The first Monday of September at Ridgewood High was painted with gray skies and the whisper of autumn in the air. Students shuffled in through the wide glass doors, reluctant to let go of summer. Inside the hallways, chatter buzzed like static—friends reuniting, teachers giving half-hearted welcomes, and everyone pretending the school year wouldn't eat them alive.
Amaya Rivera spun her locker dial with one hand while balancing her iced latte with the other, humming along to whatever song was playing in her head. Her dark brown curls were pulled into a loose bun, and her navy hoodie bore the Ridgewood Raven's logo. Life was good. Senior year was supposed to be the best year of her life—especially when you were dating the school's basketball captain, had straight A's, and your mom was the school principal.
"Hey, Amaya!" her friend Lacey whispered harshly, nudging her in the ribs. "New girl. Behind you. Look."
Amaya arched an eyebrow and turned. Her eyes landed on a girl who walked with a quiet air, hands in the pockets of her jacket, a black messenger bag slung over one shoulder. Her dark hair was short and cleanly cut, just above the jawline, and she had that casual, effortlessly cool look that made half the girls at Ridgewood instantly jealous and the other half suddenly unsure of their own fashion choices.
But it wasn't just the clothes or the swagger. There was something else—something distant and unreadable about her.
"That's her," Lacey whispered. "Yasmine Alina. Transferred from... somewhere? I don't know, nobody does. But she's in our class. Word is she's in junior year, but Principal Rivera had to vouch for her."
Amaya's interest piqued. "My mom didn't mention anything."
"Well, maybe she figured you'd find out the usual way—by being nosy."
Amaya grinned, "Touché."
She caught Yasmine's eyes briefly as the girl walked past. They were pale—almost silver-gray. There was no emotion in them, just stillness. Like she was scanning the hallway, calculating... something.
Fourth Period – Art Class
Yasmine didn't speak. Not when Mr. Carr asked her to introduce herself. Not when the girls at the back giggled and whispered. She simply nodded at the teacher's request, pulled out a sketchpad from her bag, and started drawing in the back corner.
It wasn't long before Amaya caught herself glancing over her shoulder. She could see the edge of Yasmine's sketchpad, the way her hand moved with purpose, soft lines growing into shadows and details. Curiosity bloomed.
"Alright," Mr. Carr said. "Group critique today. Pair up and discuss your portfolio progress."
Amaya saw her chance.
She turned in her chair and approached. "Hey. Mind if I join?"
Yasmine didn't respond immediately. Her eyes flicked up, measuring. "Sure," she said softly.
Amaya pulled a stool over. "I'm Amaya. My mom's the principal, but I swear I don't tattle unless you're selling drugs or committing murder."
Yasmine didn't laugh. But her lips twitched.
"I sketch sometimes," Amaya said, "but I'm better at running my mouth. Talking's kind of my art."
Yasmine looked down at her sketch. It was a detailed graphite drawing of a park bench under a streetlamp. Stark shadows. Quiet atmosphere.
"This is... really good," Amaya said, surprised. "Like, really good. You could sell this."
"I draw for myself," Yasmine replied, eyes still on the page.
"Hmm. Mysterious. You say that like you're not going to be the next big art girl on campus."
Yasmine's gaze flicked up again. "And you say that like popularity matters."
That caught Amaya off-guard. She laughed. "Touche again. You're sharp."
"I just observe."
"Well," Amaya said, "you can observe me talking your ear off after class. Want to hang out? There's a coffee shop near here. My treat."
Yasmine hesitated. Then, slowly, she nodded.
After School – Cuppa Raven
It became routine after that.
Every Friday, Amaya dragged Yasmine to the coffee shop across from Ridgewood's front gate. She'd order her usual vanilla latte, Yasmine stuck with iced black coffee. They always sat at the same booth—the one near the window where Yasmine could sketch and Amaya could talk about everything and nothing.
Kai Donner didn't seem to mind at first. The school's golden boy and star athlete, he was used to Amaya having her own world outside of him. But eventually, his texts started getting colder. Shorter. His attention started drifting. Amaya noticed, but said nothing.
Because Yasmine had this stillness about her. A space where Amaya could let her thoughts run wild. And lately, that space started feeling safer than the one she shared with her boyfriend.
Yasmine's POV – The Mission
At night, the voice on the other end of the encrypted line was clear.
"You're running out of time, Alina."
"I know," she replied, staring out her apartment window. The city lights were blurred by fog.
"Why the delay?"
"He's always with the target's girlfriend. I can't isolate him without her getting in the way."
"Then improvise. The window closes in three weeks."
Yasmine ended the call, set the burner phone down, and looked at the photo taped to the mirror.
Kai Donner.
Smiling in his Ridgewood basketball uniform. Arm around Amaya Rivera.