The clock on the wall ticked forward, each second landing like a hammer in Lottie's chest. Her fingers hovered above the exam sheet, and for a moment, she could feel every nerve in her body vibrating on the edge of something sharp, something about to snap. Her heart thudded so loudly in her ears it drowned out the faint scraping of pens, the soft cough from the front row, the shallow breaths of students clinging to calm. The smell of old paper and pencil shavings mixed with the faint tang of nervous sweat, thickening the air until it was almost suffocating.
And then, without warning, the Mislead Pulse surged.
It wasn't violent—no burst of pain, no cinematic flash—but a ripple under her skin, a tightening in her chest as if the air had become heavy and electric. The pen trembled in her grip. She inhaled, slow and measured, feeling the cold sting of sweat at her hairline, the damp chill spreading between her shoulder blades, sinking into the small of her back.
Evelyn sat two seats away, her golden hair catching the sterile glow of the overhead lights like a polished halo. Her expression was smooth, eyes cast downward, pen gliding in steady, graceful strokes. But Lottie saw what others missed—the small tension in her jaw, the twitch at the corner of her eye, the way her fingers tightened minutely on the paper as if bracing for a shift she couldn't predict.
It's now or never.
Lottie's fingers moved with a deliberation that belied the chaos in her chest. Instead of continuing down the page in order, she circled back, filling in a skipped question, then darted ahead three places, then back again. A tiny act, but inside, she felt the snap—the shattering of a thread, the pulse of disruption flaring outward like a stone tossed into still water.
A tiny gasp, almost inaudible, came from Evelyn.
Lottie's lips twitched. Not a smile, not yet. But a flicker of defiance, a glint of triumph that warmed the ice in her veins.
Her pulse pounded, a hard drumbeat against her ribs. She steadied her hand, dragging the sleeve of her uniform down to dry her palm. The fabric scratched lightly against her skin, grounding her as she traced the shifting battle lines in her mind. The air itself felt charged, brittle with tension. She caught the faintest scent of old wood and ink, the quiet click of the proctor's shoes as they moved between the rows.
A glance sideways, brief as a heartbeat.
Evelyn's eyes darted up, confusion flickering in their depths. A furrow creased her brow before smoothing under the practiced calm, but Lottie saw it. She saw everything—the rigid line of Evelyn's back, the white-knuckled grip on her pen, the tiny indentation of teeth pressed into the inside of her cheek.
The thrill of it raced through Lottie's veins, sharper than fear, more potent than doubt. It tasted like power, unfamiliar and intoxicating. She bit the inside of her lip lightly, almost to keep herself tethered, to keep from trembling with the sheer force of adrenaline buzzing in her limbs.
She pressed forward.
Her pen scrawled smoothly across the paper, her mind locking into a rhythm that pulsed with adrenaline and clarity. Every mark was a calculated strike, every answer a wedge hammered deeper into the fault lines running under Evelyn's control.
A chair creaked across the room. Leo. His posture relaxed, an ankle slung over his knee, the faintest upward tilt at the corner of his mouth. His gaze flickered toward Lottie, sharp and knowing, before sliding away again as if he'd never looked at all.
Lottie's throat tightened. She forced herself to breathe—slow, steady, anchored. The words on the page blurred at the edges, the lines dancing just beyond focus as her heart hammered faster. But she gripped the pen harder, fingers cramping, willing herself not to falter.
Evelyn's hand twitched. Her pen paused, lifted slightly, and Lottie swore she heard the faint catch of breath from her sister's lips. A crack, a hesitation, a stutter in the flawless façade.
Keep going.
Her palm brushed the edge of the desk, fingertips grazing the cool surface. A tiny scrape of nail against wood. She pressed harder, feeling the sting of pressure, using the bite of sensation to chase back the fog at the edge of her thoughts. Her foot braced under the chair, pressing into the floor as though the tension could bleed out through her heel.
She worked methodically, crossing out mistakes with a confidence that belied the tremor running up her arms, checking her answers twice, then circling back to recalibrate. Time trickled forward, the relentless ticking of the clock measuring out heartbeats and breaths.
A bead of sweat slid down her temple. She didn't lift her hand to wipe it.
Her focus tunneled, everything narrowing to the paper, the pen, the faint pulse thrumming just beneath her skin. The Mislead Pulse hummed there, alive and twisting, a quiet serpent coiled at the base of her spine.
Across the aisle, Evelyn's shoulders stiffened. Her pen hovered, then jerked forward in a rushed movement, the smooth flow broken. The air between them crackled, invisible threads snapping and tangling as the future Evelyn had counted on fractured like glass underfoot.
A faint smirk tugged at the corner of Lottie's mouth, hidden by the loose fall of her hair. She bent her head lower, letting the strands curtain her face as her lips shaped the barest whisper. "Not today, sister."
From the corner of her eye, she saw Evelyn's fingers tighten, the delicate bones of her wrist standing in sharp relief against pale skin. The shift was slight—a flicker in posture, a fractional narrowing of the eyes—but it was there.
Leo's chair shifted again. His fingers drummed once, twice, against his thigh, his mouth curving into something halfway between amusement and challenge. Lottie's pulse leapt.
The clock neared the hour.
She felt the tension rise, thick and suffocating, pressing against her ribs as if the air itself had conspired to crush her. Her throat ached with the effort of holding in a shaking breath, but her hand moved steadily, pen skimming the page, each stroke a blow in the quiet war none of their classmates saw.
Evelyn's eyes darted across the room. A flicker of panic now, surfacing in the twitch of her jaw, the tightness in her brow. Her pen flew faster, chasing something Lottie had already stolen.
I'm ahead of you now.
The final minutes bled away, seconds stretching long and taut. Lottie's fingers cramped around her pen; she forced them to keep moving, even as her wrist ached and the tendons pulled tight. A burst of static rang in her ears, the sound of her own blood roaring under her skin.
She breathed through it. In, out. One heartbeat at a time.
The proctor's voice cut through the air. "Pens down."
Lottie's fingers froze. A heartbeat later, she set the pen aside with quiet deliberation, her palm imprinting a faint sheen of sweat onto the wood. Her chest rose and fell once, sharp and shallow, as the tension drained out of her in a shaky breath.
Chairs scraped back. Papers rustled. The air shivered with the collective release of tension, the storm breaking into murmurs and relieved exhalations.
Evelyn moved first—too fast. Her chair scraped harshly against the floor, the sound jagged and raw in the hush of the room. She stood with brittle grace, smoothing her skirt with hands that trembled, just slightly, just enough.
Lottie rose more slowly. Her knees wobbled, blood surging back into cramped muscles, but she caught herself, fingers brushing the edge of the desk as if in casual balance. Her gaze flicked sideways.
Evelyn's eyes found hers.
For one breathless second, they stared across the gulf—Lottie's cool, assessing; Evelyn's tight, flickering at the edges, a mask straining under the weight of hairline cracks. And then Evelyn smiled, sharp and sweet, her voice a velvet blade. "I hope you didn't find it too difficult."
Lottie tilted her head, a faint curve touching her mouth, soft as silk. "It had its moments."
Evelyn's smile stiffened by a hair's breadth. Her fingers curled around her test paper, knuckles blanching white.
Lottie turned, each step measured and light, her pulse a fierce drumbeat under her skin. She brushed past Leo in the aisle, caught the flicker of his grin, the spark of amused approval in his eyes.
As they moved into the corridor, the low hum of voices swelled around them, tension giving way to laughter, to chatter, to the bright sharpness of release. But beneath it all, Lottie felt the thread of war still humming, the wire pulled tight between her and Evelyn, vibrating with every step.
Evelyn's voice drifted after her, light as ever, but with the faintest edge. "You know, Lottie… results don't lie."
Lottie didn't break stride. She didn't turn. But the smile on her lips sharpened as she murmured under her breath, "Neither does the truth."
And this time, she knew Evelyn heard it. She felt it in the way the air shifted behind her, the way footsteps faltered, the way the storm gathered again, waiting.
Lottie's fingers brushed against her thigh, against the trembling hush of adrenaline still coiled under her skin.
She walked on, heart pounding, head high, a silent challenge crackling in every step.