encrypted drive, sliding each piece into place with a clinical detachment that barely concealed the pulse pounding in her throat.
Her eyes flicked to the corner of the screen—she had dozens of tabs open, the school's notorious forum among them. Threads bloomed like weeds: speculation, defense, accusation. The posts were fast, hungry, devouring every crumb of scandal with the ruthless appetite only anonymity could sharpen.
"She's just misunderstood."
"Open your eyes—she's been playing us all."
"Anyone got receipts?"
Lottie's pulse jumped. She scrolled, eyes flicking over the shifting tide, noting the pattern, the subtle bends in conversation. Evelyn's defenders were fewer now, their voices shriller, their tone defensive, fighting shadows in a room already tilting away from them. A low, dark satisfaction pulsed at the back of her mouth, tinged with a familiar, gnawing exhaustion.
Her fingers hesitated. Amy.
A flicker of guilt slipped under her ribs, sharp and unwelcome. Amy's face flashed behind her eyes—wide-eyed, trembling, voice tight with panic, fingers twisting the hem of her sleeve until it nearly tore. Lottie exhaled through her nose, fingers curling briefly against the edge of the desk. Not now. She couldn't afford that softness now.
Another ping.
Evelyn:"I'm so sorry for the confusion today! Miscommunication, old files—meeting with the school to clear things up. Thanks for the love, everyone. <3"
Lottie barked out a quiet laugh, the sound bitter-edged, a blade hidden in silk. She leaned closer, elbows braced on the desk, studying the post. The careful modulation. The precise balance of vulnerability and strength. The sugary, curated tone designed to pull hearts back into her orbit.
"Oh, Evelyn," Lottie murmured under her breath, a faint smile twitching at the edge of her mouth, "you're good."
But not good enough.
She copied the post's text, pasting it into a fresh document. Notes followed, rapid-fire, her mind breaking it down—word choices, emotional hooks, public deflection. Every click of the keys was a stitch in her net, a weave pulling tighter around Evelyn's perfect mask.
The cool hum of her laptop fan filled the silence, a soft mechanical sigh against the thrum of her heart. Outside, the night stretched quiet and dark, the faintest whisper of wind brushing against the windowpane. Lottie's gaze flicked to the glass, and there—barely a shadow, barely a flicker—she saw Evelyn.
Evelyn stood in the garden, phone gripped tight, face half-lit by the pale glow of her own screen. Her posture was sharp, shoulders set, head tilted just slightly as if she could sense the storm building behind the walls. Lottie's fingers froze on the keys, her heart stuttering sharp and fast. For a beat, the air between them pulsed electric.
The glass was cold under Lottie's fingertips as she reached out, brushing the tips of her fingers lightly against the pane, watching the faint fog of her breath bloom and fade. Outside, Evelyn shifted, her gaze flicking up—sharp, searching, the lines of her face carved in moonlight and tension.
Slowly, deliberately, Lottie reached forward.
Upload later.
The button waited, quiet and patient. A promise.
Her thumb hovered over the trackpad, breath held in her chest. She could feel it—the split-second between choice and consequence, the tension strung taut between two lives, two stories, two sisters.
Another ping. Her phone danced across the desk.
Leo:"I mean it. Stay alert."
Lottie huffed out a breath, something soft and sharp all at once. Her fingers grazed the phone, the familiar weight grounding her even as her pulse raced. She turned back to her laptop, fingers sliding over the keyboard, saving the last of the files to her hidden drive. The cold click of the casing in her hand was a strange comfort—weight, purpose, control. She slipped it into the hollowed-out underside of her jewelry box, the tiny compartment clicking shut like the last note in a symphony.
Her gaze drifted again to the window, to the figure standing stiff and motionless outside. Evelyn's fingers twitched around her phone, the faint glow limning her features in an almost angelic light—if angels smiled with sharpened teeth.
Lottie let her head tilt, just slightly, the faintest curl of amusement lifting the corner of her mouth. Her breath fogged the glass, a faint veil between them.
And then—
A knock.
Sharp. Sudden. A jolt ripping through the quiet.
Her breath caught in her throat, a spike of adrenaline tearing down her spine. For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to the door, to the sound of knuckles rapping against painted wood. She didn't move. Didn't breathe. The laptop screen blinked in the corner of her eye, the words Upload later still glowing.
A second knock. Softer. Slower.
Her fingers twitched at her side, the tremor subtle, restrained. Her eyes flicked toward the door, mouth tightening just a fraction. Slowly, she drew in a breath, cool air slicing through the heat in her chest.
Another message.
Leo:"Check the window again."
Lottie's pulse thundered. Her eyes flicked sharply to the glass, and there—Evelyn was gone.
The garden was empty.
Her stomach gave a subtle twist. The air felt heavier, thinner, as though the night itself had drawn a breath and was holding it. The knock came again, a soft, almost hesitant rapping.
"Lottie?" A voice. Low. Too familiar.
Amy.
Lottie's lips parted, breath sliding over her teeth in a sharp exhale. Her heart kicked, a strange ache sparking under her ribs. Her hand hovered near the door, fingers curling against the wood, the cool paint grounding her.
For a long moment, she said nothing. The quiet stretched thin between them, trembling at the edges.
Outside the window, the garden remained empty, the moon casting sharp silver across the grass.
Finally, her voice slipped free—soft, edged, steady.
"Amy," Lottie murmured, just loud enough to carry through the door, "you shouldn't be here."
A faint hitch of breath on the other side, the sound of Amy's fingers brushing the doorframe. "I—I just… I didn't know where else to go."
Lottie closed her eyes briefly, the ache in her chest twisting sharper. Her fingers pressed lightly against the door, feeling the faint vibration of Amy's presence, the delicate, breakable line between them.
"Amy, go home." Lottie's voice softened, a whisper wrapped in steel. "It's late."
"I—" Amy's voice cracked, the word catching on the jagged edge of a breath. "I think she knows I told you. She's… she's so angry, Lottie."
Lottie's fingers stiffened against the wood, her pulse sharp in her ears.
A soft, bitter laugh brushed past her lips. "Of course she's angry."
"I didn't mean—" Amy's voice dissolved into a quiet choke, a breathless rush. "I just… I thought I was doing the right thing."
For a moment, Lottie's face softened, the lines around her mouth easing, her shoulders curving inward just slightly. She let her forehead rest against the door, the cool wood a faint balm against the heat rising under her skin.
"Amy," she whispered, voice slipping past her lips like a sigh, "go home."
There was a silence, long and fragile, like glass stretched thin over a fault line.
Then soft footsteps retreating.
Lottie stayed where she was, forehead pressed to the door, the faint press of tears burning at the back of her eyes—but none fell. Her fingers slid slowly down the wood, nails grazing faint lines into the paint. She turned, the pale light of the laptop flickering over her face as she moved to the desk. Her hands hovered above the keyboard.
Outside, the wind stirred, brushing through the garden, rustling the hedges where Evelyn had stood moments before. A shadow flickered across the glass, no more than the sweep of a branch, but it made her spine stiffen, breath catch, heart drum sharp once more.
Lottie's smile deepened, just a breath, just a flicker.
"Oh, Evelyn," she murmured, fingers poised like a pianist over the keys, "it's only just beginning."