The sky hung low and gray the next morning, clouds bruised and heavy, as if the weather itself mirrored the quiet weight sitting in Jace's chest.
She didn't see Mira at their usual locker spot. At first, she thought maybe Mira was running late. But by second period, worry started to crawl beneath her skin like cold fingers. No texts. No missed calls. No explanations. Just silence.
Finally, during break, Jace stepped outside and dialed.
"Hey," Mira's voice answered after a few rings—low, scratchy, tired.
"You didn't come to school," Jace said, leaning against the edge of the building. "Are you okay?"
"I've been throwing up since 3 a.m.," Mira groaned. "It's probably just a stomach bug. I was gonna text you, but I literally passed out again after my mum forced meds down my throat."
Concern softened the edge in Jace's tone. "You should've told me. Do you need anything?"
"I'll be fine," Mira murmured. "Just… can you do me a small favor?"
"Of course."
"If there's any important slides or notes from today's classes… could you give them to Michael?" Mira hesitated. "He said he'd come over after school to check on me."
Jace's heart stuttered.
"Oh," she breathed, trying to sound neutral.
"You don't mind, right? He's in your building anyway."
"No, I—yeah. Sure. I'll get them to him."
"Thank you," Mira said, her voice small. "I owe you."
But Jace wasn't thinking about the favor. She was thinking about him.
Michael.
The boy she had no right to love.
The boy who belonged to someone else.
The boy who was coming for her.
All day, the thought gnawed at her. She sat through lectures without hearing a word, her pen barely moving. Her palms were cold. Her throat dry. And still, she kept her head down, pretending everything was fine.
When the last bell rang, a knot tightened in her stomach.
Her classmates began packing up, the usual rustle of papers and zippers filling the air. Jace stayed seated, pretending to go over her notes again. She kept glancing at the door—waiting.
And then…
"Jace?"
She jolted at the sound of his voice. That voice.
Michael.
She looked up, and the world tilted just slightly.
He stood at the doorway, tall and steady in a gray hoodie, backpack slung carelessly over one shoulder. His hair was tousled, like he'd run his fingers through it on the way over, and his eyes—those quiet, piercing eyes—searched for her.
"Oh," she managed. "Hi."
He stepped inside slowly, hands shoved in his pockets.
"Mira said you had something for me?"
Jace's fingers tightened around her notebook as she stood. Her heart was a wild thing in her chest now, loud and reckless.
"Yeah," she said, her voice too soft. She cleared her throat and tried again. "Yeah, I, um… took notes from history and psych. They mentioned something about next week's test."
She held out the papers like a fragile offering. He stepped closer, reaching out to take them. Their fingers brushed—just barely—but the heat of that touch lingered.
"Thanks," he said, glancing down at the pages. "You always take neat notes. Mira brags about it."
Jace smiled, unsure what to do with her hands now. "I try."
For a second, the silence stretched, not awkward, just... thick.
Michael looked at her. Really looked.
"You doing okay?"
The question caught her off guard.
"What?"
"You just seem... I don't know. Quieter than usual."
Jace tried to laugh, but it came out brittle. "It's been a long day."
He nodded slowly, watching her with that frustrating calm of his, like he could see more than she wanted him to.
"Can I ask you something?" he said suddenly.
Jace's throat tightened. "Sure."
"What's Mira like when she's sick?"
The question made her blink.
"I mean—she told me not to bring anything, just come by. But I feel like I should bring something? Soup? Juice? Her favorite chocolate bar? I don't want to show up and make her feel worse."
Jace swallowed. "She likes ginger ale when she's nauseous. And plain crackers. She'll pretend she's fine, but she likes to be babied a little when she's sick."
Michael chuckled, and it was so soft and genuine it made her stomach twist.
"Thanks. You really know her."
Jace nodded, eyes dropping to the floor. "Yeah. I do."
And that was the worst part—she did know Mira. Every layer, every scar, every soft place. And still… she was standing here with Mira's boyfriend, her heart breaking for someone who wasn't hers to love.
Michael stepped back a little, slipping the notes into his bag. "I should get going before it gets late."
Jace nodded, hugging her arms around herself. "Yeah. Right."
But he hesitated at the door. "Hey… if you ever want to hang out, just the two of us—I mean, if Mira's okay with it—I wouldn't mind. You're easy to talk to."
Her breath caught. Her lips parted. But nothing came out.
He smiled, small and thoughtful, and then he was gone.
The door clicked shut behind him, and the room went still.
Jace didn't move for a long time.
The silence was louder now, echoing off the walls. Her fingers felt numb, her chest hollowed out.
He had no idea.
None of them did.
And maybe that was a mercy.
But maybe it was a curse.
She dropped back into her seat, burying her face in her hands. Her mind replayed every second of that conversation, searching for clues, for meaning, for anything that might suggest he felt something too.
But there was nothing.
Nothing except kindness.
Nothing except the warm familiarity of someone who would never be hers.
And now she had to send him into Mira's arms, carrying her notes like a silent confession folded between the lines.
It wasn't fair.
None of it was.
A knock pulled her from the spiral. She looked up—half-hoping, half-dreading.
But it was Alex.
His eyes searched hers immediately, concern flickering across his face. "You okay?"
She blinked, then nodded too quickly. "Yeah. I was just leaving."
He didn't move, just stood there, studying her.
"You saw him."
It wasn't a question.
Jace hesitated. "I gave him the notes."
Alex's jaw tightened. "You look like you're about to break."
She looked away. "I'm fine."
"No, you're not."
She didn't answer.
Alex stepped inside, letting the door fall shut behind him. He crossed the room and stopped just short of her desk.
"Do you love him?" he asked quietly.
The words hit like a slap. Sharp. Honest. Unforgiving.
Jace's breath hitched. "Don't."
"I need to know."
"No, you don't," she whispered. "Because if I say yes, what does that change?"
"It changes everything," Alex said, voice rising, cracking at the edges. "It means I've been standing here like a fool, waiting for something that was never mine to want."
Tears burned behind her eyes, but she blinked them away. "I never asked you to wait."
"No. But you let me."
The silence between them now was different—raw and burning.
Jace stood, her legs shaky. "Alex, I didn't mean to hurt you."
"But you did," he said softly. "And the worst part is… I don't think you even know how much."
She opened her mouth, but the words crumbled.
Alex shook his head, backing toward the door.
"Just... figure out what you want, Jace. Before you break more than just hearts."
And then he was gone, leaving the door swinging in his wake.
Jace sat back down, alone once more.
Outside, the sky had darkened. Thunder rumbled low in the distance.
She stared at the empty desk across from hers, the one Mira usually filled with warmth and laughter.
How had it all gotten so complicated?
She loved a boy she couldn't have.
She was losing a boy who loved her.
And the girl she promised honesty to… the girl who trusted her above everyone else… was the one person she couldn't tell the truth.
Jace rested her head against the cool surface of the desk, the storm outside echoing the one inside her.
For the first time in a long time, she didn't know who she was anymore.
All she knew was that something had shifted.
And nothing would be the same again.
The sky hung low and gray the next morning, clouds bruised and heavy, as if the weather itself mirrored the quiet weight sitting in Jace's chest.
She didn't see Mira at their usual locker spot. At first, she thought maybe Mira was running late. But by second period, worry started to crawl beneath her skin like cold fingers. No texts. No missed calls. No explanations. Just silence.
Finally, during break, Jace stepped outside and dialed.
"Hey," Mira's voice answered after a few rings—low, scratchy, tired.
"You didn't come to school," Jace said, leaning against the edge of the building. "Are you okay?"
"I've been throwing up since 3 a.m.," Mira groaned. "It's probably just a stomach bug. I was gonna text you, but I literally passed out again after my mum forced meds down my throat."
Concern softened the edge in Jace's tone. "You should've told me. Do you need anything?"
"I'll be fine," Mira murmured. "Just… can you do me a small favor?"
"Of course."
"If there's any important slides or notes from today's classes… could you give them to Michael?" Mira hesitated. "He said he'd come over after school to check on me."
Jace's heart stuttered.
"Oh," she breathed, trying to sound neutral.
"You don't mind, right? He's in your building anyway."
"No, I—yeah. Sure. I'll get them to him."
"Thank you," Mira said, her voice small. "I owe you."
But Jace wasn't thinking about the favor. She was thinking about him.
Michael.
The boy she had no right to love.
The boy who belonged to someone else.
The boy who was coming for her.