The locker banged open with its usual metal squeal. Maya shoved her practice bag inside and reached for her cleats. Something white slipped from the top shelf, drifting down.
She caught it mid-air. A folded piece of paper. No name. No markings.
Her stomach dropped.
Don't open it. Just throw it away.
But her fingers were already unfolding the edges.
Three words in black ink:
I found you.
The paper trembled. The locker room noise faded to static. Her chest tightened like someone had wrapped a fist around her lungs and squeezed.
He knows. He's here. He's been here.
She crumpled the note and stuffed it deep into her bag. Slammed the locker door. The metallic clang made three guys look over, but she was already moving, forcing one foot in front of the other.
Practice. Just get to practice. Act normal.
