The following week settled over Ridgewood High like fog—thick, quiet, and hard to see through. The air was cooling, the leaves beginning to turn, and the spaces between students began to shift like invisible tectonic plates. For Amaya Rivera, the shifts were subtle, but unmistakable.
Kai had become quieter, more impatient, and more… elsewhere. And Yasmine had started vanishing before Amaya could even ask her to hang out. Not cold. Not distant. Just… drifting.
It was like something important was happening and no one was telling Amaya.
Tuesday – Rooftop Bleachers
Yasmine sat alone on the back bleachers during lunch, a sketchpad on her lap and a thermos of black coffee at her side. The wind tugged at the edges of her jacket and her hair tickled her cheek. Below her, Kai was practicing free throws with his team. She watched his form, his stance, the way he wiped sweat from his brow.
The angle of vulnerability.
He never looked up. Never noticed her watching. Not today.
She made marks in her notebook beside the sketchpad—times, behaviors, patterns. His routes. His distractions. The places where no one else lingered.
She knew the layout of Ridgewood High better than the janitors. She knew the choke points, the blind corners, the exits that didn't trigger cameras. She'd spent weeks preparing for this.
So why did it feel harder now than any mission before?
Why did she feel like Amaya's voice—bright and unguarded—still echoed through her thoughts every time she came close to pulling the trigger?
She closed the sketchbook and stood up.
Wednesday – Girls' Restroom (Amaya's POV)
Amaya leaned against the sink, staring at her reflection with narrowed eyes. She didn't look any different—same hoodie, same earrings, same everything—but she felt off. Like something had changed under her skin.
She hadn't seen Yasmine in three days. No coffee shop. No art club. No messages. Nothing.
And Kai… Kai had stopped trying. No more early morning texts. No more asking how she was. Just a ghost with a basketball.
She turned on the faucet and splashed her face. The water stung.
"You're not imagining it," she whispered to herself. "Something's wrong."
She dried her face and headed back to class, but her heart didn't leave that mirror.
Wednesday Afternoon – Art Club Room
The room was empty when Amaya arrived. Dust motes drifted through the sunlight like tiny ghosts. The scent of graphite lingered on the air.
Yasmine's sketchpad sat on the table.
Amaya hesitated. Then slowly, she walked over, sat down, and opened it.
The pages flipped slowly, one by one. Trees. Benches. Buildings. Streets. And then—herself.
Dozens of versions of her—laughing, reading, looking out a window, sipping coffee. Each page a frozen moment.
And one stood out more than the rest: Amaya sitting on a riverbank, eyes closed, face turned toward the light.
Drawn with care. With tenderness.
She stared at it for a long time.
Then her phone buzzed.
Kai: "Hey. Can we talk? After school. Behind the east wing."
Her chest tightened.
Something wasn't right.
After School – East Wing
The east wing of Ridgewood was a half-renovated part of campus where students rarely lingered. It was quiet, often empty—just wide halls, peeling paint, and flickering lights.
Amaya rounded the corner slowly.
What she saw froze her breath.
Kai stood there, just a few feet from Yasmine. Their voices were low, inaudible from where Amaya was, but Kai was smiling, leaning in close.
And then he reached out and touched Yasmine's chin.
Yasmine didn't pull away.
Amaya didn't wait to see more. Her feet carried her back down the hall, fast and furious, her heart thundering in her chest.
That Evening – Art Club Room
Amaya stormed into the room before the final bell could even ring.
Yasmine was there—alone, as always—quietly sketching. She looked up, startled by the noise.
Amaya didn't speak.
She walked straight to the table, grabbed the sketch Yasmine had been working on, and tore it in half.
Yasmine stood quickly. "What are you—"
"You're disgusting!" Amaya yelled, eyes burning. "You knew I loved him!"
Yasmine blinked. "You said you weren't sure if you still did."
Amaya's throat tightened. "That doesn't mean you get to just take him."
"I didn't take anyone," Yasmine said, her voice sharp. "He came to me."
"That's worse!"
Amaya's breath was ragged. Her hands trembled. Her heart was breaking, and it wasn't just because of Kai.
"I trusted you," she whispered.
Yasmine looked away.
"I told you things I don't even tell my best friends. I spent time with you. I thought—" She cut herself off, swallowing hard. "I thought maybe you understood me."
"I do," Yasmine said softly.
Amaya stepped back. "Then why did you let this happen?"
Silence.
Then, almost without warning, the words slipped out:
"Because I wasn't supposed to care about you."
Amaya stared.
Yasmine flinched, like she hadn't meant to say it. Like it was a truth too dangerous to release.
"I didn't mean for this to happen," Yasmine added, her voice barely audible.
Amaya's hands dropped to her sides. Her chest ached like it had caved in.
"I hate you," she whispered.
And then she ran.
Yasmine's POV – That Night
She sat in the art club room for hours after Amaya left, staring at the torn sketch.
Her chest felt hollow. Her hands were shaking.
She hadn't felt fear like this in years—not even on missions where her life was on the line. But Amaya's face, twisted with betrayal, haunted her.
The phone in her pocket vibrated.
Final opportunity. 6 days remain.
Yasmine stood.
Tomorrow, she would finish what she came here to do.