The air outside was sharp, nipping at Lottie's skin as she stepped away from the shadowed corner of the building, the last whispers of Evelyn's laughter curling through the hallway like smoke. Her fingers tightened around the folder tucked beneath her arm, the weight of the clippings inside heavier than mere paper and ink. She drew a slow breath, feeling it tremble through her chest, as Leo's figure emerged from the dark.
He didn't speak at first—just leaned one shoulder against the wall, arms folded, a quiet gleam in his eyes that sent a ripple of awareness down her spine. The cool night wrapped around them, the scent of damp earth rising from the garden, the faint rustle of tree branches brushing against the roof like restless fingertips. Somewhere in the distance, the low hum of a passing car drifted into the silence before fading into nothing, swallowed by the night.
"You look like you saw a ghost," Leo murmured, voice low and edged with dry amusement. His gaze flicked to the folder. "Or maybe you just dragged one out of its grave."
Lottie allowed herself a faint, brittle smile. "Not quite," she murmured, voice steady despite the knot tightening in her stomach. "But close enough." Her thumb traced the rough edge of the folder absently, a grounding touch against the jitter of her pulse. Her eyes flicked toward Leo, catching the faint lift of his brow, the quicksilver flash of curiosity that darkened his gaze before he schooled it back to indifference.
Before Leo could push further, her phone vibrated sharply against her hip. The sound carved through the quiet, a single shrill buzz that yanked Lottie's heart into her throat. She fumbled the phone free, the screen casting pale light across her fingers, illuminating the fine tremor she couldn't quite suppress.
Father. Calling.
Her breath hitched. A beat of hesitation pulsed through her chest, her thumb hovering over the screen. Leo arched a brow, watching with a flicker of curiosity, but wisely stayed silent, the corner of his mouth tightening just slightly as he caught the tension radiating from her.
Lottie exhaled once, low and controlled, then pressed the phone to her ear. "Hello."
Her father's voice cracked through the line like ice shattering on marble. "Lottie."
Just her name—no greeting, no warmth. The single syllable wrapped cold fingers around her throat. She swallowed hard, fingers clenching reflexively around the folder, knuckles paling. The edges of the papers dug into her palm, a sharp, grounding bite.
"I've been reviewing your grades," her father continued, each word clipped, precise, honed to a cutting edge. "I expected better."
The faint rustle of papers echoed on his end, a delicate menace threaded into the sound, like a snake coiling through dry leaves. Lottie's nails bit into her palm as she forced a calm into her voice that she didn't feel. "I understand, Father. I've been working hard—"
"Not hard enough." His interruption sliced clean through her protest. "You know what's at stake."
A pulse throbbed at Lottie's temple. She tipped her head back slightly, eyes fixed on the cold sprawl of stars above, as if they might steady her. The air tasted metallic, bitter on her tongue. She could feel Leo's gaze flicker over her, felt the heat rise to her cheeks—not from embarrassment, but from the white-hot rush of anger she buried under her skin. "I'm improving," she said quietly. "You'll see."
A breath, sharp as a knife, hissed through the line. "Will I?"
Her throat tightened, a heat rising that she forced down with ruthless precision. For a moment, her voice threatened to crack, but she locked it down, layering steel over the raw edge of her heart. "Yes, Father," she said softly, each word polished, precise. "You will."
There was a pause on the other end, the faint sound of a door shutting in the distance—a sharp, final punctuation. "Good," her father murmured at last, his voice thin with skepticism. "Because I don't reward failure, Lottie. Remember that."
The line went dead.
For a moment, Lottie stood frozen, phone pressed to her ear, the quiet beep of disconnection buzzing like a wasp in her skull. Slowly, mechanically, she lowered the phone, her breath spilling from between her lips in a shaky exhale. She squeezed her eyes shut briefly, the cold night air cutting sharp against her damp lashes.
The ache settled deep, a slow burn behind her ribs, brittle and familiar. Her father's voice lingered like frost along her skin, a chill that no amount of warmth could banish. The garden lights cast pale halos on the stone path, their glow hazy in the damp air, and for a moment, the world felt unbearably still. She felt the folder in her grasp—its sharp corners digging into her forearm, its weight suddenly feeling heavier, as though the words inside it had become lead.
From the shadows of the staircase, movement stirred.
Evelyn.
She appeared like a wraith, delicate as ever, one hand resting lightly on the banister, lips curved into a smile that was all teeth and no kindness. Her long hair gleamed in the faint light, a silky waterfall over one shoulder, the hem of her pale dress whispering against the steps. The soft sound of her shoes against the stone was like a whisper of silk across skin, deceptively gentle, every inch of her polished perfection.
"Rough night?" she purred, voice soft as velvet but edged with a glint of sharpened glass. Her eyes flicked to the folder in Lottie's arms, lingering just a moment too long, her head tilting with feigned innocence.
Lottie's jaw flexed, fingers tightening on the folder until the edge bit into her palm. "Goodnight, Evelyn," she said smoothly, brushing past without a glance, the scent of Evelyn's perfume—sweet, cloying, calculated—curling in the air between them like smoke. Her shoulder barely brushed Evelyn's as she passed, a fleeting touch that crackled like static against her skin.
"Oh, don't be like that," Evelyn murmured, her laughter trailing after Lottie like a hook tugging at raw skin. "We're family, after all."
The words scraped down Lottie's spine, leaving thin, invisible cuts. But she kept walking, shoulders squared, steps measured, her heartbeat thudding like a war drum in her ears. Her pulse hammered in her throat, and for a moment, she feared her legs might betray her—but they didn't. She pressed forward, each step a silent refusal. She could feel Evelyn's gaze trailing over her like cold fingertips, a weight she refused to acknowledge.
Her phone buzzed again, the vibration sharp and brief. She glanced down.
Leo:Stay sharp.
A breath slipped free, less a laugh than a rasping exhale. She tapped a swift reply—Always—before slipping the phone away, the cool metal a faint comfort against her palm. Behind her, she could still feel Evelyn's gaze like a blade sliding between her shoulder blades, the fine prickling at her nape a visceral reminder of the eyes she'd learned to sense without turning.
The night air bit against her cheeks, the hush of the house behind her a quiet weight pressing between her shoulder blades. Her fingers brushed along the cool wood of the doorframe as she moved, a fleeting grounding touch, before she slipped inside.
The hallway stretched ahead, soft pools of light spilling from sconces to dapple the polished floor. Her footsteps barely whispered across the marble, each movement precise, contained. She could feel the tension still thrumming through her—her father's clipped words echoing in her head, Evelyn's mocking smile curling in her mind like smoke.
Her breath hitched once, sharp in her throat, before she forced it out.
No room for cracks.
In the mirror lining the far wall, her reflection caught and held her gaze—shoulders squared, chin lifted, eyes clear. She barely recognized the girl looking back at her, but that was the point. The girl in the glass wasn't the wide-eyed fifteen-year-old who had once chased crumbs of approval, nor the desperate sister clinging to a ghost of affection. This girl was forged of sharper stuff, her edges honed, her mask seamless. The faintest tremor rippled down her spine, and she straightened, rolling her shoulders back until the tension eased just slightly.
Validation wouldn't come in words or praise. It would come in victory.
A whisper of sound teased at the edge of her hearing—footsteps retreating upstairs, the soft creak of the staircase settling under Evelyn's weight. Lottie didn't turn. She didn't need to. She felt the lingering echo of her sister's presence like a chill on her skin, delicate and biting.
Her phone buzzed again—Leo, a simple text: You've got this.
A faint smile tugged at her mouth, the first real one of the night. Brief, fleeting, but solid. Her fingers brushed the edge of the folder again, feeling the sharp bite of the paper against her skin, a visceral reminder of the truth clutched tight in her grasp.
Outside, the wind stirred against the windows, rattling faintly like the whisper of a coming storm. Lottie drew a slow, deliberate breath, the knot in her chest unraveling just enough to let her lungs expand. The faint smell of lavender polish floated through the hallway, a domestic hush that felt almost mocking in its normalcy.
Her fingers skimmed the edge of the folder again, the paper's crisp edges biting into her skin—a reminder, an anchor. The past wasn't just a shadow trailing her heels anymore. It was a weapon. And she intended to wield it.
Squaring her shoulders, Lottie stepped forward into the house, each footfall a quiet promise.
The scent of lavender polish floated faintly through the hall, a domestic hush that felt almost surreal against the tension coiling in her muscles. Her fingers brushed the cold brass of the banister as she ascended the stairs, each step measured, controlled. From the landing, she caught the faintest whisper of Evelyn's door shutting, the soft snick of the latch closing like the last note of a song.
In the hush behind her, the faint echo of Evelyn's laughter lingered, soft and sharp, a phantom curl of sound that teased the edge of Lottie's hearing. She paused for a heartbeat on the landing, fingers brushing the banister, and let the sound wash over her.
Lottie's lips curved, a flicker of steel sparking behind her eyes.
Let her laugh.
The game was far from over.