The sky deepened to an indigo hush outside Lottie's window, the last fingers of daylight clawing at the edge of the horizon before slipping away. The neighborhood exhaled into stillness—no more laughter from children playing in the street, only the occasional bark of a restless dog and the low hum of distant traffic. Inside, her room was a cocoon of quiet chaos. Textbooks sprawled across the desk, notes taped to the wall in a crude constellation of reminders, pens scattered like fallen soldiers across the duvet. The steady tick of the wall clock drilled into her nerves like a second heartbeat, its rhythmic clack stretching her tension tight.
She ran a palm over the smooth cover of her math textbook, the cool surface grounding her, even as her pulse fluttered beneath her skin. This was it. The night before the exam. The night it all began to unravel the first time around.
Her throat tightened as flashes of the past flickered behind her eyes: Evelyn's soft-voiced offers to "help," the slip of wrong formulas whispered under the guise of sisterly affection, the crushing weight of failure, and the humiliation that followed. Lottie's fingers dug into the book, knuckles whitening, fingertips aching against the hard edge.
Not this time.
The scent of baked salmon drifted from downstairs, the faint clink of plates punctuating the evening hush. Lottie closed her eyes, inhaling slowly through her nose, forcing the rise and fall of her chest to steady. She would not spiral into the anxious mess she'd been before. She wouldn't allow it. Her stomach gave a low, disinterested rumble, but she ignored it, focusing instead on the soft thud of footsteps moving through the house, the distant echo of Evelyn's laugh. Her heart gave a traitorous stutter at the sound.
Dinner was a performance, as always. Evelyn sat poised, chin resting lightly on her palm as she laughed at something their father said, the sound like silver bells in a cathedral. Grace watched her with misty-eyed fondness, and Robert's rare smile flickered as Evelyn offered him another glass of wine. The dining room gleamed under the crystal chandelier, its light fractured across polished wood and silverware, casting faint prisms that danced on the walls.
Lottie, by contrast, picked at her food with the precision of a surgeon, noting every glance, every smile, every casually placed hand. The fork felt too heavy between her fingers, and each bite stuck in her throat like splinters. When Evelyn's foot nudged hers under the table, a delicate brush just enough to unsettle, she startled—but not outwardly. Her eyes lifted slowly, meeting Evelyn's gaze across the table.
"Don't overwork yourself tonight," Evelyn murmured softly, voice honey-laced but eyes sharp as cut glass. "You'll need a clear head tomorrow."
The words slid over Lottie's skin like a blade disguised as silk.
"I'll manage," Lottie replied evenly, offering a faint, polite smile. Her heart thudded in her throat, a wild, caged thing.
Evelyn's smile widened, the corners of her mouth lifting just a breath too high, a glimmer of something wolfish flashing behind the perfect mask. She looked away first, a victory in itself, and Lottie felt the tight coil in her chest loosen by a fraction.
Back in her room, she spread her notes across the bed, fingertips skating over the margins where her past self had scrawled desperate reminders—tricks to remember formulas, bullet points of key dates, tiny pleading stars. She could feel the old panic nipping at her heels, the breathless sense of falling behind, of drowning in expectations. A cold sweat prickled at the base of her spine, gathering in the hollow between her shoulder blades.
Not again.
She forced herself to stand, pacing the length of the room, feeling the carpet catch at her toes. Her breath came faster, shallow and tight in her chest, ribs pressing against the fabric of her sweatshirt with each inhale. She pressed her fingers into the windowpane, the glass cool and unyielding under her touch, her reflection faint against the darkening world outside.
Her hands trembled as she reached for the familiar bottle of lavender spray on her desk, misting the air with shaking fingers. The sharp, floral scent filled her lungs, a tether to the present. She closed her eyes, head bowed, the spray still clutched in her hand.
A knock came soft against her door.
"Hey," Evelyn's voice drifted through the wood, light as a feather but weighted with something darker. "Don't stay up too late."
"I won't," Lottie called, careful to lace her voice with just the right amount of worn-out strain. Her throat felt dry, every word rasping like sandpaper.
The handle rattled faintly, a testing motion, before Evelyn's footsteps retreated down the hall.
Lottie exhaled, shoulders slumping as she collapsed onto her bed. The mattress dipped, coils groaning softly under her weight. She pressed her palms over her eyes, fingertips cold against the fevered skin of her temples. The clock glowed 10:42 PM. Hours still to go. Her stomach twisted as she reached for her pens, uncapping them with small, decisive pops that sounded unnervingly loud in the quiet.
Every detail mattered. Every gap closed tonight would be one less blade Evelyn could slip between her ribs.
Her fingers flew over practice sheets, the scratch of pen on paper the only sound in the room. Midnight neared, and exhaustion's slow crawl threatened to drag her under, but she shoved it back with gritted teeth, knuckles straining white. Her eyes flicked to the window, to the moon hanging swollen and watchful in the night sky, its pale glow casting thin silver across the hardwood floor.
When Evelyn reappeared at the door—soft-footed, a silhouette of sugar and steel—Lottie barely glanced up.
"Still at it?" Evelyn's voice floated across the room, teasingly affectionate. "You're such a worrier, Lottie."
Lottie forced a sheepish laugh, fingers tightening imperceptibly on her pen. "You know me."
Evelyn leaned casually against the frame, one arm draped loosely over the edge, her hair falling like a golden veil over her shoulder. Her perfume—jasmine, faint and heady—drifted through the room in slow, curling tendrils. Her eyes roamed the scattered papers, a faint crease appearing between her brows before smoothing away.
"Need any help?" she offered sweetly.
Lottie's stomach knotted, but her smile held. "I think I've got it. Thanks, Ev."
A slow, considering smile curved Evelyn's mouth. "All right. Don't tire yourself out, little sister."
As the door clicked shut behind her, Lottie sagged forward, burying her face in her hands. Her skin prickled with the phantom echo of Evelyn's gaze, a slow crawl up her spine. When she lifted her head, her reflection met her in the darkened window—wide-eyed, pale, mouth pressed into a thin, bloodless line. Her chest ached with the effort of keeping herself together.
She swallowed hard, shoving trembling fingers through her hair. The strands caught between her fingers, rough and snarled. She clenched her fists, the faint pull at her scalp a grounding jolt.
Not this time.
With each note she reviewed, each equation she traced, Lottie's heartbeat steadied. She moved through the steps like a dancer through a well-rehearsed routine, her mind sharpening with every pass. The old panic flickered at the edges of her mind, whispering in the corners, but she shoved it aside, replacing it with cool calculation.
The house fell into silence around her, the occasional groan of old wood and the hush of distant cars the only interruptions. At midnight, the clock chimed softly—once, twice, three times—and Lottie felt the weight of the hour settle on her shoulders.
She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply, fingers splayed against the cool surface of her desk. The air smelled faintly of lavender and old paper. Outside, the moon carved silver lines across the floor, pale and cold as a blade. Her breath misted faintly in the cool air, the windows fogging slightly with each exhale.
"I will win," she whispered, the words a thread of steel in the stillness. "No matter what it takes."
Her fingers grazed the edge of her notebook, flipping to the final page where she'd scrawled her plan: exam, allies, cracks. Her pulse thrummed as she traced each word, committing them to memory like a prayer. A faint tremor ran through her, adrenaline threading sharp and electric through her limbs.
And then—just as her eyes began to droop, just as exhaustion's pull thickened around her—a jolt of unease shot through her. She sat bolt upright, heart slamming against her ribs, skin tingling with the sharp prickle of instinct.
Evelyn.
Somewhere in the house, she felt the shift, the tightening of the game's invisible threads. A floorboard creaked faintly in the hall. Lottie's breath caught, and she strained to listen, every muscle taut and buzzing.
Her breath came fast, shallow. Her fingers twitched at her sides.
The night was no longer just hers. The battlefield had begun.
She closed her eyes, drawing in a slow breath, letting the tension coil and knot beneath her ribs. The air felt charged, thick with the weight of unseen eyes. When she opened them again, her gaze was sharp, clear, unflinching.
The war had come to her doorstep.
And this time, she was ready.