Lena's pov
The days after the prom blurred into a strange mix of normal and not. Classes, study sessions, and the usual dorm chatter — but beneath it all, a tension simmered, thick and unspoken.
Ethan had been quieter lately, his usual easy smile shadowed by worry I couldn't fully explain. I saw the way his eyes searched mine, lingering just a second too long when he thought I wasn't looking. And every time I caught that look, my heart clenched.
One evening, as we sat in the dorm lounge pretending to review notes, Ethan's hand brushed against mine. I froze, my pulse racing like a wild drum.
"Lena," he said softly, voice barely above the music in the background. "Are you okay? You've been… different since the prom."
I forced a laugh, but it sounded hollow even to my own ears. "I'm fine. Just tired, I guess."
He didn't buy it. His brow furrowed, and he reached out, gently touching my arm where the bruise had been. I pulled back reflexively, guilt stabbing at me.
"I wish you'd tell me what's really going on," he said quietly, eyes searching mine. "I want to help."
I swallowed hard, the walls I'd built threatening to crumble.
"I can't," I whispered. "Not yet."
The silence stretched between us, heavy and suffocating.
For a moment, I let myself imagine what it would be like to tell him everything — to trust him, to let someone in.
But the mission was still alive inside me, a dangerous secret I couldn't risk sharing.
So I smiled, that practiced mask slipping back into place.
"It's just… complicated," I said, hoping he'd believe me.
He nodded slowly, but the worry didn't fade from his eyes.
And I knew this wasn't the end.
Not by a long shot.