That night, we laughed, we ate, and for a while, everything felt easy. But when the boys stepped away to grab drinks, I noticed Cris had gone quiet–her gaze distant, her smile faded. I cleared my throat gently to bring her back, but she didn't respond. So I reached across the table and placed my hand over hers. She flinched, surprised.
"Hey," I whispered, my voice soft. "What's on your mind?"
She hesitated, eyes shimmering. "I… I'm happy. Really. Being here, laughing with you–it means everything. But I can't shake this feeling…" Her voice trailed off, but I didn't need her to finish. I knew. Frederick still haunted her thoughts.
I tightened my grip on her hand, steady and warm. "I believe in you, Cris. More than anyone. You wouldn't hurt a soul. And the idea of you killing someone? It's not you. It never could be."
Her lips curved into a smile, small but real. And just like that, the weight in my chest lifted.
Later, after drinks, Cris offered to drive Shawn home. Dorian volunteered to walk me back.
We strolled through quiet streets where the night seemed to breathe with us. The sky was brushed with scattered clouds, the air carrying the sweet scent of blooming flowers. As we passed in front of the park, the garden swayed gently in the breeze, petals dancing like whispers.
Moonlight poured over everything, turning the road silver and the trees into soft silhouettes. I tilted my head back, drawn to the stars–so many of them, scattered like dreams across the sky. I closed my eyes, letting the stillness sink in.
Then I felt it–fingers brushing against my palm, slow and searching. I opened my eyes and looked down. Dorian's hand had found mine, his fingers gently weaving through mine.
My heart skipped.
I liked the way it felt–quiet, unspoken, natural.
But just as quickly, he pulled away. A flicker of hesitation, like he wasn't sure if I wanted it too.
He didn't know I already longed for his touch.
I turned my face, hiding a smile I couldn't stop. A few steps later, I slipped my hand through his arm and leaned my head against his shoulder as we walked.
For the first time in my life, I felt beautiful.
Moments later, we reached my house. We stood in silence, facing each other, smiling like we were afraid a word might break the spell.
Then came the soft goodbye, and he walked away.
Back in my room, I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling, smiling like a fool. Just as sleep was pulling me under, my phone buzzed.
An unknown number.
Something in me said not to answer–but I did.
A woman's voice rushed through. "I know none of you killed Frederick. Meet me at the medical room in your school tomorrow morning, as soon as you get there."
"Wait–who are you?" I asked, but the line was already dead.
The next morning, I clutched my books and walked faster than usual, trying to come up with a reason to slip away. I didn't want my friends dragged into this–not again.
As expected, they were waiting outside when I arrived. I greeted them quickly and started for the main doors. "Don't wait for me, I've got something to do."
But Cris wasn't about to let me go alone. She caught up, her voice low and urgent.
"You don't have to do this alone. The woman who called you… she called us too. We're going together."
I stopped running. Together, we reached the medical office.
The receptionist's desk was empty, but near the window, a woman sat on a bench. Her posture was too still, too composed. She wore a jet-black overcoat with a hood pulled low over her face, her mouth hidden behind a dark mask. Her heels clicked as she stood, long legs sleek beneath the coat, a belt cinched tightly around her waist. Twin swords rested beside her–too straight, too sharp to be ceremonial. Winged eyeliner flicked out beneath the edge of her hood, sharp as her presence.
She rose the moment she saw us. "Frederick died of heart disease. I know someone tried to frame your friend."
She stepped toward me. I instinctively stepped back.
"Why are you helping us? What's in it for you?" I asked, eyes narrowing.
She placed a hand over her chest, inhaled slowly. "Believe me, I want nothing more than to help." She nodded toward the desk. "Don't take my word for it. Look at the report."
A file lay waiting. I opened it. The diagnosis was clear–Frederick had been suffering from a severe heart condition.
"It's real… But those marks on his body? What about those?" I turned to her again, but now, something had changed. Her gaze had hardened.
"They were meant to trap you," she said coolly.
"How do you know that? Why would anyone go that far?" My voice shook.
She tilted her head, her voice like poison wrapped in silk. "Don't worry about that. The good news? Your friend walks free. The bad news?" She let out a low, twisted laugh. "The burden's yours now."
My heart stopped.
"And thanks to your sweet little mistake–touching that file–I've got your fingerprints on this fake report I just created." Her mask couldn't hide the wicked curve of her smile. "Now everyone will believe you killed him."
She cackled, and the sound echoed in the silence like a blade unsheathed.
"What?" I gasped, stepping back, but she hurled something to the floor. It cracked–then smoke erupted, choking and blinding us. We dropped to our knees, coughing, eyes burning, reaching for air that wasn't there.
When the smoke finally cleared, she was gone.
I lunged for the file, desperate to hide it–but just as my hand touched it, the receptionist walked in.
She froze, wide-eyed. And that's when I remembered: every laptop and computer in the school was hooked to active surveillance.
I panicked.
"Check your laptop," I blurted. "There was a woman here, a minute before you came in–she might be on the footage."
She rushed over, and her face drained of color. Then, slowly, she turned the screen toward us.
It was my face on the video.