The sun cut through the classroom windows in long, slanting beams, dust motes swirling in the shafts of light like tiny secrets drifting through the air. The usual chatter between classes had taken on a sharper, more brittle edge, every word a ripple across the fragile surface of the school's social hierarchy. Lottie could feel it under her skin—the shift, the tension, the crackling anticipation of something about to break.
Across the room, Evelyn sat at her desk, back straight, hair gleaming in the sunlight, her smile practiced and polished, the embodiment of effortless perfection. But Lottie saw it—the way Evelyn's fingers clenched a little too tightly around her pen, the faint tremor at the corner of her mouth, the way her gaze flicked too quickly, too often, to each cluster of whispering classmates. Her mask was slipping, and Lottie knew it.
Whispers slithered through the classroom like snakes in tall grass, sliding from mouth to ear, never meant to be overheard—except they wanted to be.
"Did you hear? Evelyn might've… lied."
"No way. She's, like, Evelyn. She doesn't lie."
"Then why's Amy acting like someone kicked her puppy?"
The words slipped into the air like poison, curling around desks and backpacks, threading through the rustle of papers and the tap of fingers on phones. Lottie's lips curved just slightly at the corner, the faintest suggestion of a smile. But beneath the surface, her heart was a drumbeat against her ribs, steady and sharp, a pulsing thrum of focus and calculation.
Her fingers grazed the edge of her notebook, feeling the slight ridge of the paper, the indentation of words she'd written earlier. Every detail mattered now—every slip, every glance, every shiver of doubt in the room.
Amy hovered at the edge of her vision, wringing her hands, fingers twisting and untwisting until her knuckles paled, eyes darting anxiously between Evelyn and Lottie. Her steps were hesitant, her breaths shallow, like a cornered bird, as though she were afraid the air itself might shatter if she moved too quickly.
Finally, Amy crossed the distance, her shoes making faint scuffs against the tile. "Lottie," she murmured, voice thin and wavering, almost drowned by the rising hum of the room. "Can we… talk?"
Lottie didn't lift her gaze from her notebook. She kept her fingers loose around her pen, tapping a slow, deliberate rhythm against the page, the sound soft but sharp enough to thread through the noise around them. "We're talking, aren't we?"
Amy flinched, shoulders tensing, fingers knotting together so tightly her nails bit into her palms. "I—I didn't mean… I wasn't trying to…" Her voice trailed off, the words crumbling like dry leaves in her throat. "I didn't know Evelyn would—"
"Amy," Lottie cut in softly, lifting her eyes at last. The calm in her voice was like cool water poured over a fire, smoothing the heat but leaving the embers smoldering underneath. Her gaze, though—sharp, unyielding—made Amy freeze mid-breath, eyes wide. "Don't."
Amy's breath hitched, her lips parting on a shaky inhale. "I just… I just wanted to fix it. I thought maybe—"
A quiet huff of air slipped from Lottie, somewhere between amusement and pity, but with an edge honed by weeks of betrayal and calculation. "Maybe," she murmured, "you should've thought of that before."
Amy's face crumpled, a flicker of raw hurt sparking in her eyes before she turned away, retreating in a small, trembling collapse of movement, her steps unsteady as she slipped back toward Evelyn's orbit.
"Cold," Leo murmured under his breath as he slid into the seat beside Lottie, the faint scrape of the chair legs against the floor slicing through the tension. His lips curled in the faintest grin, but his eyes flicked to Amy, sharp with observation. "Effective, though."
Lottie smoothed her fingers across the notebook, feeling the faint ridges of the paper under her skin, grounding herself in the familiar texture. "It had to be."
"Mm." Leo's voice was low, almost lazy, but there was an edge beneath it, a note of something alert and dangerous. "Evelyn's slipping. You feel it, don't you?"
Lottie allowed herself a small, satisfied smile, her fingers drumming once against the page before going still. "Oh, I feel it."
The afternoon dragged on, every second stretched taut with the tension humming in the air. Evelyn's composure cracked further with each passing period—a faint snap in her voice when one of her friends stumbled over a compliment, a sharp look when Amy hesitated too long at her side, the way her hand tightened on her phone until her knuckles whitened. Lottie watched from a distance, every slip a note in the quiet symphony of Evelyn's unraveling.
Whispers swirled like autumn leaves in the hallway, caught in unseen currents.
"She's been so weird lately…"
"Did you see her glare at Emily?"
"Is she—freaking out?"
Lottie moved through it like a shadow, light on her feet, each step unhurried, each glance calculated. She could feel the currents shifting, the tide turning. And when a message pinged on her phone—This is your moment—she didn't need to guess who had sent it.
Her pulse quickened, a sharp thrill slicing through the calm, but even in victory, she tempered herself. Her breath came slow, measured, and the faintest tremor in her fingers was smoothed away with a flex of her hand against her skirt.
Because Evelyn wasn't gone. Not yet.
At the end of the day, Evelyn was called into the teachers' office. Lottie didn't linger nearby—didn't need to. She watched from a quiet distance as Evelyn's back stiffened, her fingers tightening on her phone until her nails dug into the case, as if she could anchor herself to it. The faint creak of the door as Evelyn slipped inside echoed faintly, a sound too small for anyone else to notice—but Lottie caught it, let it thread into the weave of her thoughts.
A sharp, dark satisfaction coiled low in Lottie's chest, a ripple of cold lightning racing down her spine.
As she turned away, the soft brush of fabric, the faintest shift in the air, made her pause.
Evelyn stood framed in the doorway of the office, gaze locked on Lottie with a venomous intensity that prickled across Lottie's skin, raising a trail of goosebumps along her arms. Slowly, deliberately, Evelyn brushed past her, the faintest whisper brushing Lottie's ear, warm breath sharp against her skin.
"Watch your back."
The words slid like a blade between her ribs, but Lottie's only response was the smallest tilt of her head, the ghost of a smirk curling at the edge of her lips. Her fingers twitched once at her side, itching to move, to strike—but she stayed still, anchored in the electric quiet between them.
Let her come.
Outside, the wind tugged at Lottie's hair, cool fingers brushing against her neck, sliding beneath her collar. She lifted her face to the fading sunlight, drawing in a slow breath as the chill settled over her skin. Around her, the world hummed—footsteps, laughter, the sharp slam of lockers—but it all washed past her like the ebb of a fading storm.
Her phone buzzed again, a small tremor against her palm.
Leo: "Nice work today."
A quiet laugh slipped from her, barely a sound, just the curve of her lips and the faint shake of her shoulders. Her fingers moved across the screen, light and sure, the tips grazing cool glass as she typed.
Lottie: "Did you ever doubt me?"
The reply came almost instantly.
Leo: "Not for a second."
For a moment, she let herself lean back against the wall, the cold brick pressing into her spine, grounding her. She could feel the pulse of adrenaline fading, leaving behind a quiet ache, the hum of tension still coiled tight beneath her skin.
Her gaze lifted, sliding over the courtyard.
Evelyn moved through the crowd, her silhouette sharp against the soft afternoon light, her steps precise, her smile brittle at the edges. Amy trailed in her wake, small and pale and trembling, a puppet pulled by fraying strings.
Lottie's eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of something sharp glinting in their depths. Her fingers flexed briefly at her side, nails biting faint half-moons into her palm before she eased her grip.
This wasn't over.
A breath slid from her lips, cool and steady, fogging faintly in the cooling air, and with a quiet push from the wall, she straightened, her fingers slipping her phone back into her pocket. The weight of it was a familiar anchor against her hip, a reminder of everything she had built, everything she was poised to take.
As she turned to leave, the faint brush of a shadow crossed her path. Evelyn again, this time stepping closer, her perfume a faint floral sting in the air, her voice a breathless murmur, soft enough that only Lottie caught it.
"Enjoy it while you can."
Lottie paused, the smallest shift of her shoulders, her lips curving in a slow, deliberate smile that felt like the cool slide of a blade against silk.
"I intend to," she murmured, voice soft as velvet, edged with steel.
For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to the space between them—the crackle of tension, the sharp press of will against will, the unspoken war stretching tight between their locked gazes.
And then Lottie turned, her footsteps light on the stone, her heart a fierce rhythm against her ribs, her breath cool and steady as the wind tangled in her hair.
Behind her, Evelyn stood frozen, eyes dark, jaw tight, a statue carved from glass and fury.
The sun slipped lower, casting long shadows across the courtyard, and in the hush of that fading light, the balance shifted, a slow, inevitable tilt.
The cracks were spreading.
And Lottie could feel the break coming, just beneath the surface of Evelyn's perfect, crumbling mask.