The sun was climbing, but the air still held a trace of coolness as PE class moved outdoors. The soccer field stretched in fresh green lines under a bright sky, enclosed by tall fences that cast long, narrow shadows across the turf.
Rowan sat against the fence, right along the white line leading to one of the empty goals. Her knees were pulled to her chest, arms wrapped around her legs, the chain-link pressing lightly into her back. Her classmates ran back and forth across the field—some chasing the soccer ball with half-hearted energy, others chatting or deliberately staying out of the game altogether. It was a warm-up period disguised as a full one. End-of-year laziness had settled over everything.
She wasn't in the mood to run today. The sun, the noise, the laughter—it all felt distant. Muted.
Her eyes drifted to the treeline behind the field. The woods beyond the school were thick and dark, even in daylight. Something about them reminded her of this morning—of the man staring into them. Of Lily.
Rowan's stomach tightened. Two days. That's how long Lily had been missing. She hadn't told anyone—not really. She didn't want to make it real.
She's fine. She probably just ran off. Family stuff. Needed space.
That's what people said when someone didn't come back. But Rowan knew Lily. Knew her like a second half. If Lily had wanted to leave, she would've said something—she always did. A stupid meme. A song lyric. A dumb joke at 2 a.m. Something.
Instead: silence.
The image from the morning news came back to her. Lily's school photo—smiling, bright-eyed, wearing that striped hoodie Rowan had borrowed once.
Gone.
Her brother's words echoed like a whisper:
"Don't go disappearing too, alright?"
She sucked in a quiet breath.
What if it wasn't just people "leaving"?
What if something was happening?
What if it had to do with—
A shadow shifted in front of her, blotting the sunlight.
Rowan blinked, pulled from her thoughts. When she looked up, Callum was standing there, one hand in the pocket of his gym shorts, the other scratching the back of his neck. He glanced down at her with that same easy expression he always wore—half-smile, soft eyes, like nothing ever rattled him.
"Hey," he said.
Rowan straightened a little, adjusting her legs but still sitting. "Hey," she replied, her voice a little hoarse.
Callum glanced at the game behind him. "Not playing either?"
She gave a small shake of her head. "Not feeling it."
"Yeah," he said, looking back toward the field. "Everyone's half-assing it anyway."
A short silence fell. Not tense, just awkward enough to feel it.
He shifted his weight. "You okay?"
The question caught her off guard. She looked at him—really looked—and for a second, she didn't have the words. Her fingers gripped her leggings.
"I'm fine," she said finally.
Callum didn't press. "Alright," he said softly, and for a second, it seemed like he might sit down beside her—but one of his friends called his name. It sounded like the same guys who always laughed too loud, always messed around in the locker room, always had something to say about everyone.
He glanced over his shoulder, then back at her.
"See you around?"
Rowan nodded, eyes dropping to her knees. "Yeah."
He jogged off, yelling something back at his friends that made them howl with laughter. One of the louder boys threw a plastic cone across the field like a football.
Rowan leaned her head back against the fence, eyes fluttering shut for just a second. The breeze picked up, carrying the sharp scent of grass and something cooler underneath.
Then—
A voice broke through her thoughts, light and teasing.
"Well, that was a moment."
Rowan turned and saw Kara grinning down at her, swinging a water bottle lazily in one hand. Behind her, Elena approached with slower steps, eyes locked on Rowan.
Rowan raised an eyebrow. "What?"
Kara smirked. "You and Callum. He's totally into you."
Rowan rolled her eyes. "He's just being nice."
"Nice and staring at you like you're a tragic novel character."
Rowan snorted, despite herself.
Elena finally sat beside her, folding her legs. She didn't join in the joke. "You okay?" she asked softly.
Rowan hesitated. Her gaze drifted toward the treeline again. "I'm just tired," she said.
Elena didn't push, but her hand brushed Rowan's for just a second—enough to say, I'm here.
Kara, sensing the shift in mood, flopped down beside them with a sigh. "Tired of school. Tired of boys. Tired of soccer. It's that time of year."
Elena smiled faintly but kept her eyes on Rowan.
Some of the boys on the field started arguing—nothing serious, but loud enough that a whistle blew sharply.
"Alright!" the PE teacher shouted. "That's time! Everyone back in!"
Students started moving toward the locker rooms, sweaty and breathless, some groaning about class. The crowd thinned slowly, bits of conversation drifting past Rowan's ears. Someone joked about skipping the shower. Someone else yelled that they were going to beat whoever stole their water bottle.
The teacher squinted at his clipboard, flipping through a few pages. "Wait—" he called, more to himself. "Did anyone see Marcy Tran?"
A few heads turned.
One student raised a hand. "She was here earlier."
Another added, "She played the first round… didn't she?"
"Yeah, I think she was by the bleachers," someone else said.
The teacher looked out over the field. Then at the benches. The fence. Nothing.
He called her name again. Louder.
No answer.
Rowan sat up straighter. Her hands pressed to the ground.
Kara whispered, "Weird…"
Elena scanned the field, her brows furrowed.
A few students started to laugh nervously, as if it were a prank.
But the teacher's face darkened. He muttered something under his breath, then pulled out his phone.
Rowan didn't move.
She felt it in her chest—a tight, cold knot.
She looked at Kara.
At Elena.
They felt it too.
Marcy Tran was gone.
Again.