The air in the exam room was razor-sharp, thin as glass, ready to splinter under the smallest touch. Lottie sat frozen, her pen poised over the answer sheet, every muscle in her body taut as a drawn wire. The faint scrape of pencils against paper, the soft shuffle of shoes under desks, the hollow cough from the back of the room—they all pressed against her ears, louder than they should have been, like the world was narrowing to a single, breathless point.
Then it hit.
A jolt in her chest, like a spark snapping against her ribs, sharp enough to steal her breath. Her fingers clenched involuntarily around the pen as a strange, prickling sensation swept up from her palms to her fingertips—a tingling current that wasn't quite pain but left her trembling. The Mislead Pulse was stirring again, unbidden, raw and electric, threading through her like a live wire under her skin.
Her breathing faltered, shallow gasps she struggled to disguise as the weight of Evelyn's gaze bore down on her like a leaden cloak. The heat of it was unmistakable, searing into the side of her face, the kind of stare that made your skin crawl and your shoulders tense. Lottie could feel it—not just the stare, but the intensity behind it, the razor-edged focus that tunneled through space to find her.
She dared a glance sideways, only to catch Evelyn's lashes lowered, her face unnaturally still. Not a muscle moved. Even the faint rise and fall of her chest had paused, as though she were caught halfway between inhale and exhale, suspended.
Foresight Flash.
The recognition seared through Lottie's nerves, sending a fresh wave of adrenaline pulsing through her veins. She squeezed her eyes shut for a fraction of a second, wrestling the rising panic threatening to choke her. The air in the room felt thicker now, every scrape of a pencil, every shallow sigh slicing through the silence like a blade. Even the muted flicker of the overhead lights seemed too sharp, too loud, flickering against her skin like needles.
Focus. Focus, Lottie.
Her mind spun as she fought to recall the precise mechanics of the Mislead Pulse. A fake action, a false ripple to scramble the future Evelyn saw. But how? Where?
Her gaze darted over her paper, heart slamming so hard against her ribs it felt like it might crack them. A faint tremor ran down her spine, the cold sweat at the nape of her neck trickling between her shoulder blades. She could taste the copper bite of fear at the back of her throat.
Her foot tapped against the floor—a light, near-soundless rhythm, grounding herself in the moment. The vibration traveled faintly up her leg, a heartbeat outside her chest, steady, calming. She inhaled once, twice, letting the sharp scent of old paper and ink fill her lungs.
She whispered under her breath, the words barely brushing her lips. "Not yours anymore, Evelyn."
The pen felt foreign in her grasp, slick against her damp skin. She shifted her grip, fingers brushing the cold metal clip, the touch anchoring her as she traced the contours of her strategy. The scratch of the pen against the paper came like a soft hiss, almost lost under the storm inside her head.
The Pulse sharpened her senses with startling clarity—she could sense Evelyn's tension, like a taut string ready to snap. The stillness wasn't serene; it was coiled, rigid, on the brink. A pulse flickered in Evelyn's temple, her fingers motionless over her paper, her body frozen mid-thought. It was the kind of stillness that only came from straining against something unseen, something just beyond reach.
And then it came to Lottie, swift as lightning through her mind.
Without hesitating, she skipped ahead three questions on the sheet, her pen gliding across the page with a deliberate recklessness. The snap inside her was immediate—a faint mental rupture, like glass fracturing under pressure. The Pulse surged outward, curling at the edges of Evelyn's vision, warping it.
Beside her, Evelyn's breath hitched—a sharp inhale, too quick, too shallow. Her pen hovered a millimeter above the paper, frozen, the tip trembling like it was caught in an invisible wind.
Lottie's own heart pounded so violently it echoed in her ears. Her hands trembled with a fine, near-imperceptible shake, but she forced them steady, forced the next answer onto the page as if her entire body weren't screaming with tension. She pressed her palm briefly against the desk's cool surface, feeling the faint vibration of her own pulse through the wood.
A flicker of movement at the edge of her vision.
Leo, two rows over, leaned back ever so slightly, his foot nudging the leg of his desk. His eyes found hers for a fleeting second, dark and sharp, the ghost of a grin twitching at the corner of his mouth.
He knows.
The air shifted. She felt it. The tension thickened as Evelyn's perfect façade trembled, her lips parting as if to exhale, but no sound came. Lottie pressed on, the pulse in her wrist throbbing in time with the humming charge of the Pulse still coiling in her chest. She could feel her breath catching in her throat, could feel the way her shoulders curled forward, tight as a drawn bow.
The room was a crucible now—polished desks gleaming under pitiless fluorescent lights, chairs lined in neat rows, students bent over their papers with furrowed brows and clenched jaws. Every scrape of a shoe, every faint cough, every shallow breath seemed to punch through the air like gunfire.
Inside her head, Lottie could feel the Pulse unfurling, licking at the edges of her consciousness. And with it, her thoughts turned sharp, surgical.
You're not the only one who sees now, Evelyn.
Her gaze darted back to her sister, her lashes lowered just enough to catch the quiver at the corner of Evelyn's mouth, the telltale flick of her fingers smoothing the edge of her sleeve, the nearly imperceptible way her shoulders rose and fell in a breath no one else noticed.
Lottie's chest tightened, both with exhilaration and the fierce grip of fear.
Don't choke now.
She adjusted her seat ever so slightly, the legs of the chair scraping a faint whisper against the floor. Another ripple in the vision Evelyn tried to anchor to. Another crack spidering through the illusion.
And Evelyn… Evelyn twitched. A fraction, but it was there. Her pen scratched suddenly across the page, a hurried, broken motion, as though scrambling to chase a fleeting glimpse.
The thrill coursed through Lottie, hot and cold all at once. Her hands were shaking outright now, but she disguised it, dragging her thumb along the edge of her paper, grounding herself, holding herself in place. Her fingers dug slightly into the wood, leaving faint half-moons in her skin, the ache a sharp, necessary tether.
Her mind flashed to memory—of Evelyn, smiling sweetly as she whispered poison into their parents' ears, of Evelyn brushing her hair back with gentle hands only to twist the blade deeper behind closed doors.
Not anymore.
Lottie's lips parted in the barest ghost of a smile. Not enough to show her teeth. Just a soft curve, invisible to anyone except the girl beside her who had made a life out of noticing every micro-expression.
The final minutes ticked down, each second a hammerbeat.
And then the bell.
The sharp clang pierced the air like a shattering pane of glass. Pens dropped, chairs scraped, a collective exhale rippled through the room.
Lottie set her pen down with deliberate care, fingers aching, sweat cooling sticky on her skin.
Evelyn rose too quickly, the legs of her chair shrieking against the floor, and Lottie saw it—the mask had slipped. The smile was too fixed, the shoulders too stiff, the fingers clenched too tightly around her test paper.
Lottie stood, her legs momentarily weak, the adrenaline crashing through her like a tidal wave. Her knees threatened to buckle, but she steadied herself, pushing back against the tremor in her limbs.
As she moved down the aisle, Evelyn's presence loomed beside her. A soft, airy voice floated past her ear.
"Good job today, Lottie."
There was a brittle edge under the sweetness, a thin crack in the crystal.
Lottie's smile was soft, almost dreamy. "You too, Ev."
Evelyn's hand twitched, as though she might reach out, might seize her wrist, her shoulder, something. But she didn't. And Lottie walked on.
Leo fell into step beside her as they moved into the hallway, his voice low, threaded with a grin. "Well, look who's dancing on a wire."
Lottie's breath caught, a bright, sharp sound. "I like the view."
Leo's laugh was quick, warm, laced with something close to admiration. "Just don't fall, Hayes."
Ahead, Evelyn turned, her smile polished, her eyes sharp as blades. She swept her gaze across the crowd, a queen surveying her court—but the corners of her mouth trembled, just faintly, just enough.
Lottie's pulse thundered under her skin, but she lifted her chin, her shoulders light, her step smooth as water.
As the crowd surged forward, Evelyn's voice rang out, honeyed and bright. "Congrats, everyone! I'm sure we all did our best."
Lottie brushed past, close enough that their shoulders nearly touched. Close enough that she heard the sharp inhale Evelyn sucked through her teeth.
She didn't turn. She didn't slow.
But the smile curving her lips cut like a blade.
Behind her, Evelyn's laughter rang out—a little too high, a little too sharp.
And inside her chest, Lottie felt the Mislead Pulse settle into a quiet hum, a heartbeat that was entirely her own.