"One last ride before we head out," Ryan said, pointing at the Ferris wheel glowing against the night sky. "Perfect way to wrap it up."
No one argued. They split automatically—Ryan with Sophia, Andrew with Grace.
The gondolas rocked as they climbed in, the metal creaking under their weight. As the ride lifted, the whole city opened up below them in gold and violet, the streets glittering like someone had scattered a handful of stars across the ground.
Grace leaned her head against the window, her face calm in the shifting lights. She looked so at peace it almost tricked Andrew into forgetting what he knew—what he felt—about her. He wanted to reach out, to tell her he could see through the cracks she kept hiding. But the words stuck, as usual. All he managed was a small smile, pretending nothing was wrong.
The gondola creaked higher, pulling them further away from the noise of the park. The laughter and shouts below faded until it was like they were floating between two worlds—earth behind them, sky just out of reach.
Halfway up, the gondola swayed and Grace shifted in her seat. Her sleeve slipped just enough to show her forearm.
Andrew's chest tightened.
There was a mark there. Dark, jagged. Not some little scratch. Not some fresh bruise from a clumsy moment. It looked older, like it had been there for a while, and it carried a weight that instantly made his stomach twist.
Without thinking, he leaned forward, his voice sharper than he meant it to be. "Grace… where did you get that?"
She froze.
The Ferris wheel groaned, carrying them higher, lights flashing across her face—but she didn't answer. The silence was heavier than the ride itself, pressing down on him until he felt like he couldn't breathe.
By the time the gondola touched back down, nothing had changed. Grace still hadn't said a word.
They stepped out. Ryan and Sophia peeled away toward the main road, leaving Andrew and Grace walking the other direction. The night air was cooler now, the smell of fried food and spun sugar still drifting faintly from the park.
They walked side by side quietly, their shadows stretching long and thin under the streetlights.
Andrew couldn't stop replaying the sight of that mark. Finally, he tried again, gentler this time. "Grace… that scar. How did it happen?"
She glanced at him once, quick, then turned her eyes back to the road. "Oh, that? I burned myself while cooking. Hot pan, stupid mistake. It's nothing."
Her tone was smooth, but not her face. Her lips were too tight, her eyes flicked away too fast.
Andrew had known her long enough to recognize a lie when he heard one.
But he didn't push. Something in his gut told him that if he tried now, she'd just shut him out even harder. So he forced a nod, acting like he believed her. "Makes sense," he said quietly.
Inside, though, his decision was already made. If she wouldn't tell him, then he'd find out himself. Carefully. Quietly. He needed to know what she was hiding—and why.
Beside him, Grace sped up her steps a little, maybe grateful he dropped it. But the silence between them grew heavier, filled with everything unsaid.
Across the park, Sophia walked with Ryan. She laughed at his jokes, smiled at his stories, but her mind wasn't on him.
She kept seeing the gondola. Kept seeing Andrew and Grace together. She'd noticed the way Andrew leaned in close, the look on his face when he saw her arm. She didn't know what they were talking about, but she felt the weight of it from across the ride.
Her chest ached with a question she didn't want to ask: Were Andrew and Grace something more?
She remembered when Andrew had been hers—not in a romantic way, but in the way of childhood, when they belonged to each other as best friends. Running barefoot through grass, climbing trees until their hands blistered, telling each other every stupid secret.
Now, he barely told her anything. That space where she used to be, Grace seemed to occupy it.
Ryan noticed her quiet and frowned. "Hey, you okay?"
Sophia blinked, forcing a smile. "Yeah. Just tired."
But the thought followed her all the way home.
Meanwhile, Andrew and Grace reached her street. Houses stood quiet under the pale glow of streetlamps, windows lit warmly with the muffled lives inside.
"This is me," Grace said softly, stopping at her gate.
Andrew nodded. "Goodnight, Grace. Rest up."
She gave him a small, fragile smile. "Goodnight, Andrew."
He watched her disappear behind the door before finally turning away. His chest felt unsettled, like a storm that hadn't fully broken.
When he got home, he dropped his shoes by the door, climbed the stairs, and collapsed on his bed without even changing.
His diary sat waiting on the nightstand. Out of habit, he reached for it. The leather was cool and worn, the pages already too full of things he didn't understand.
He opened to the first page. The words stared back at him, the same ones that had unsettled him before:
A girl named Grace will transfer into your class. Don't treat her like just another face. Watch her carefully. Listen when no one else does. Your choices will decide more than you realize.
Andrew traced the lines with his finger, his chest tight. Who wrote this? How did they know about Grace before she even came?
Sleep pulled at him. His eyelids grew heavy, the blur of the Ferris wheel, the scar on her arm, her lie all bleeding together. He drifted off with the diary still in his hands.
Hours later, he woke in the silver-blue glow of moonlight. Groggy, he sat up and looked at the page again.
And froze.
Something new was written there, neat and steady, like it had always belonged:
Don't let her die.
Andrew's breath caught. His hands shook as he held the diary. The room felt colder all at once, his heart pounding in his ears.
What did that mean? Who was writing this? What danger was Grace really in?
The mark on her arm. Her false smile. Her silence.
Everything pointed to something bigger, darker, than she wanted him to see.
Andrew shut the diary slowly, his jaw tight, his thoughts racing faster than he could follow.
One thing was certain now: Grace's secret wasn't just about her past. It was about her survival.
And whether she lived or died might depend on him.