Aylia's POV
Something changes on Monday.
I can't name it. That's the worst part.
If it were loud—if it were obvious—I could brace myself. I could prepare. But this feels like standing in a room where the temperature has dropped by one degree at a time. You don't notice until you're already cold.
Xavier doesn't touch me.
He doesn't threaten me.
He doesn't even speak to me every time.
And somehow, that makes it worse.
He's just… there.
In history, beside me. In the courtyard, ahead of me. In the hallway, close enough that people move around us instead of through us.
He never rushes. Never explains.
He watches.
The first time I change my route and still run into him, my stomach twists.
Coincidence, I tell myself.
The second time, my pulse jumps.
By the third, I know better.
I stop near the lockers after chemistry, pretending to search my bag. My hands are steady. My breathing is not.
When I straighten, he's already waiting.
"You're adjusting your patterns," he says calmly.
I stare at him. "Are you following me?"
"I'm anticipating you."
"That's not better."
"No," he agrees. "It's effective."
My chest tightens. "Why are you doing this?"
His gaze sharpens—not cruel, not amused. Assessing.
"You're unraveling," he says.
"I'm functioning."
"Barely."
I laugh under my breath. "You don't know anything about me."
"I know," he replies, "that you look over your shoulder now."
I hate that he's right.
Around us, the hallway hums with movement. No one is listening. No one ever is.
"I want you to leave me alone," I say.
"That's not what you want."
"That's exactly what I want."
"No," he says quietly. "That's what you say because you're used to surviving without interference."
I step back. "You don't get to decide that."
His eyes darken—not angry. Something worse.
"Someone already did," he says. "I'm just acknowledging it."
I walk away before he can say anything else.
But the feeling follows me.
Like gravity.
Like being watched even when I'm not.
Alicia's POV — The Adjustment
Xavier is getting sloppy.
Not outwardly—never that. But I see it in the details. The pauses. The way his attention lingers too long before he reins it back in.
He thinks he's in control.
That's adorable.
I sit at our usual table with my friends, watching Aylia cross the courtyard. She's faster now. Tighter. Like an animal that's learned the shape of a snare without seeing the wire.
Good.
Pressure reveals truth.
"She's holding out longer than I expected," Camille mutters.
"She's proud," I reply. "Pride snaps eventually."
Xavier doesn't join us right away. He's watching her again.
Marcus notices too. He always does. Poor Marcus—so earnest, so out of his depth.
I lean toward Camille. "Time to accelerate."
That afternoon, I pay a visit to the guidance office.
Not officially.
I mention concerns. Frame them delicately. Isolation. Stress. "Behavioral changes." I never lie outright—I imply.
People fill in blanks far more enthusiastically than you ever could.
By Wednesday, teachers are watching Aylia more closely.
By Thursday, she's pulled aside after class.
I don't tell Xavier.
I want to see how he reacts when the situation moves without his permission.
At lunch, Aylia sits alone again. Xavier approaches—but slower this time. Measured.
She looks up, eyes sharp. "Did you do this?"
"Do what?"
"People are suddenly interested in my well-being."
His jaw tightens. Not anger.
Annoyance.
"Someone's meddling," he says.
I smile from across the room.
Yes, darling.
I am.
Xavier finally confronts me after school.
"You went around me," he says.
"I went ahead of you," I correct lightly. "You were hesitating."
"I had it under control."
"You're lying," I reply. "To me or yourself—I'm not sure which."
He steps closer. "You're interfering."
"I'm protecting the outcome," I say. "You're losing objectivity."
For the first time, I see something flicker in his eyes.
Fear.
"You don't get to decide this alone anymore," I continue. "If she breaks too soon, the narrative collapses."
"And if she doesn't?" he asks.
I smile. "Then we apply pressure until she does."
He doesn't answer.
But he doesn't stop me either.
That's all I need.
Denver's POV — Distance Isn't Safety
Australia is loud.
Too loud sometimes.
I step outside the lecture hall to take the call, the sun harsh and unforgiving. Aunt Lauren's voice crackles through the line.
"It's Aylia," she says. "She's not answering."
My stomach drops.
"She's fine," I say automatically. "She would've texted if something was wrong."
Aunt Lauren hesitates. Just long enough.
"She texted Casey," she says carefully. "Just… not you."
The words land heavier than they should. Heavier than logic allows.
Later that night, I finally get through.
Aylia answers on the third ring. Her voice is steady. Too steady. Like she's holding it in place.
"I'm okay," she says quickly.
"You don't sound okay."
"I'm just tired."
"From what?"
Silence. Not long—but deliberate.
"School."
It's not an answer. It's a placeholder.
"Is someone bothering you?" I ask.
"No."
Another pause.
Liar.
I lower my voice, even though there's no one else in the room. "You know you can tell me."
"I know," she says softly. "I just don't want to worry you."
That's when it clicks.
She already is.
We hang up. I sit on my bed, staring at the wall like it might explain something.
Something's wrong.
Not loud. Not obvious. Nothing that leaves marks.
The kind of wrong that settles in quietly. The kind that waits.
I text Casey.
Is Aylia okay?
The dots appear. Vanish. Appear again.
Finally: She says she is. I don't believe her.
Neither do I.
I open my laptop. Start digging—school forums, tagged photos, names that repeat too often to be coincidence.
One of them surfaces again and again.
Xavier.
I don't know who he is yet.
But I will.
And for the first time, distance doesn't feel inconvenient.
It feels dangerous.