The night air smelled of cut grass and damp asphalt, a lingering chill that sank into Lily's sweater as she crouched behind the bleachers. From here she could see the glow of the football field lights, hear the echo of whistles, the heavy pounding of cleats as practice wound down.
Her heart thumped steady, not with fear, but with anticipation.
Marcus was out there. Always one of the last to leave, basking in the attention of his teammates, laughing loudest, throwing his voice into the night like it owned the world.
Tonight, the world would grow very small for Marcus Grant.
Lily had been planning for days. She had walked this path more than once, mapping the shadows, noting the times of passing cars, the squeak of the field gate, the blind spots behind the storage shed. She knew where the cameras didn't reach. She knew which bulbs flickered, which patches of gravel muffled footsteps.
Her rules whispered in her head like a lullaby:
1. Never act on impulse.
2. Never reveal emotion.
3. Always have an alibi.
Her alibi tonight was simple. She'd left her phone at home on her desk, timer set to play a quiet recording of her typing every few minutes in case her mother passed by. If asked, she was studying. That was all anyone ever expected of Lily Dawson.
And no one ever questioned her.
The whistle blew sharp, signaling the end of practice. Marcus slung his bag over his shoulder, laughing with a cluster of boys before they peeled off toward the parking lot. He lingered behind, pulling out his phone, distracted.
Lily's grip tightened around the knife in her pocket. The blade was short, practical, freshly cleaned. She had wrapped the handle in tape so it wouldn't slip if her palms grew sweaty.
She breathed in through her nose, out through her mouth. Slow. Steady.
When Marcus started toward the locker building, she moved.
"Hey," her voice came out softer than she intended, but it was enough.
Marcus stopped, turning, frowning at her in surprise. "Library girl? What're you doing here?"
Lily stepped closer, her head tilted, her mask perfectly in place. "I need to talk to you."
He smirked, slipping his phone into his pocket. "What, about your tragic love life? Or do you want me to sign your book or something?"
The laughter burned, but Lily's face never changed. She just moved a little closer, hands hidden in her cardigan pockets.
"You shouldn't be so mean," she whispered.
Marcus raised an eyebrow. "What—are you threatening me?" He laughed, loud and cruel, glancing around as if expecting an audience.
There was none.
And in that instant, Lily moved.