The library's hush wrapped around Lottie like a thin veil, delicate and brittle. She could feel the soft rasp of her own breath, the tick of the old clock on the far wall, the faint rustle of pages being turned across the room. She traced a finger absently along the worn spine of a book, its leather cracked with age, her other hand resting lightly on the edge of the table. But her calm was a mask—inside, her heartbeat thrummed, sharp and quick, like the patter of rain against glass.
Then the air shifted.
A ripple ran through the quiet, as tangible as a sudden chill. Lottie's spine stiffened, her fingers tightening reflexively around the book's edge. Without turning, she knew.
Evelyn had entered.
The soft pad of footsteps, barely audible, carried a quiet authority as Evelyn glided across the room, a pale shadow in the corner of Lottie's eye. Her entourage followed—a delicate ripple of whispers and subtle glances. Lottie ducked her head slightly, her breath hitching, a spike of adrenaline cutting through her chest like ice water. The smell of old paper sharpened in her nose, and she became suddenly aware of the dry rasp of her own breath, the fine tremble at the edge of her fingers.
And then it came—the sharp spike, the telltale pull at the base of her skull.
A Foresight Flash.
Her pulse lurched. Lottie slid back, almost instinctively, muscles tightening as she ducked behind a shelf. Her fingers brushed over the cool metal of the book cart beside her, the jangle of movement masked under the soft murmur of voices. She pressed her back against the shelves, heart racing, breath caught in her throat as she fought to still the tremble in her limbs.
Through the narrow gap between the shelves, she caught a glimpse of Evelyn. Her sister's eyes had taken on that faraway sheen, pupils blown wide, a slight tension pulling at the corners of her mouth. Evelyn's fingers flexed lightly at her sides, as though tasting the edge of the future threading through her mind.
Lottie's fingers hovered near her ribs, feeling the faint twist of the Mislead Pulse stir inside her. A cold sweat prickled along her neck. She closed her eyes briefly, forcing her breath into slow, even draws. She felt the familiar coil of tension—not panic, not yet, but the razor-thin edge of a moment waiting to tip.
Focus.
She bent slightly, fingers grazing the floor as she gathered scattered books into her arms. The spines pressed cool against her palms, the faint scent of old paper rising to meet her. One by one, she stacked them with quiet precision, each movement calculated to weave the illusion: she was leaving, casually, early, with no suspicion. Her fingertips trembled briefly against the worn covers, then steadied, her breath threading into a thin, steady line.
Beyond the shelves, Evelyn's posture shifted, her chin lifting slightly, lips curving at the edges. A flicker of triumph danced across her face. Lottie felt it like a ripple in the air, a thread tightening between them.
Good.
With a faint smirk barely tugging at the corner of her mouth, Lottie slipped between the stacks, feet moving with the soft, practiced glide of someone who knew every creak in the floorboards. Her shoes whispered over the polished wood, the brush of her sleeve against paper faint as a breath. Her heart beat in sharp, metered pulses, every step accompanied by the faint pulse of adrenaline in her fingertips.
As she turned a corner, a whisper slipped past the thick veil of silence.
"She's in position."
The words slithered between Evelyn's friends, sharp and quick, like the flick of a blade. Lottie's ears caught it—a low current of plotting, a snare tightening. Her fingers brushed the spine of a nearby book, pressing just hard enough to ground herself, just hard enough to remind her: she was three steps ahead.
From across the room, Leo watched.
He sat half-slouched in the corner, a book propped loosely in his lap, one leg draped over the arm of the chair. His eyes, however, were anything but idle. They tracked the tension weaving through the room, the electric pulse crackling just beneath the surface. His thumb tapped idly against the book's cover, but his gaze flicked sharply between Evelyn's poised form and Lottie's shadowed retreat.
Lottie could feel the weight of it—the quiet storm building, the trap set, the coil of calculation humming in the air. She ducked her head lower, the brush of her hair against her cheek a faint comfort, the pulse at her throat quick but steady. Her fingers trembled for a beat, the rush of adrenaline spiking through her veins, before she pressed them flat against the shelf, anchoring herself.
As she slipped deeper into the maze of stacks, the whisper of voices faded behind her, replaced by the rhythmic thud of her heartbeat. A flicker of doubt stabbed at her ribs—what if Evelyn caught on? What if the vision splintered too soon? But she forced it down, crushing it beneath the cool weight of strategy. This was the game. And Lottie knew how to play.
Around her, the library transformed. The soft rustle of pages became the hush of soldiers in waiting. The faint creak of a chair was the shift of a blade, the glimmer of a sharpened edge just out of sight. Even the stacked books seemed to lean in, thick with the weight of unsaid things, their spines lined like barricades, their shadows stretched thin and long across the polished floor.
Lottie's breath brushed out in a slow, steady stream as she reached the end of the aisle. Her fingers tightened briefly on the strap of her bag, heart hammering in her chest. The faint flicker of footsteps ghosted behind her, and she slipped sideways, weaving between the shelves with the sure-footed grace of someone dancing through a battlefield.
As she rounded the next corner—
She nearly collided with Leo.
His eyes snapped to hers, sharp, cutting, heavy with unspoken questions. Lottie's breath hitched, a sharp jolt sparking through her chest. For a beat, they stood frozen—two players caught in the gap between move and countermove.
Leo's mouth twitched, the faintest quirk of a smile ghosting across his lips. "Fancy meeting you here," he murmured, voice pitched low, laced with quiet amusement and sharper curiosity.
Lottie's fingers flexed at her side, a flicker of a smirk dancing at the edge of her mouth. "Studying hard, Leo?"
His brow arched, a glint of something dangerous sparking in his gaze. "Observing, actually."
The air between them thrummed, sharp and tense, a thread pulled taut. Lottie caught the faint smell of coffee on his breath, the warmth of his presence cutting through the cold press of the library's air. Her heart skipped once, sharp and bright, before she smoothed it back into the steady rhythm of control.
From across the library, Evelyn's laughter rang out—soft, lilting, edged with something brittle. Lottie's heart gave a sharp twist. She leaned in, just slightly, the scent of old paper and sharp adrenaline thick between them.
"Stay out of the crossfire," Lottie whispered, her voice like the brush of a blade along skin.
Leo's eyes darkened, the smile at his lips tightening into something quieter, something watchful. "Wouldn't dream of it," he murmured, stepping back with the grace of someone who knew how to disappear without moving.
Lottie slipped past him, the faint brush of her sleeve ghosting over his hand, and the storm of tension wrapped around them like smoke. Behind her, she could hear the quiet shuffle of Evelyn's entourage, the sharp whisper of plans unfurling, the delicate balance of a snare tightening.
As Lottie reached the back corner of the library, her fingers darted to her phone, the smooth glass cold against her palm. She swiped quickly, eyes darting over the latest notifications, pulse spiking as the forums lit up in a fury of new posts. She could almost feel the heat of the words, the sharp rise of suspicion curling around Evelyn's polished mask.
A faint noise snapped her head up.
Across the room, Evelyn's eyes met hers—direct, unblinking, a slow smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.
The world narrowed.
For one breathless moment, the air between them crackled, sharp as glass. Lottie's pulse thundered in her ears, fingers tightening around her phone until the edges dug into her skin. Evelyn tilted her head, the movement graceful, deliberate, a predator's slow dance. Her lips moved, soundless across the distance.
"Try me."
Lottie's heart slammed against her ribs, a fierce, wild rhythm that left her dizzy. She drew in a sharp breath, eyes glittering with heat, a fierce smile ghosting at her mouth.
The game was burning now, live wire under their feet.
As Lottie turned, slipping into the maze of shelves once more, the scent of old paper and cold ambition trailing in her wake, the storm behind her rose in whispers and sharpened glances—until the very air trembled on the edge of shattering. And in that space, between the beat of one breath and the next, Lottie felt the world tilt in her favor.