Emily drifted through the castle, barely making a sound on those stupidly shiny floors. Out the windows, the sky was just... blah. All grey and heavy, like someone forgot to turn the color back on. Inside her chest? Way messier. Straight-up chaos.
> "I'm the villainess. I know what happens next."
Royal academy's coming up fast. Logan's about to get stabbed in the back, metaphorically and—well, not so metaphorically. Guy's gonna get wrecked. And it's all supposed to be her fault.
It's Emily's fault.
Supposedly.
But she's not that person anymore.
Not Ava. Not the cackling bystander who rooted for the villainess to lose.
She ran her fingers along her sleeve. That expensive silk felt like a costume.
> "I don't want him to die."
---
Later, when the moon was out—barely, like it couldn't be bothered—she found him again. Logan. Out in the garden, lurking under that sad, pale tree. Petals drifting down, soft as regrets. He looked like a statue someone forgot to finish: blank, still, a little tragic.
Honestly, she should've just turned around. But, nope, her body had other plans.
> "You always hide out here?"
No reply. Not even a glance.
> "It's quiet. Most people don't like quiet."
> "I do." She sucked in a shaky breath. "Quiet doesn't lie."
That actually made him stop. Finally.
> "Words lie?"
> "All the damn time," she shrugged. "Especially when you're too scared to spit out the truth."
He didn't answer right away. Just stood there, chewing on something invisible. Then, finally, he turned, and their eyes locked.
And for the first time since she'd landed in this world—he actually saw her. Not a villainess. Not a threat. Just... someone he couldn't figure out.
> "You've changed."
> "Or maybe I'm just remembering who I actually am."
He took a step closer. Dangerous territory.
> "If this is some kind of game—"
> "It's not."
> "Then what? What is it?" His voice dropped, rough around the edges.
Her heart was going absolutely nuts. This wasn't a chapter. Not a script. This was the messy, unpredictable now. The garden, the breeze, him—everything felt terrifyingly real.
> "It's... me wanting you to live," she said, barely above a whisper.
He stared at her like she'd just spoken in a language nobody taught him.
Then, real slow, he looked away.
> "That makes one of us."