The still hum of the classroom shattered when Ms. Scott's voice sliced through the air.
"Charlotte Hayes," she called, sharp as a whipcrack. "Stay behind."
The buzz of chatter faltered, students stiffening mid-motion. Lottie's pen paused on the margin of her notebook. She felt Leo shift beside her, the faintest tension coiling in his posture, like a spring wound too tight.
A hush crawled over the room as desks scraped and backpacks rustled. Evelyn's eyes glinted, a glimmer of triumph at the corners of her mouth as she smoothed her skirt and rose, whispering something to Amy on her way out. Amy's glance flicked to Lottie, wide-eyed, unsure, fingers nervously twisting the charm on her bracelet.
When the door clicked shut, only Ms. Scott, Lottie, Leo—and the weight of the room—remained. The air felt thinner somehow, stretched tight like a held breath.
Ms. Scott folded her arms, lips pressed in a tight line. "Your exam score." Her voice was measured, but the edge beneath it was unmistakable, like a blade tucked into velvet. "A perfect result, Charlotte. Quite the… leap, isn't it?"
Lottie met her gaze evenly, her fingers smoothing once over the cool surface of her desk. "I studied." The words slipped out calm, almost careless, though her heart gave a sharp knock against her ribs.
A faint scoff from the front row. Evelyn's shadow still lingered, even after she'd left, like the faint scent of her perfume—sweet, sharp, cloying.
"Show me," Ms. Scott said, extending a palm, the pale skin stretched tight over knuckles. "Your scratch work."
Lottie's heartbeat kicked up, fluttering high in her throat, but her hands were steady as she reached into her bag. The worn leather strap grazed her wrist, the familiar rasp grounding her as she pulled out the battered notebook. The pages fluttered as she flipped to the neat columns of calculations, margin notes, careful cross-outs.
"Every step," Lottie murmured, voice low but firm, "is here."
For a moment, the room seemed to exhale. Leo leaned back slightly, the chair legs groaning faintly under the shift, a glint of approval flickering in his eyes. Amy, still at the door, turned halfway, fingers twisting tighter, her mouth pressed into a thin line as if she wanted to say something but couldn't force the words out.
Ms. Scott took the notebook, her brow creasing as she skimmed the pages. The sharp tap of her nail against the paper punctuated the silence. The sound felt loud in the stillness, each tap a tiny blow against the tension strung through Lottie's spine.
Outside the glass window, Evelyn's figure paused, pale in the afternoon light. Her reflection caught in the pane, a delicate phantom with a twist of cruelty at her mouth. Lottie didn't need to see it fully—she felt the cold focus radiating from her sister, the thrill of a trap about to snap shut. Her skin prickled, goosebumps lifting along her arms.
But the trap stumbled.
Ms. Scott's frown deepened, not with certainty, but with confusion. Her lips parted, eyes darting back and forth between Lottie's calm face and the immaculate work on the page. The red pen she held trembled faintly between her fingers.
"These are… thorough," she murmured, the steel slipping from her voice. Her throat bobbed once as she swallowed, the room catching on that tiny, human moment of doubt.
Leo's smirk flicked across his face like a knife of sunlight. He stretched his legs out, ankles crossing under the desk, a soft whistle escaping between his teeth. "Looks like someone underestimated the quiet ones," he murmured under his breath, the words a smooth flicker of amusement.
Ms. Scott stiffened, clearing her throat with a sharp sound. "We will… verify the results, of course." She handed the notebook back, fingers brushing Lottie's for a heartbeat too long, the touch cold and dry. "You're free to go."
Lottie's fingers curled around the pages, the faint ridges of the pen indentations pressing against her skin. "Thank you, Ms. Scott."
As she rose, the tension that had clung to her spine peeled away, but under it stirred something fiercer, sharper. Triumph, yes—but also a pulse of warning. She could feel Evelyn's eyes still clinging to her, even as the teacher looked away.
At the door, Amy hovered, eyes glossy with apology. "Lottie, I—" Her voice cracked faintly, breathless and small.
"Later," Lottie murmured, brushing past gently, her voice soft but final. Amy's fingers reached out halfway, then fell back, twisting in the strap of her bag, knuckles pale.
Leo fell into step beside her, his shoulder brushing hers just lightly enough to seem accidental. "You handled that neatly."
A slow smile tugged at her lips. "I always do."
"Careful," Leo murmured, leaning in just close enough that his breath grazed her ear, cool and teasing, "people are going to start thinking you're dangerous."
Lottie's laugh was a quiet, glittering thing in her throat. "Let them."
The hallway stretched out before them, a corridor of slamming lockers, scuffed linoleum, and hushed voices. Students peeled away in pairs and trios, but as Lottie and Leo passed, heads turned. Whispered threads of conversation tangled in the air like static.
Behind them, the classroom crackled back to life. But ahead—the corridor stretched wide, and Lottie stepped into it with the calm of a girl who had just rewritten her place in the script.
Near the lockers, Evelyn turned.
The smile on her face was perfectly measured, the tilt of her head polished, but her eyes—oh, her eyes—flashed dark, sharp, rattled.
"Congratulations, Lottie," Evelyn called, her voice ringing clear through the corridor, smooth as silk and twice as cutting. "Looks like you're finally living up to your potential."
The words wrapped in honey, but Lottie heard the bite underneath. She slowed, letting the tension stretch, a bowstring drawn taut.
Lottie's shoulders softened into a deceptively relaxed line. "Strange, isn't it?" she called back, her voice light, almost amused. "All it took was… perspective."
For a heartbeat, Evelyn's mask flickered. Just a flicker—but Lottie saw it. Saw the minute stiffening of her shoulders, the tight flicker at the corner of her mouth, the way her fingers flexed around the smooth curve of her phone.
Amy hovered between them, caught in the crosscurrent, her fingers clutching the strap of her bag like a lifeline. Leo watched it all unfold, the corner of his mouth curling into something that wasn't quite amusement, wasn't quite warning.
The students parted as Lottie passed, voices rising in sharp-edged whispers—
"She really aced it?"
"Scott didn't believe her…"
"…never seen Evelyn look like that."
The balance had shifted. Not fully, not yet. But the floor had begun to tilt.
In the sanctuary of the restroom, Lottie braced her hands against the cold porcelain sink. Her reflection stared back—pale skin, dark eyes alight with something new. Water dripped in the background, a soft, steady patter, the sharp scent of disinfectant stinging faintly in her nose.
Her fingers curled tighter around the porcelain, nails biting into her palm. She felt the tremble beneath her skin—the aftershock of adrenaline, the shuddering relief that hadn't yet found its way to her face.
A whisper slid from her lips, soft as breath, sharp as steel.
"Not over. Not nearly over."
Behind her, the faintest creak of the door—then Leo's voice, low and easy, like a blade slipped into a velvet sheath. "Thought you might need backup."
Lottie met his gaze in the mirror. "What gave you that idea?"
He grinned, slow and crooked, one brow lifting. "Just a hunch."
For a moment, their eyes locked in the cracked mirror—the quiet storm in her gaze, the spark of trouble in his. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed faintly, casting thin halos of light against the tiled walls.
Outside, the school roared on—laughter, footsteps, the grind of rumors churning faster than breath. But inside the cool hush of the tiled room, Lottie felt it: the turn of the tide, the flicker of the next game already lighting beneath her skin.
And far down the corridor, Evelyn stood very still, one nail digging crescent-deep into her palm. The brittle edges of her control glinted like glass in the fading afternoon light.
Amy waited just beyond, wringing her hands, eyes darting between the two sisters as if unsure which world to belong to.
Leo leaned his hip casually against the sink, eyes glinting with something that danced between curiosity and quiet calculation. "You know," he murmured, voice like a thread of smoke curling between them, "you're not half as predictable as you look."
Lottie tilted her head, lips quirking. "Neither are you."
A sharp laugh barked out of him, quick and low, surprising even himself. The sound cracked the last bit of tension, letting the air shift, weightless for a heartbeat.
Outside, the bell shrieked its jagged cry, and the world surged forward once more—lockers slamming, voices lifting, footsteps spilling through the halls. But inside the mirror's frame, Lottie's eyes stayed fixed, fierce and unflinching.
For the first time, she saw it reflected there: not the girl they thought they knew, not the quiet sister in Evelyn's perfect orbit—but the spark of something new, something sharp, something that was ready to burn.