The sky was overcast when Alex found Elias behind the school gym, sitting alone on a metal bench with his hood up and his hands still.
No notebook. No earbuds. No performance.
Just stillness.
She approached slowly, her boots crunching across the dead leaves near the wall. Elias didn't look up, but she knew he heard her.
"You're famous now," she said, arms crossed. "Congratulations."
"Didn't realize SoundCloud counts as fame."
"It does when everyone in school is whispering about 'Eli Hart.'"
A flicker — the corner of his mouth twitching. Not quite a smirk. Not quite denial.
She stepped closer.
"I heard it again. On someone's phone. In the quad."
He stayed silent.
"People think it's someone from school," she added. "Which means it's only a matter of time before they figure it out."
"Maybe they won't."
"They will."
She looked at him now, really looked — and for once, the armor wasn't up. Not all the way. His shoulders were tight. Not with anger. With restraint.
"Did you upload it?"
"No."
"Then who did?"
He didn't answer.
Alex stepped in front of the bench, forcing eye contact.
"Look at me," she said. "And say it."
He raised his head slowly. Gray-green eyes steady. Calm. Flat.
"I didn't post the song."
"And the lyrics?" she pressed. "Did you mean them?"
Elias's jaw flexed.
Then:
"It was just a song."
Alex stared at him. Waiting. Daring him to blink first.
He didn't.
"You're lying," she said softly.
"And you're assuming."
"You wrote about dying."
"It rhymed."
"You wrote about ghosts."
"That's just imagery."
Alex shook her head. "You don't sing like someone making things up."
"I don't sing for you."
That one landed.
She stepped back, jaw tight. Hurt flickered behind her eyes — fast, buried.
Elias saw it.
He looked away first.
Then, quieter: "You don't know me."
Alex didn't argue.
She didn't push.
She just said, calmly, "But I'm starting to."
And then she left.
This time, Elias didn't watch her go.
He stayed sitting. Alone. Silent again.
But not calm.
Not anymore.