The investigation into Marcus's death dragged over Crestwood High like a storm cloud that refused to break.
For a week, whispers filled the halls.
Students who barely knew him wept publicly, their crocodile tears mixing with genuine grief. Teachers tried to maintain control, though their strained voices betrayed unease. The police prowled the edges of the school, speaking in low voices to students, questioning teachers, leaving behind an air of suspicion that clung to every corner.
Lily kept her mask flawless.
Her eyes were wide and innocent when detectives called her in for questioning.
"Marcus?" she whispered, clutching the strap of her backpack. "I barely spoke to him. He was always… loud. Not really my type of crowd."
The detectives nodded sympathetically, their pens scratching across notebooks. She left the room moments later, head bowed, voice small, shoulders tight—just another shy girl devastated by tragedy.
Inside, she was laughing.
By the second week, the storm cloud thinned.
The whispers faded into boredom. Students moved on to gossip about a new couple, a math teacher's rumored divorce, and the upcoming football game. Marcus's death became another name, another photograph tacked to a bulletin board with candles beneath it.
The police, lacking leads, retreated quietly.
And just like that, the first murder was swallowed by silence.
One evening, Lily slipped into the library long after the final bell, her pulse still quick from the thrill of seeing the case evaporate. The air smelled of dust and paper, shadows stretching long between the shelves.
Jason was there, as she knew he would be.
He didn't look surprised when she approached. He never did. His calmness was infuriating, magnetic, unbearable.
"You did well," he said softly, closing the book in front of him.
Her lips curved faintly. "Did I?"
"No one suspects you. Not even close. But you're sloppy."
The words cut deeper than she expected. Her brows narrowed. "Sloppy?"
Jason leaned back in his chair, studying her like a puzzle. "You enjoy the act. You savor it. But you leave traces in your wake—moments when your mask slips, when your emotions show. That's dangerous."
Lily's pulse quickened. "I didn't slip."
Jason's lips curved into the faintest shadow of a smile. "You did. I saw."
Her breath caught. The admission felt intimate, like he had touched something inside her no one else dared to.
She leaned forward, voice low and sharp.
"Then why didn't you tell?"
Jason's gaze didn't waver. "Because I don't want you to stop. I want you to get better."