The days that followed moved like shadows slipping through sunlight — silent, shifting, never quite what they seemed.
At school, Claire and Miko passed like strangers. No glances. No nods.
Only silence.
But beneath that silence, words still moved — quietly, secretly.
At night, their phones flickered to life, like lanterns in the dark.
Miko:
Don't meet me near the school. Too many eyes.
I'll wait near the old bookstore on Seroja Street. Back entrance. After dusk.
Claire:
Okay. I'll find a way. Just… be careful.
That evening, the wind was thick with the scent of rain-soaked pavement and secrets.
Claire wore her gray hoodie, the one no one noticed.
She slipped out quietly after dinner, telling her mother she was going to study with a classmate.
The city moved slowly around her — neon signs flickering, motorcycles humming, the hush of Jakarta's evening alive but distant.
She found the bookstore tucked between a pharmacy and a shuttered tailor.
The main entrance was locked, but as promised, the back door creaked open with a soft push.
Inside, the scent of old paper hung thick, comforting.
And Miko was already there — seated on a low wooden bench between shelves of forgotten novels and dusty poetry collections.
He looked up as she entered — not with a smile, but with a kind of quiet relief.
"You came."
Claire pulled back her hood, nodding. "I said I would."
They sat for a moment, saying nothing.
Just breathing the same air again.
Two hearts, tired of pretending they didn't need this.
Miko broke the silence first.
"I've been thinking a lot about Sam's last few days."
Claire glanced at him, the low lamplight catching the edge of worry in his face.
"He was acting strange," Miko continued. "Paranoid. Jumping when people called his name. I asked him once what was wrong. He said…" — Miko hesitated — "'Some masks are harder to see through than others.'"
Claire frowned. "You think he meant Randy?"
"I think he meant someone he thought was good. Safe." Miko looked at her. "Someone trusted."
Claire's heart thudded. "And now you think… it could've been Randy?"
"I don't want to believe it." Miko leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "But too many pieces fit. Too much silence surrounds his name."
Claire nodded slowly. "So what do we do?"
Miko reached into his bag and pulled out a folded piece of paper — aged, creased, familiar.
Sam's handwriting.
Claire took it carefully, eyes scanning the jagged letters:
R doesn't know I saw. I can't say it out loud. If I disappear — ask C to look beneath the surface.
"C?" Claire whispered.
"Your initial." Miko's voice was low. "He trusted you, even when he couldn't say your name."
Claire's fingers trembled slightly as she held the note. "What did he see?"
Miko shook his head. "That's what we need to find out. But we have to be careful. Randy's… smart. He knows how to make things look like coincidence. Like concern. Even like love."
Claire flinched slightly.
Miko noticed. He softened. "I'm not saying he never cared. But care doesn't erase danger."
She nodded, her voice barely above a breath. "He's always been there. Since the fall. Since the rumors. Even before I remembered how I got pushed…"
"But you still don't know who pushed you," Miko said gently.
Claire stared down at the floorboards, her chest tightening.
"No," she admitted.
Miko reached into his phone, opened a folder. "I've been digging. Randy's father owns the company that handled the school's surveillance data. And the day Sam died…"
He turned the phone toward her — a screenshot of a system log.
"—the school's CCTV records were wiped."
Claire's eyes widened. "You're sure?"
Miko nodded. "And guess who had access?"
She stared at him, lips parting. "Randy."
He looked at her — steady, patient. "Claire… I'm not asking you to stop trusting everyone. But I am asking you to look deeper. Because someone wanted Sam silent. Someone wanted your memory buried."
Claire swallowed hard. "And now someone wants you out of my life."
Miko nodded once. "Exactly."
They sat in the hush of the dusty room, only the soft ticking of a wall clock marking the time.
Then Claire spoke, her voice quiet but unshaking.
"Then I'll find the truth. About Randy. About Sam. About what happened that night on the stairs."
Miko looked at her — something fierce and proud flickering in his eyes.
"You won't be alone."
Claire stood. "We have to be careful."
Miko stood beside her. "Then let's be careful. But let's not be afraid."
And as they stepped back into the misty night, hearts beating faster beneath layers of quiet, they knew:
They were walking into something dangerous.
But they were walking into it together.
Not with blind trust.
But with open eyes — and the will to finally see the truth, no matter where it led.
***
That night, after parting ways with Miko under the soft veil of the drizzle, Claire made her way home through winding, familiar roads — heart still echoing with truths too sharp to ignore.
The lights from the house spilled out onto the porch like a warm lie.
A sanctuary painted in comfort.
But tonight, every step she took was deliberate — controlled.
She wiped the mist off her hoodie, stepped in, and called softly, "I'm home."
Her mother was in the kitchen, humming lowly, stirring something fragrant on the stove.
"Good timing," she said without turning. "Come sit, I made that lemon soup you like."
Claire slipped off her shoes, kept her voice light. "Smells great."
They talked — about little things. The weather. A neighbor's birthday. The price of mangoes.
Claire responded just enough, nodding in rhythm, wearing her gentlest smile.
But her mind was far.
Still in that old bookstore.
Still hearing Sam's voice between the cracks of Miko's warnings.
Then, just as Claire stood to help wash the dishes, her mother spoke again — more carefully this time.
"Oh—by the way. Randy's father called this evening."
Claire paused, dish in hand. "He did?"
Her mom looked at her, gentle but firm. "He invited us to a small dinner. Just the four of us. This Friday night."
Claire kept her expression neutral. "What for?"
"I think," her mother said with meaning in her eyes, "he just wants to talk. He's always been kind to us, you know. After everything we've been through... And Randy—he really likes you, Claire."
There it was again.
That pressure.
That unspoken weight.
Claire forced a small smile. "Did you say yes?"
Her mom nodded. "Of course. It's just dinner, and it's good to keep ties strong. Especially with people who've helped us when we had no one."
Claire dried her hands slowly.
Help could have two faces.
So could kindness.
And sometimes, the softest voices carried the sharpest intentions.
But she said nothing.
Only, "Okay. I'll go."
Her mother smiled, proud and relieved. "I'm glad. Wear something nice, ya. You don't need to look too fancy, but… I know how much this means."
Claire nodded, heart ticking louder now.
Not from nervousness.
But from determination.
Because maybe dinner would be more than just pleasantries.
Maybe this was her chance — to watch, to listen, to see.
To catch the lies in Randy's eyes.
To peel back the mask his family wore so effortlessly.
To follow the threads Miko had helped her see.
So she turned back toward her room, smiling softly as she passed her mother.
But inside, she was already preparing.
Not for a dinner…
But for a hunt.