I hate Mondays.
They're grey, loud, fake.
Like people.
Like me.
Montesquieu High School starts breathing around me again. Rushed footsteps echo in the halls, lockers slam, voices rise a notch. Everyone talks too loud. Too fast. As if they're afraid of silence.
Me, I live in it.
I'm the girl no one really looks at. The one who doesn't laugh anymore. Who doesn't speak. Who writes in the back of a torn notebook like every word could glue a shattered heart back together.But nothing glues the dead.Nothing fixes memories.
My sister's name was Clara.
She was the light. I'm the shadow she left behind.
— Élisa! Did you see the new guy?
Julie's voice pulls me out of my thoughts. She chews her gum like a machine gun, eyes sparkling with excitement. I shake my head. No, I didn't see him. I didn't want to.
— He's like... dark but like... hot dark. Total chills, I swear!
I don't answer. Julie never waits for answers. She's already gone, swept away by the crowd.
I lift my head.And I see him.
He's leaning against the wall just outside our philosophy classroom. Tall. Slim. A calm, too calm, kind of posture. Dressed in black, from his shoes to his shirt, with one of those long coats no one wears here.
His brown hair falls in soft waves over his forehead, and his eyes… my God.His eyes are cold. Cold like winter.Like the night Clara died.
I blink.
And he's already staring at me.
Not a curious look. Not a flirty one either.
A look that says I know you.
I drop my gaze, heart suddenly squeezed tight in my chest. A cold sweat slides down my neck.Impossible. I don't know him.No one's looked at me like that since—
Since that night.
"His name is Adrien Delcourt," the teacher announces. Last-minute transfer. Takes a seat in the back. Alone.
Guess where my seat is?Two rows in front of him.
I can feel his gaze burning into my neck the whole class. So much that the teacher's words blur into static. My pen scratches the page without meaning. I feel nauseous.
At the end of class, I get up too fast.My stuff falls to the floor.
I bend to pick it up, hands shaking.
A low voice, barely a breath:
— Élisa.
I freeze.
No one said my name.
No one... but him.
I slowly straighten up.
He's there. So close. Too close.
His eyes on me like an invisible blade.
— How do you know my name? I whisper, throat dry.
He smiles. Slowly.It's not a kind smile.
— You don't remember?
His words slide like poison through my veins. A violent chill runs down my spine.
— Who are you?
He tilts his head. Studies my face like a mystery he's already solved.
— Someone who saw the truth.Even when you forgot it.
And he walks away.
Just like that.
Leaving me there, frozen, heart pounding like it might shatter my ribs.
That night, I can't sleep.
I open Clara's old journal. The one I found in her things.The last pages are blank.Like she stopped writing the moment she understood.
Understood what?That truth kills?
A sound makes me jump.
A click. Soft. Almost silent.
The window.
It was closed.
I turn slowly.
The handle has moved.
The window is ajar.
And on my desk, where no one could have entered…someone has left a photo.
A photo of Clara and me.
But this photo… I've never seen it before.
And on the back, in black ink, one single sentence:
"You cried that night. I watched you. And I knew."
⟶ End of Chapter 1