Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Nicole leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, eyes glazed over as Mr. Katz droned on about the judicial system, as if it still had merit. His voice was a dry wheeze today, barely cutting through the stale classroom air that reeked of cheap deodorant and cafeteria tater tots. She smirked bitterly. Half the people in this room were future inmates, the other half future victims — and somehow, she sat perfectly balanced between the two.

Jecka was looking down at her phone, probably texting somebody. Emily was whispering to a sophomore about some pills she could "maybe" sell. Ari was pretending to read but kept glancing toward the hallway like a scared dog waiting for its owner to come home drunk.

Nicole flicked her chipped black nail polish with a faint click, then stared out the window.

"God," she muttered, "I'd kill for this shit to end already." She stared intently outside, watching the trees and the parking lot, which had been touched by the autumn season.

That's when she saw it — a black notebook, fluttering unnaturally down from the sky. It twirled once, twice, then plummeted like a dead bird onto the overgrown grass just outside the school's side entrance.

She blinked.

No one else noticed. Of course they didn't. People never saw the beginning of their own collapse.

When the bell rang, Nichole moved fast, cutting through the crowd with that mix of menace and apathy that kept most people two feet away.

Jecka asked where she was going; Nicole just waved her off.
"Found something better than gossip."

Outside, the air was cold and biting — the kind that made your lungs hurt. The notebook was still there, lying face-down on the grass. No name. No branding. Just black, sleek, and ominously clean.

She knelt beside it, picked it up, and flipped it open.

Death Note.

She paused. "Cute," she said aloud. But she didn't stop reading.

The human whose name is written in this notebook shall die.

The bell rang again — second period.

Nicole stood there, the wind tugging at her ponytail, the weight of the notebook resting perfectly in her palm.

She placed the book in her bag and began to walk to her next class.

She knew it was stupid to think it would actually work. But at the same time, something was nagging at her to give it at least one try.

She grinned.

The notebook didn't leave her backpack the rest of the day, but Nichole felt its presence like a pulsing, sick heartbeat just behind the zipper. Every time someone annoyed her — which was basically every ten minutes — her fingers twitched, aching to unzip, open, scribble.

In math class, she watched Kelly text under her desk with one hand and play with her lip gloss in the other.

"Two birds," Nicole muttered.

During lunch, Emily moved her way into a spot at the girls' table. Today lher voice too loud and her smell too nicotine-heavy. She started bragging about her boyfriend again — the MS-13 creep with a face tattoo and no job.

"Hey, Nicole, you doing okay?" Jecka asked.

Nicole blinked, realizing she'd been staring into space.
"Oh, I was just thinking about stuff."

Emily perked up. "Oh? What are you thinking about?"

Nicole scowled. "I'm really not in the mood for this. So either ask something else or piss off."

Jecka raised an eyebrow. "Okay... Nichole, something's clearly going on. What is it?"

Nicole rotated herself toward Jecka.
"Hey, you know how you brag that giving head is like a language? Well, start practicing if that's all you're going to ask me."

Both girls backed down after that.

She wasn't ready to share the toy. Not until she knew what it could do.

When the final bell rang, she walked home alone. The sky was overcast — that dull, suffocating gray she loved. It matched her mood perfectly.

Inside her room, the first thing she did was lock the door, toss her backpack on the bed, and pull out the Death Note like it was contraband smuggled from Hell.

She sat cross-legged on the bed, flipping through the rules again. Most of them were written in shaky, ominous English. She liked that. It made it feel ancient. Important. Dangerous.

You must have the person's face in your mind when you write their name.
If you write the cause of death within 40 seconds after writing the name, it will happen.
If the cause of death is not specified, the person will die of a heart attack.
If you want to write the cause of death, then you must describe the death within 6 minutes and 40 seconds.

That last rule made her pause.
"Okay," she said out loud. "So we're going to be specific. Surgical."

She chewed her pen cap, staring at the blank page.

Who deserved it?

The truth was that the list was long. But not just anyone would do for a test. It had to be someone vile. Someone people already whispered about in the dark. Someone no one would miss.

Someone who'd hurt people. Girls.

Her thoughts landed on one name: Coach Colby.

He taught gym and driver's ed. Rumors had circled for years — how he looked at freshmen girls during dodgeball, how he offered private driving lessons to girls who "needed help." No one ever proved anything. No one ever stopped him.

Until now.

She opened the Death Note to the next blank page, clicked her pen, and began to write:

Mark Colby.
Dies at 3:16 p.m. tomorrow, in the school parking lot, while walking to his car.
Suddenly, he trips and breaks his nose, then attempts to stand before slipping again and getting hit by an oncoming car.
This fractures his skull when he hits the pavement.
Dies from blunt force trauma.
Witnessed by three students, two of whom scream.

She sat back and stared at the ink as it dried.

It looked so... normal. Like notes for homework.

But this wasn't math. This was murder — or justice, depending on the angle.

Nichole smiled, slow and sharp.
"We'll see if you're real tomorrow."

12:30 a.m.

Nicole checked the time obsessively.

She'd never cared about the second hand on the clock before — but today, it felt like the sharp tick-tick-tick of fate itself. Every second closer to 3:16 was a heartbeat away from the truth.

Even though part of her thought this was ridiculous, she also saw the book seemingly fall from the sky, so who knows — maybe it was legit. And besides, the idea of being able to kill anyone with just the stroke of a pen was something that had to be seen in action.

She had already scoped out Coach Colby's car that morning. Same gross pickup truck — half-rusted and missing a side mirror. It sat parked crooked at the far end of the staff lot, behind the old track field fencing.

He always left through the gym exit, right after seventh period, with that limp-wristed swagger that screamed midlife crisis.
Today, she'd be waiting.

At lunch, she sat with Jecka and Emily at their usual table, barely touching her tray. Her fingers tapped against her leg — quick, rhythmic.

Jecka looked up from her tater tots.
"You good?" she asked, chewing. "You're, like, smiling. Which is... disturbing."

Emily narrowed her eyes and leaned in. "You're definitely up to something," she said. "What is it? Did you finally lace someone's vape with toilet bowl cleaner?"

Nicole shrugged, lips curling into an expression halfway between smug and unreadable.
"Let's just say I'm having a good day."

Jecka laughed. "You never have good days."

"I know," Nicole said. "That's what makes it special."

Before either of them could press, Kylar appeared — uninvited, as always. He had that fake charm turned on, the kind of smile that made her skin crawl.

"Ladies," he greeted, voice oozing with sleaze. "Emily, did your boyfriend finally OD, or is he still kicking?"

Emily reached for her fork like she might stab him.
Jecka leaned forward, unamused. "Seriously, Kylar, fuck off. Nobody cares what you have to say."

Nichole's eyes narrowed. For a moment, the Death Note flashed in her mind — his name, the face, the endless options. Burned to death in his dad's Porsche? Slipped on a can of Axe body spray and cracked his skull open?

She smiled coldly, then shook her head.
Not yet.

Kylar eventually wandered off, muttering something under his breath. Jecka flipped him the bird while his back was turned, and Emily removed her hand from the fork.

But Nicole barely noticed. Her eyes were on the clock again.
2:49 p.m.

Seventh period ticked by like molasses. Mr. Katz rambled about amendments, but Nichole couldn't focus on anything except the notebook tucked in her bag — and the parking lot just beyond the windows.

At 2:59, she asked to go to the bathroom. She didn't wait for the answer.

She walked fast — not running, but with purpose. Students milled through the hallway like clueless extras in her private film.

She cut through the side exit and made her way to the edge of the parking lot. Once she reached the truck's location, she looked for a place to hide and watch the magic happen.

Then she saw it — a bench in a shady corner. She ran over, sat down, and waited.

3:14.
Colby stepped out of the gym door, whistling some awful tune, keys swinging in his hand. He looked smug. He always looked smug.

3:15.
Nicole didn't blink.

3:16.
It happened fast.

One second, he was walking — the next, his foot caught on something invisible.
He stumbled forward, arms flailing like a cartoon. His nose smashed into the pavement with a sickening crunch.

He groaned, tried to rise—
—then fell backward.

Before hitting the ground, a car rushing through the parking lot rammed straight into him.

The coach's body flew back, and his skull collided with the concrete in a meaty, final crack.

Two girls screamed nearby. A junior dropped her water bottle. A teacher bolted from the doorway.

Nicole's eyes widened.
It worked.
It worked.

A giddy, almost electric joy surged through her chest. She bit her lower lip to stop herself from laughing out loud.

Her body buzzed with adrenaline, like she'd just won a fight without lifting a finger.

She stepped out from the bench, expression shifting from awe to triumph.
And then Nicole began to walk home like she was floating.

The sounds of the neighborhood — barking dogs, distant leaf blowers, and a toddler screaming bloody murder across the street — all felt muffled, as if the universe had quieted itself just for her.

The image of Coach Colby's shattered body replayed in her mind like a song she couldn't shake.
It wasn't horror she felt. It was thrilling — raw and sharp, like a shot of adrenaline straight to her soul.

She let herself into the house, boots thudding against the floor as she kicked them off. Her older brother was halfway out the door, keys jingling, hoodie hanging half-zipped.

"You want anything from the deli?" he asked, pausing.

Nicole shook her head, her mind still humming with the afterglow of death. "Nah, I'm good."

He glanced up, brow furrowing. "You look... weirdly happy. Haven't seen that in a while."

A smirk tugged at her lips. "Maybe I finally embraced my true self."

He rolled his eyes with a grin. "Alright, psycho. Lock the door behind me."

"Obviously."

When he was gone, Nicole spotted a note on the kitchen counter — her mother's familiar loopy handwriting:

Working late — back by 7. Leftover lasagna in the fridge. Love you — Mom.

Nicole rolled her eyes. That Love you always felt like a joke no one was in on.

She crumpled the note and tossed it into the sink before heading upstairs.

In her room, she locked the door with a soft click, yanked the curtains shut, and dropped her bag on the bed like it carried something sacred. The Death Note slid out, landing on the comforter like an artifact still humming with potential.

She stared at the next blank page.

Who's next? she thought.

Then she heard it.

"So, how do you like the power?"

Nicole froze.

Slowly, she turned toward the voice.

There, in the corner of her room, leaning against the wall like she'd been there all along, stood something inhuman.

The creature was tall and unnaturally thin, more shadow stretched over bones than flesh. Its skin was a pale, ghostly gray-blue, and its face carried an unsettling elegance — high cheekbones, a sharp jaw, black sclera glowing with white irises. Tangled hair floated around its head as though underwater. A rusted choker of old keys hung around its neck, and its ribcage was partially exposed beneath the tatters of a Victorian dress, frayed and decayed.

Nicole's heart skipped a beat. Her body refused to move.

The creature raised its hands in a calm, open gesture. "Don't be afraid. I'm not here to kill you. If I wanted you dead, you wouldn't even know it."

Silence stretched between them like a drawn wire.

Finally, Nicole spoke, dryly. "Let me guess — you're not from social services."

The creature smiled, revealing sharp, pointed teeth. "I'm Arma. A Shinigami. You've got one of my notebooks."

"Shinigami?" Nicole raised a brow. "Are you like a grim reaper or something?"

"In your language, more or less," Arma replied. "I come from the realm of death. We drop notebooks when we're bored. You just happened to pick up one of mine."

Nicole flopped back onto the bed, arms crossed. "You know, I have this weird classmate named Jeffrey. Shinigami sounds like something he'd be obsessed with."

Arma chuckled — the sound like nails tapping against glass. "We all have our hobbies. And if that was an insult, I'd recommend you not test your luck."

The room seemed to hold its breath. The air thickened, charged with something unspoken.

"So," Arma purred, voice silky and amused, "what are you going to do with your new power?"

Nicole glanced down at the notebook. Her smirk returned — not reckless this time, but calculated.

"Whatever I want," she said coolly. "I'll use it to help myself. Get rich. Get even. Maybe help a cause if I actually care. But mostly? I'll do what benefits me."

She looked up, gaze unwavering.

"It might sound selfish, but from where I'm standing — why be moral in a world that never meets you halfway?"

Arma's eyes gleamed. Her grin widened with delight.

"This is going to be so much fun."

Chapter Text

Nicole awoke with a sharp gasp, heart thudding against her ribs like it wanted out. Her sheets were twisted around her legs like a trap, sweat prickled the back of her neck, and her eyes stared wide at the ceiling.

The dream had been vivid.

She was back in her dad's kitchen. The Cookie Monster magnet was grinning from the fridge, holding up that note—the one that ruined what little remained of her faith in family. The light over the sink flickered, same as always, and then she turned—and he was there. Not angry. Not sad. Just... staring. Gun still in hand. And then his voice:

"You deserved it."

Now awake, Nicole blinked until the ceiling stopped looking like a noose and more like cracked drywall. She exhaled through her nose and ran a hand through her tangled hair.

"I'm fine," she muttered, voice hoarse.

From the corner of the room, Arma's eerie form floated into view, upside down and staring at her like a bat from hell.

"Bad dream?" the Shinigami asked, her jagged smile unwavering.

Nicole sat up slowly. "What gave it away, the screaming or the thousand-yard stare?"

Arma's tone turned almost chipper. "While you're conscious again, I thought I'd mention that I'm sticking around. For good. Death Note rules. I'm with you 'til you croak."

Nicole stared. "Forever?"

"Forever."

She sighed, rubbing her eyes. "Great. Just what I needed. A hovering corpse-demon for life. You better start paying rent."

Arma's skeletal jaw tilted in amusement. "Don't worry, as long as no one touches that book, you're the only one who can see or hear me. So, I won't be a nuisance if anyone wants to chat with you."

Nicole grabbed a grey hoodie from the floor and pulled it over her head.

"Two rules, though. First, if I'm using the bathroom, then you're staying out until I'm completely finished. Second, if I ever have sex—which, granted, is probably not going to happen often, given the idiots and creeps around here—you're banned from the room. I don't care if I'm writing names while in the middle of doing it. You. Are. Out."

"Understood," Arma replied, raising one clawed finger in mock solemnity. "But I might still judge you afterward."

Nicole narrowed her eyes. "Join the club."

Nicole made her way to the kitchen, dragging her feet like each step was an insult to gravity. Her mom was already there, nursing a mug of coffee like it was the only thing keeping her soul tethered to this world.

"Morning, sweetie," her mom said, eyes soft and a little too content with life.

Nicole grunted. "Morning."

There was a pause—just long enough to set her teeth on edge—before her mom dove in.

"So... how's school been? You, uh, settling in better?"

Nicole kept her face neutral as she opened the fridge, grabbed a half-dead energy drink, and popped the tab.

"Actually, yeah. It's becoming more pleasant."

Her mom's face lit up like a dog that just learned it might go for a walk.

"Oh, that's so good to hear, honey. I knew it just needed time."

Nicole smiled tightly and took a sip. The drink tasted like regret and battery acid, but it shut her mom up for now.

From downstairs came the unmistakable sound of her brother's rage. Something about a "broken hitbox" followed by rapid-fire button smashing.

Nicole rolled her eyes. Still the reigning champ of unemployment and being a pig.

Her mom gave her a quick hug—awkward and crooked, like a frame hung wrong on a wall—and said, "I know it's been hard lately, and I haven't been there for you. But I do care about you, and I want you to be safe today, okay?"

"I'll try not to die horribly," Nicole apathetically replied, grabbing her bag and slipping out the door before sentimentality had a chance to grow legs.

Outside, the morning air hit her like a slap. Cold, sharp, and too awake for her taste.

Arma appeared beside her like a nightmare, wearing a grin.

"So," the Shinigami began, floating sideways beside her like an overly enthusiastic balloon. "When are you going to write another name?"

Nicole kept walking, eyes forward. "Don't talk to me right now."

Arma blinked. "Why not?"

"They can hear what I'm saying," she hissed under her breath, tone like a blade dragged over glass.

Then, quieter still, almost lost to the wind:

"You'll get your answer soon. And just know—eliminating this one? It'll benefit me financially."

Arma's grin widened. "Now that's my girl."

Nicole stepped off the bus and lit a cigarette before even making it past the school sign. The wind bit through her hoodie, but her mind was already five steps ahead—plotting. Arma floated just behind her shoulder like some invisible gargoyle, but for now, she kept her skeletal mouth shut.

Inside, the halls were already buzzing. Nicole slipped through the morning haze of half-dead teens and sugar-buzzed freshmen.

And that's when she heard it.

"You hear about Coach Colby?" some girl muttered near the lockers, trying way too hard to whisper.

"Dude got smacked by a car," another replied. "They think it was a student. That's what I heard."

Nicole slowed her pace.

"Wait—like, on purpose?" the first girl asked.

"I dunno. Maybe. If it was, they're screwed. You go to prison for that."

Nicole kept walking, biting back a smile that twitched at the corner of her lips. Her face smoothed into a perfect mask by the time she reached homeroom.

Later, during second period, the intercom beeped.

That fake-sad, drawn-out tone in the principal's voice was unmistakable.

"It's with a heavy heart that I announce Coach Colby has passed away due to injuries sustained yesterday. This is a tragic loss to our community, and we ask that everyone take a moment of silence in his honor."

Nicole scoffed quietly and rested her cheek on her hand.

Tragic loss? Please.
The man once told a girl she needed to "use all her assets for him" during gym class. The only tragedy here was that she didn't make it messier.

Class dragged on for a while, so much so that even Arma couldn't stay quiet.

"So the younger members of your species really have to go through this five days a week?"

Nicole just looked over and quietly nodded.

Arma looked stunned. "I don't know whether to be impressed or pity what you go through."

After class, the hallway felt electric with rumors of the honest truth and grief performances. Nicole drifted past them like smoke—until her eyes landed on something more useful than dumb high school theatrics.

Kelly.

Blonde ponytail. Amethyst eyes. Tummy-baring shirt like she thought she was on the cover of a discount mall magazine. She was trying to rummage through her locker when Crispin sidled up, all greasy hair and unearned confidence.

"I mean, if you need someone to talk to—like, really talk to—"

Kelly winced but gave a tight smile. "I'm good."

Crispin leaned closer. "No pressure, just saying—sometimes a good cry on a strong shoulder helps."

Nicole stepped between them like it was a game of double-dutch.

"Jesus, Crispin, do you ever shut up? Or do you just get some fucked up pleasure out of breathing on people every morning?"

He blinked. "Wow. Okay."

She smirked. "Seriously, Crispin. I don't have time for this. Can you just leave already?"

Crispin opened his mouth, closed it, then muttered something under his breath before walking away.

Kelly looked at her with wide eyes, unsure whether to be grateful or annoyed.

"Thanks... I guess?"

Nicole smirked. "Anytime. Some people just need to be reminded they're not the main character of a cheesy romance movie."

Kelly laughed softly, nervously.

Nicole tucked her hands into her hoodie pocket, casual, unreadable.

"So," she said—tone friendly in a way only someone like her could weaponize—"you okay? He's been bothering you a lot?"

Kelly sighed. "Not really. Just... today was already weird, y'know? With Coach Colby."

Nicole nodded. "Yeah. Everyone's acting like they actually gave a shit."

They started walking.

Nicole asked a few harmless questions—stuff that sounded like concern but was really just data mining. They talked about some of Kelly's hobbies and interests. Nicole learned her family's wealth came from stockbroking. Kelly liked her family, though she hated that her father made her get a job.

Kelly talked.
Nicole listened.

Before they parted ways, they exchanged numbers.

Arma hovered close, looking inquisitive. "We need to find somewhere quiet," she said, her voice all jagged silk. "I'm planning."

Nicole slipped into the girls' bathroom near the art wing. The kind that not many used after some nasty rumors about the third stall.

Inside, she peeked her head out the door to make sure no one was coming in. When the coast was clear, she leaned against the sink.

"All right," she whispered. "Talk."

Arma floated above a cracked mirror. "You're not going after her, are you?"

Nicole shook her head.

"Kelly? Nah. Probably not ever. Her parents are the ones I want. I need that money moving into my pocket—then my path for the future is set."

She looked at her own reflection.

"You see, Kelly... she's more than just a roadblock. She's a piece. And pieces get moved, not broken."

Arma tilted her head. "So you're planning to befriend her?"

Nicole smiled, cold and calculated.

"If everything goes according to plan, it should happen soon. But let's be clear—I'm not doing it out of kindness. I just know how to get what I want."

She took a deep breath through her nose.

"However, there are a few more things to check off the list before my plan can be set in motion."

The mirror flickered slightly in the dim light—and for a moment, Nicole's own reflection looked like it was smirking back.

The cafeteria was the same as always—fluorescent lights buzzing, trays clattering, and the dull murmur of teenage disinterest. Most of the tables looked fine, except for a few that were scuffed with pencil graffiti or stained with some mysterious sticky substance left over from first period.

Nicole sat across from Jecka and Emily, chewing her gum like it owed her money. Emily had a Monster can, a crushed pack of cigarettes, and what looked suspiciously like a Ziploc bag filled with Skittles... and Adderall. Jecka picked at a muffin like it had some kind of treasure inside.

"Did you hear?" Jecka asked, half-whispering. "Colby's dead. Got nailed by a car. People think it was a student."

Emily snorted. "Good. Guy was a creep. Always lingered when we stretched in gym."

Nicole didn't respond right away. She just looked around the lunchroom, her focus drifting, the world around her muffled like she was underwater.

Then she said it. Casual. Like she was asking about weekend plans.

"If you could make a ton of money... but someone had to die in the process—would you do it?"

Jecka blinked. "What?"

Emily leaned in, her grin crooked. "Who's dying? That kinda matters."

Jecka narrowed her eyes. "Wait, are you serious? You sound like you've got something cooking."

Nicole gave her a malicious look. Then nodded. Once.

The air seemed to get thinner.

Jecka leaned back, her voice lower. "Are you out of your fucking mind?"

Emily laughed nervously. "Girl, you trying to go full Jigsaw on someone?"

Nicole stood. "Come outside."

Neither of them moved at first. But something in her voice—steady, confident, deliberate—was magnetic. The kind of tone that made people follow without knowing why. They grabbed their things and trailed after her, out to the edge of the school courtyard where almost no one went.

Once they were alone, Nicole lit a cigarette. She held it like punctuation and spoke.

"Listen. What I'm about to tell you is the truth. I'm not fucking around, so pay attention."

Jecka and Emily nodded, tense but curious.

Nicole exhaled smoke, her eyes steady. "I can make anyone die... without lifting a finger."

Silence. Thick as wet wool.

Emily's brow furrowed. "Are you sure you're not on drugs or something?"

Nicole shook her head. "Not this time. Look, I like you two. And I have a plan to get loaded. But it won't work unless I have help. I'm offering you a chance to gain a fortune with me and get ahead in life. All you have to do is a little groundwork. No way to get caught."

They stared at her for what felt like an eternity. It was a little awkward, but at the same time, Nicole's serious tone was captivating, and awakened that curiosity side that's imprinted on all of humanity.

Emily was the first to speak. "Okay, so... if this is true... who are we killing?"

Nicole's lips curled into a light, amused smile. "Just a stockbroker and a priest. Probably child molesters anyway."

Jecka didn't flinch. Instead, her eyes narrowed.

"If you're telling the truth," she said slowly, "then I have a request. Something to prove you're not just screwing with us."

Nicole raised an eyebrow.

"Kyle," Jecka said. "He's stalking me. Follows me after school. Waited by my house yesterday. Cops won't do shit because he leaves before they show up. I'm scared he's gonna try something."

Nicole didn't blink. "Done."

Emily leaned in. "Okay, then in that case... I've got two names. Braxton and Kylar. They're stepping on my turf. Selling to freshmen like they're kings of the school. Normally I'd get my boyfriend to handle it, but both of them are associated with MS-13. He won't touch them."

Nicole flicked ash onto the pavement.

"Fine."

She stepped closer, scanning the area. No one around. Then, in a hushed tone, she whispered:

"Kyle will commit suicide tonight. Braxton and Kylar... they'll decide to sample their own stash. Overdose."

Jecka went pale. Emily grinned like a kid on Christmas.

Nicole stepped forward.

"If I do this, and it happens, then I'm assuming you're both in. No backing out. When the news hits tomorrow, you'll each say your line. Jecka—you say, 'I'm in.' Emily—you say, 'Let's do this.' That's how I'll know you're with me."

The bell rang, shrill and sudden. Both girls jumped. Nicole didn't flinch, but she looked annoyed.

"There's one more thing," she said. "You don't tell anyone what we just talked about. As far as the world knows, this conversation never happened. If someone asks, lie. Make something up. Are we clear?"

They both nodded. Half in fear, half in awe.

Nicole took one last drag, then blew smoke straight into the clouds—like she was sending a message only they could read. With a smirk, she turned to her friends.

"Remember. It's tonight."

Megan adjusted the straps on her backpack as she entered the theater room early, the smell of dusty curtains and old stage paint thick in the air. Karen was already there, organizing the costume bins in the corner.

"Hey," Karen said with a small wave. "You ready for the read-through today?"

"Trying to be," Megan replied, slinging her bag down. "I just hope I don't get paired with anyone annoying."

Karen snorted. "That's asking a lot in this school."

They both laughed, and Megan leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

"You know, Karen, you should join us for acting," she said with a grin. "You might enjoy it."

Karen looked nervous at the thought. "I don't know. It seems like a little too much for me."

Megan smiled anyway. "Well, give yourself time to think about it."

The two girls parted ways. Megan settled into the back row of the black box theater, legs crossed, script in hand. She liked the quiet buzz of the room—the smell of wood, of old curtains. Theater had always been her safe zone. A place where it was okay to cry, scream, laugh, and bleed emotions on command.

That's when she walked in.

Nicole.

Megan knew her, although their interactions were far from pleasant. Nicole wore a grey hoodie like armor, as if she were protecting herself from something. Her deadpan glare swept the room, attached to a face that was as pale as the moon. She wasn't on the cast list, but she walked in and slid into a seat like she didn't need permission.

The teacher gave her a passive nod. Rehearsal began.

Scene after scene, Megan found herself watching Nicole with a strange sort of curiosity. She didn't act—she just was. She just sat there calmly watching them perform. whenever they locked eyes Nicole would give a content smile. Even when Megan stumbled over lines, there was something magnetic in Nicole's expressions that made her want to try harder. After every line delivery Nicole gave Megan a thumbs up.

After rehearsal, Nicole just lingered there alone. Megan surprised herself by walking up to her.

"That was... intense. Are you new to drama?"

Nicole shrugged. "Guess so. You were good."

Megan smiled, surprised. "Thanks. I've been doing this forever."

Nicole's gaze flicked over. "Figures. You've got that 'pastor's kid who cries through Shakespeare' energy."

Megan blinked. "...My dad is a pastor."

Nicole smirked. "Nailed it."

They laughed—awkward, but real.

"So why did you really come here, Nicole?" Megan asked, tilting her head. "You don't seem like the acting type."

Nicole looked down at her hands, a rare vulnerability surfacing in her voice. "I've just been drifting lately. Maybe I'm trying to find a way to heal."

Megan stayed quiet, watching as Nicole continued.

"I used to think being cold was a way to stay in control. Keep people out before they could hurt me." She paused. "Then my dad... you know how he died, right?"

Megan frowned. "I think I heard something once. He... killed himself, didn't he?"

Nicole nodded slowly. "Left a note with my name on it. Said I was the reason."

Her voice didn't crack—but the silence that followed said everything. Then she turned back to Megan.

"I don't know why he wrote that. I'll never know. But he's gone now." Her voice dropped lower. "And I've been carrying that ever since. Letting it poison everything I've touched. Even the way I talked to you."

Megan stood still, arms loose at her sides. "Are you looking for redemption?"

"Yeah. I'm trying to fix things. Or at least... stop making them worse."

A long pause hovered between them. Megan studied Nicole's face, searching for sarcasm, some kind of smirk.

Nothing.

Then a crash from backstage shattered the moment. A prop rack had collapsed. A freshman sliced his hand open, panic setting in fast. Blood. Shouting. Megan froze, caught between instinct and fear.

Nicole didn't.

She moved fast—calm, efficient. She tore the bottom of her shirt into a tourniquet, tied it with practiced hands, and barked at someone to call the nurse. She didn't flinch at the blood. She didn't panic. She just handled it.

After the chaos settled, Megan looked at her differently.

"You were amazing back there," she said softly.

Nicole shrugged. "I've seen worse."

"I'm sorry you had to rip your shirt."

Nicole smirked. "It's fine. I've got a hoodie. I'll just wear that the rest of the day."

A beat of silence stretched between them.

"You should come to my dad's church," Megan said suddenly. "I know it's random, but... I think you'd like it. It's not all fire and brimstone. He talks about second chances. A lot. I think you'd relate."

Nicole tilted her head, eyebrows raised. "Church, huh? Might be fun to see how long I last before bursting into flames."

Megan smiled. "We'll risk it."

After leaving school and heading home, Nicole collapsed onto her bed, lit another cigarette, and stared up at the ceiling where Arma hung like some twisted fruit bat.

"She took the bait," Nicole muttered.

Arma chuckled, swaying slightly. "So, you planning to convert?"

"Hell no," Nicole scoffed, exhaling smoke through her nose. "You see, Megan's dad runs one of the largest Catholic congregations in the country—it's practically a mega-church. Donations, funds, tax breaks. I googled him—he's got fingers in everything."

She took another drag, her eyes narrowing.

"If I play this right, I can blackmail both Kelly and Megan's fathers."

Arma tilted her head, intrigued. "And what will that accomplish?"

Nicole smirked. "Kelly's family has money. Megan's family has money and a church. If I get leverage on both of them, suddenly there's a 'charitable donation' offered to the church. After that, who's to say that church doesn't smuggle in that money for me to collect—plus a little extra? Once that happens, I just have to make sure no one ever decides to tell the truth."

She tapped her cigarette ash into a tray. "That's where the Death Note comes in."

Arma grinned, amused. "So all the evidence will be gone?"

Nicole's eyes gleamed. "Yep. And I inherit two little fortunes without ever signing a check."

There was a pause before Arma suddenly jolted upright with a theatrical gasp. "Oh! Nicole, I almost forgot to mention something."

Nicole raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"

With a delighted grin, Arma placed her hands together, as if she were about to pitch something diabolical. "You see, Shinigami have two advantages over humans when it comes to using the Death Note. First: when a Shinigami kills a human, whatever remaining lifespan that person had gets added to our own. That's how I keep my face looking so pretty."

There was a brief silence. Then came a quiet, eerie cackle from Arma.

"The second advantage is this: we can see a person's name and lifespan above their head. Right now, for example, I can see yours. But I'm not telling you—it would be too cruel. Even for me."

Nicole looked unsettled. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because," Arma said, her tone now soft and dangerous, "I can grant you the same ability. To see as a Shinigami sees. But the price is half your lifespan."

Nicole's stomach turned as a chill danced up her spine. Arma continued without missing a beat.

"So, let's say you were going to live another 40 years. Accept the deal, and now you've got 20. I'm not forcing it on you," she added, raising her hands like a devil offering a contract. "But life can be unpredictable. If you ever need it... the deal is always on the table."

Nicole's expression shifted from fear to curiosity.

"So I'm guessing you're not going to just tell me people's names, then."

Arma shook her head, slowly.

The two locked eyes for a long moment. Then Nicole closed hers and leaned back into the pillows.

"Thanks," she said. "But I think I'll be fine."

Arma nodded silently and disappeared from the room.

Nicole's mind drifted to what lay ahead. She knew this wasn't the end of her use of the Death Note—far from it. But that was okay. This was her path to true freedom. The thought made her feel warm inside.

Tomorrow, her plan would move forward the moment she heard those five words:

"I'm in," and, "Let's do this."

Chapter Text

October 10
Jecka: "I'm in."
Emily: "Let's do this."

That's the first thing I heard this morning. So, everything is going according to plan.

There was a mild snag today — the cops interviewed us about Kyle, Braxton, and Kylar. They weren't aggressive, but their tone was off. Jecka played dumb like a pro. Emily didn't say a word and later called one of them "Detective Elmer Fudd."

I told them Kylar wasn't someone I'd touch with a 10-foot pole — which, to be fair, is true. Most of them didn't dig too deep. Except for one. He pressed harder, but I gave him nothing. Still, I could feel that cold, metallic anxiety in my teeth. No slip-ups, but I hate getting that close to the edge.

Later, I had to talk Jecka down. Reassured her that once we get the money, everything will change for the better. I reminded her about her dad and his behavior. That helped.

October 13
Spent more time talking to Kelly. Complimented her shirt. Made a joke about her ex. Easy in.

We began to talk for a while, and she really enjoyed my company. In other words, she was easy to manipulate.

She invited me to hang out. Honestly, she's kind of an airhead, but tolerable. Loud, sometimes. But harmless.

October 15
Started orbiting Megan. Harder to crack than Kelly. I suppose she's taking baby steps when it comes to trusting me. Smart.

I got an idea that gave me an opening. Asked her for help on the recent bio project — played it like a real person, not some drama queen. She relented, but only gave me a basic framework.

While she helped me, I paid close attention, but also knew when to sneak in a joke. She seemed to appreciate my focus and sarcasm. We ended up talking more and lost track of time.

Before she left, she said her offer to come to her dad's church still stands. I lied through my teeth and said I'd love to. We exchanged phone numbers before parting ways.

October 17
Kelly and Megan didn't interact before. Not enemies — just in separate galaxies. I changed that.

Told Kelly Megan had the best notes in Civics. Told Megan Kelly had extra movie passes and might want to go with us. Now they're talking. They made a shared playlist. Now we're all hanging out together.

This lets me keep a closer eye on them. It went better than expected.

October 19
Went to church, which is something I thought I'd never do. Megan invited me and Kelly to hear her dad speak. Gotta keep up the façade.

Her father's got a commanding voice. Friendly face. He was nice to me. But he's a Catholic priest — I don't trust that.

Also met Megan's boyfriend, Hunter. Bit of an idiot. He might be useful later, but I doubt it.

October 25
Mall trip. Karen tagged along — Megan's idea.
"She's lonely," she said. "Like, actually lonely."

Karen bought pretzels and a disposable camera. Kelly suggested a group photo by the fountain. First two shots were duds. Third one worked.

Jecka told me she and Karen used to be friends. I can see why she dropped her. But honestly? Karen's computer skills might've made her worth keeping around.

Still, everything went smoothly. I got Megan a gothic cross necklace from Hot Topic. She seemed to like it.

October 31
So three days ago, Kelly invited me and Megan to a Halloween party.

Megan asked if Karen could hang out with us again. Kelly thought that would be a good idea, because apparently, she had a lot of fun with Karen last time.

Anyway's I have to admit the party was decently fun. We all got dressed up in different costumes. I was a cat, Megan was an angel, Kelly was a witch, and I think Karen was a character from Harry Potter, but I don't read that shit, so who knows.

Kelly had such good time tonight that she asked me If I wanted to hangout soon, which I was happy to oblige.

So I guess it worked out for everybody. They had a fun time, and I'm getting a little closer to achieving my goals.

November 2
Movie night at Kelly's house. I'll admit, when my plan is complete, I want a house like hers.

We watched 50 First Dates. Not bad. Then we shared YouTube videos and talked about everything and nothing.

Kelly told me I'm actually a sweet person deep down. If only she knew.

She seemed genuinely happy though. That's good for me.

November 7
Finally got something on Megan's dad.

Went over to "study." Went downstairs for snacks. Caught the smell — not cigarettes. Peeked out the side window and saw him behind the shed, lighting a joint like it was incense.

Filmed it. Silent. Crystal clear.

I don't love the idea of being a snitch over weed. But this isn't about morality — it's about leverage. Also I'm pretty sure the cops and the chruch will have a different opinion on weed from me.

Regardless He's someone with power and influence. He's got secrets I can use against him. They always do.

Now I just need something on Kelly's father.

November 10
Balance is key.

I've kept Jecka and Kelly assured I'm on their side. Told them I got the first bit of blackmail — boosted their confidence.

Meanwhile, I've told the new group my "other friends" aren't exactly friendly but they'll come around. Keeping them apart is the goal.

If they start talking... this all falls apart.

November 11
Karen's officially one of us now.

Still awkward. Still overeager. But Megan likes her, and Kelly treats her like a sidekick.

She brought homemade cookies and gave a motivational speech before finals.

I might actually pity her — but I'm not softening. The cookies were good, though.

November 14
Went to a play that Megan was in. Her acting was decent. The play? Boring as hell.

Afterwards, she came over to us. I had to look horribly proud — fake smiles and all. It made her happy, which makes my juggling act easier.

Let's just hope I get that information soon.

November 20
The pawns came to my house to hang out.

Did a good job hiding these notes I've been writing, but I'm going to play it safe and avoid having them over again.

They liked the house, even though they had no idea about the fatass basement dweller I live with. Thankfully, he was gone that night.

We were supposed to have movie night, but Kelly started crying over a text from some guy. Megan, Karen, and I comforted her. Karen offered gum and I had to give her some advice to cheer her up. in the end we all had a group hug.

It was annoying, but the bond is real now. And I made it happen. That's power.
They trust me. That's what matters.

November 26
No new updates. Just venting.

Jesus christ keeping this charade up is exhausting. Today, Kelly talked about a particularly brain dead topic. Keep in mind I still have to nod and respond to what she's saying.

Usually she's pretty tolerable. But today? It was like she decided to roleplay as a brain tumor.

I'm writing this to keep myself sane. God, I need that information soon.

December 1
Arma floated above my bed and asked if I was going to use the Death Note soon.

Told her: not yet. Waiting on Kelly's father.

But I decided to run a test. Tore out a page from the notebook and wrote Charles Manson's name. Needed someone whose death would make the news, but no one would miss.

Now I just need to wait.

December 2
Success.

News confirmed that Charlie died of a heart attack. So even a ripped page still works. I'm carrying one from now on. Just in case.

Still waiting on that blackmail, but it's nice seeing something go right for once. Amazing.

December 3
Kelly, Megan, Karen — total besties now.

Group selfies. Matching keychains. Inside jokes.

They think I'm the glue.
Maybe I am.

But I also still intend to be the knife in their back. Still deciding how the two dads are going to die.

December 12
Clap for me — I finally got the dirt on Kelly's dad.

He left his laptop open. Idiot move. Found a resignation draft. Turns out he's been doing illegal insider trading. Wants out now. Too late.

I also found the incriminating files and saved them to a C stick. Slipped out while no one was looking.

Honestly, he's not evil — just spineless. That's worse.

December 13
Told Jecka and Emily everything. Said it's time.

Emily was into it, she can't wait to do this. Jecka hesitated. I Pulled her aside and reminded her that this helps us all. That this gets her out of her abusive household.

She nodded. Smiled. Ready.

Tomorrow's the day. Let's hope it goes exactly like I planned.

"Kelly, what are you grinning about?" David asked, stepping into the kitchen.

Kelly looked up from her cereal, spoon mid-air, her bowl practically swimming in milk. She smiled. "Oh, I'm just thinking about a conversation I had with Nicole."

David chuckled softly. It warmed him to see his daughter this upbeat—so rarely did she light up about anyone other than her mother or music. "Well, I'm heading out for my jog. You have a good day, and tell your mom I said goodbye."

Kelly squinted at him, skeptical. "You know it's weird that you still jog during winter, right?"

David just smiled as he zipped up his jacket. "Helps wake you up. That cold breeze clears the mind. And I've got a coat on—I'll be fine."

With a wave, he was out the door.

The early morning chill carved through the quiet streets, frost still clinging to the edges of lawns and fences. David's boots crunched against the snow-crusted sidewalk in a steady rhythm. It was peaceful—his one piece of clarity in a life cluttered with meetings, secrets, and spinning plates. Jogging made sense. Everything else... didn't always.

He turned the corner near the local park when he saw her.

A lone figure stood in the middle of the road ahead, unmoving. A girl. Hood up, snow jacket zipped tight, sunglasses shielding her face despite the pale morning sun. She didn't step aside as he neared. She didn't flinch. Just stood there—deliberate. Waiting.

David slowed, unease creeping in. His instincts began to whisper.

As he passed, she stepped into his path.

"You're David, right?" Her voice was low, level.

He stopped. "Do I know you?"

"No," she said. "But I know you."

The chill deepened. Something in her tone—so calm, so sure—knotted his stomach. "Listen, if this is about—"

She held up a USB stick between two gloved fingers. "It's about insider trading."

He blinked. "What?"

"We have copies," she said. "Of the trades. The resignation draft. All of it."

David's mouth dried. "I don't know what you're talking about—"

"I do," she interrupted. Her voice was flat, even bored. "And if you don't believe me, we can send it to your employer. To the SEC. To your daughter's school. You pick."

His heart pounded. Sweat broke on his forehead—no longer from the jog. "You're bluffing."

"Oh, you need proof?" she asked, stepping closer. "On February 17, the day before the FDA approved Novarix's leukemia treatment, you bought $300,000 in shares. Cashed out two days later. No SEC filings. You made six figures. That's not just immoral—it's illegal. And sloppy."

David's hands curled into fists. "Okay, okay," he hissed. "I believe you. Just—don't say that out loud."

He exhaled slowly, trying to steady his voice. "What do you want?"

She didn't smile. She didn't need to.

"It's simple. Your daughter's going to Brian's church this Sunday. Go with her. Donate $20,000. Make it private. Make it look generous. Like you're a clean, supportive dad."

David's thoughts spun. It was blackmail—straightforward and merciless. And yet... he had no choice. He had a family. A career. A reputation. "Fine. I'll do it."

She nodded once.

David studied her warily. "Are you... are you part of some church group?"

The girl shrugged, slipping the USB into her coat. "Think whatever you want."

Then she stepped forward again, her voice cutting through the frozen air. "Just know that if you don't follow through... your little secret becomes public knowledge."

David looked down at the snow, jaw tight.

"Okay. I understand," he muttered.

"Good," she said, turning to leave—calm as ever, like she'd just reminded him to pick up milk.

But then she stopped and looked over her shoulder.

"Oh—and one more thing," she said. "We know who you are. So if you try anything funny, in this situation or after... then your ass is grass. Clear?"

David gave a slow, miserable nod. "Crystal."

She just nodded and then jogged away into the morning fog.

David stood there, frozen, as the wind picked up. The sun was starting to rise, casting a soft glow on the snow-covered streets—but it didn't make him feel any warmer.

He realized, with a sinking feeling in his chest, that he never got her name.

But she knew his. And that was all that mattered.

Jecka's boots pounded against the pavement, each step landing harder than the last as she sprinted back toward the gas station corner. Her lungs burned with cold air and adrenaline. Sweat clung to her under the hoodie, the heat of the moment trapped beneath her coat. Her heart thundered in her chest, and her hands hadn't stopped trembling.

She spotted Nicole lounging on a low brick wall just outside the station, legs crossed at the ankle like she had nowhere better to be. Gum snapped between her teeth, her brunette hair catching flashes of late morning sun. There was a practiced ease in her slouch—like nothing in the world could touch her.

Nicole popped a bubble, then looked up with lazy amusement. "Well?"

Jecka yanked her hoodie down and tried to catch her breath. "I did it," she said, chest heaving. "He bought it. Every word. He's showing up tomorrow like you said."

Nicole's smirk came easy. She didn't even blink. "Told you he would."

Jecka wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans, shaking her head. "Jesus, Nic... that was intense. I thought I was gonna hurl. My heart's still going nuts." A nervous laugh escaped her lips, almost involuntarily. "But... I dunno. It kinda felt good."

Nicole leaned back against the wall, one brow arched. "The rush?"

"Yeah," Jecka admitted. "The power. Watching a grown-ass man fold because I knew one thing about him." She hugged her arms, the aftershocks of adrenaline still rolling through her. "I just hope this works out. That this isn't some long con where you screw us both over."

Nicole turned her head just slightly—enough to make her eyes catch the light. Her expression didn't shift much, but there was something in her stare: cold calculation and something else... something nearly sincere.

"Trust me," she said. "I'm not going to sell you out. How would I even do that without getting caught?"

Jecka chewed that over, her breathing finally slowing. She glanced away, thinking it through. Eventually, she nodded. "Okay. I trust you."

Nicole's lips split into a toothy grin. "Attagirl. It's all going to be fine. Your part's done, Jecka. So just relax."

She looked down the street, chewing slowly. The gum cracked softly.

"Tomorrow," Nicole said, voice lowering like a promise, "it's Emily's time to shine."

Brian stood at the pulpit, sleeves rolled up, his face gleaming with fervor under the soft, golden lights of St. Gabriel's Catholic Church. His voice boomed through the sanctuary like thunder rolling through a canyon, rich with conviction and the heat of holy fire.

"...For even when the world turns wicked and the people stray from His path," he declared, slapping his palm down on the aged wood of the lectern, "our Lord remains steady, ever willing to accept the repentant heart!"

A low murmur of agreement rippled through the congregation — mostly elderly parishioners and suburban mothers hoping to reignite some flickering spiritual ember. The pews weren't packed, but the mood was reverent, attentive. Brian lived for these moments, when his words felt like they reached into people's ribs and gripped their hearts.

As the sermon closed and the crowd began to disperse in slow waves of polite conversation and handshakes, Brian stepped down from the altar. He dabbed his brow with a cloth, the intensity of his delivery still humming in his chest.

That's when he saw them.

David stood near the entryway, dressed too sharply for a casual visit. His collared shirt looked like it had been ironed twice, and his shoes shined in the afternoon light. Next to him was his daughter, Kelly, looking more relaxed — eyes scanning the sanctuary until they locked onto Megan and Nicole. She broke off from her father quickly and made a beeline for the girls, her expression brightening. That alone warmed Brian's heart.

It had taken Nicole a while to settle in. She'd seemed guarded at first, a wounded animal sizing up a trap. But now, seeing her laugh and lean into Megan's shoulder like they'd known each other forever — it made him believe his daughter really was making a difference. Maybe this was all part of God's plan.

Brian turned back to David, offering a warm, open smile as he approached.

"You must be David!" he said, his voice shifting into its friendliest cadence. "Your daughter's told me a lot about you."

David extended his hand. "Thought I'd come see what Kelly keeps raving about," he said, his tone polite but distant. "Your daughter's been a good friend to her."

They shook hands, firm and brief. The pleasantries flowed naturally at first — family, careers, Kelly's classes — before drifting into broader waters. Soon they were talking about philosophy, the shifting state of the world, and even their favorite movies. Brian was surprised at how smoothly the conversation unfolded. Despite David's carefully measured demeanor, he was articulate, sharp — even charming.

Their chat led them down the sanctuary steps and into the quieter hallway near Father James's office. The warm hum of post-sermon chatter faded behind them.

Then David paused. He glanced around as if checking for eavesdroppers, then cleared his throat.

"I'd like to make a donation," he said quietly.

Brian blinked. "Oh? Well — that's very kind of you."

He tilted his head slightly, noting the sudden shift in David's posture. There was tension in his jaw, a tightness behind his polite smile. Brian's pastoral instincts flared.

"Is everything alright?" he asked gently.

David chuckled, but it came out thin. "It's nothing. Just... first time I've ever donated to a church. Guess I'm in a generous mood."

Brian gave a soft laugh in return. "Well, we certainly won't turn that away."

"How much are we talking?" he added casually.

David took a breath. " 20.000 Dollars."

Brian froze — just a half second too long.

David raised a finger. "Private, of course."

"Of course," Brian echoed, his professional mask pulling tight again. "That's... incredibly generous."

He tried not to let his eyebrows raise too high. It wasn't every day someone dropped that kind of money into the offering plate — especially someone who didn't regularly attend.

Still, he nodded graciously, clapping a hand gently on David's shoulder. "It's people like you who keep the church going, David. I'm proud of you for this."

David just smiled faintly, eyes unreadable.

The two men parted soon after. Brian watched him go, that polite smile still tugging at his lips — but his mind was already whirring. Something didn't sit right.

And somehow, Brian knew: this wasn't about God.

As dusk settled over the town, the last remnants of daylight filtered through the church's stained glass, casting fractured colors across the pews. Brian turned the key in the side door, the lock clicking shut behind him. The cold outside was punishing—bitter, bone-deep. Like the ninth circle of hell frozen over.

And yet, somehow, it was beautiful. Quiet. Sacred.

Brian exhaled and rubbed the back of his neck. He felt good about today's work. A solid sermon. A few hearts moved. God, he hoped.

Then he saw her.

A figure stood across the parking lot, half-shrouded in shadow. Hood up. Sunglasses on, even in the dimming light. Leaning against the black iron fence near the rectory like she had nowhere else to be. Just... watching him.

Brian's spine stiffened. "Can I help you?" he called, voice uncertain.

She pushed off the fence and started walking toward him. Her gait was slow, deliberate. The hood cloaked her face in shadow, but as she got closer, Brian could make out the sharp, pale features underneath. Her lips curved like someone trying not to laugh at their own joke.

"Depends," she said, her tone almost playful but off—like she was savoring this. "You Brian?"

He hesitated. "Yes... who are you?"

She didn't answer. Instead, she pulled out a phone, tapped the screen with her thumb, and held it up for him to see. A video began to play—grainy, shaky footage, clearly filmed from a distance.

Brian's breath caught.

It was him. In his garage. Lighting up a joint. Pacing, muttering scripture to himself between hits like it might somehow absolve the act.

His face turned ghostly white. "Where did you get that?"

The girl just shrugged. "Doesn't matter. What does matter is what you're going to do next."

Brian stared, his mouth dry. "What... do you want?"

She smiled faintly. Not kind. Not cruel. Just knowing. "You're going to take the donation from your new friend—the one who gave twenty grand. Convert it to cash. Small bills. Then, you're going to take about ten grand out of the donation box. Do the same with that."

Brian blinked. "You want me to—?"

"Wednesday night," she interrupted. "You meet us at the park. Bring it all. The group I work for thinks three days is enough to make this quiet."

"This is extortion," he said, voice trembling. "I—I can't do that."

The girl raised an eyebrow. "Sure you can." She stepped closer, her breath warm and sour with mint and nicotine. "Or you can explain to your congregation why you're preaching about righteousness with weed smoke in your lungs."

Brian looked around the empty lot like someone might appear and save him. No one came.

"Who are you with?" he asked, desperate for something—anything—to ground this.

She leaned in a little closer, the sunglasses now reflecting the fading light off the stained glass behind him. "You might find out when this is over."

Then she turned and walked off into the dark.

Her words lingered behind her like smoke in a cathedral.

And Brian stood frozen, the cold no longer coming from the air—but from the blood in his vains.

The park lay still beneath the weight of winter, a quiet expanse broken only by the distant hum of passing cars and the occasional whisper of brittle, dead leaves swaying in the breeze. Frost clung to the edges of the cracked pavement like lace, and the skeletal trees stood motionless, their limbs etched against the deep blue-black sky. A crooked streetlamp buzzed weakly above a weathered bench, casting a sickly amber glow that flickered like a dying heartbeat.

Brian sat on that bench, his posture tense, his spine rigid against the icy air. Every breath fogged in front of him, disappearing as quickly as it came. Beside him, a black briefcase rested against the concrete—its sleek, nondescript form belying the tension it held inside. Bundles of small bills packed it tight, the product of a compromise that had already begun to rot his conscience from the inside out.

He glanced around, eyes twitching from shadow to shadow. His leg bounced involuntarily, a nervous rhythm he couldn't stop. The silence around him wasn't peaceful—it was oppressive. Every subtle sound felt exaggerated: the rustling of a distant bush, the metallic chirp of a crosswalk, the squeak of worn rubber on pavement somewhere far off. His heart beat louder than all of it. Before he left for the park, he'd knelt at the altar and prayed—mumbling half-formed words into the dark—begging for forgiveness he wasn't sure he deserved.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, jarring in the stillness. He fumbled to retrieve it, the screen lighting up with Megan's name.

"H-Hey, sweetheart," he answered, forcing a thin layer of calm over the strain in his voice.

"Where are you?" she asked, her voice laced with concern. "You said you'd be home hours ago."

"I'm just... running some errands for the church," he lied, each word brittle. "Paperwork, donations—nothing exciting."

A pause stretched across the line. "Oh... okay," she finally said. "Well, be safe. Mom made dinner."

He swallowed, throat dry. "I'll be home soon."

They exchanged goodbyes, and he ended the call. With a sigh, he shoved the phone back into his pocket and wiped his damp palms on his slacks. He looked once more at the briefcase, then turned his gaze down the path.

That's when he saw someone coming.

A lone figure moved toward him, hood drawn up, face obscured in shadow. The man's walk was off—twitchy, uneven. One hand stayed deep in the pocket of his coat. Brian stood, adrenaline spiking through his chest.

"Are you the one I'm supposed to meet?" he asked, voice tight.

No answer.

He stepped forward cautiously. "I said—"

The man's arm snapped upward.

A flash of light. A deafening crack tore through the night. In that momment Brian had realized that he had been shot with a gun. The world stuttered. Brian stumbled back, confusion giving way to a searing, white-hot pain in his chest. A terrible weight settled there, dragging him down. The cold concrete hit his back before he even realized he'd fallen.

His hands clutched instinctively at his shirt, now soaked in warmth that shouldn't be there. Blood. Too much. The sky above him spun, stars turning into streaks. His breathing grew ragged.

Footsteps echoed—then faded—into the dark.

He coughed, desperate for air, trying to will his arms to move, to find his phone, to scream. But nothing came. Only pain. And then—

Another silhouette stepped into his fading vision. Smaller. Slender. A teenage girl, calm, composed, and unhurried. Her black hair shimmered under the streetlamp, and her cold blue eyes scanned the scene with clinical detachment.

Nicole.

Brian blinked, the edges of the world trembling like a frayed film reel. He tried to speak—to ask why—but the words never made it past his lips.

She knelt beside the briefcase and picked it up, brushing gravel from its edge with the care of someone collecting something precious. Then she turned her eyes to Brian. For a moment, their gazes locked.

Her face remained blank—no satisfaction, no remorse. Just pure, emotionless stillness. As if she were looking at a piece of discarded furniture, or the last snow of the season melting into the gutter.

Then she turned and ran, her footsteps light and sure.

Brian's fingers, slick with blood, reached out one last time—but it was already too late. His body was giving up. The pain dulled, the cold deepened, and the stars above bled into black.

And then—nothing.

Back in her room, Nicole stood over a ceramic bowl resting on the floor. Torn notebook pages lay inside, crumpled and stained with graphite and secrets. She struck a match and dropped it in. Flames flared and danced, curling paper into scorched spirals, blackened edges flaking into ash.

Each name, each note, each careful piece of planning—gone.

Nicole sat on the floor beside the bowl and opened the Death Note. Her fingers paused on a page already scribbled with orchestrated deaths.

Brian Shaw will be shot by a deranged gunman named Daniel Cruz at 10:48 PM.
David Tenner shall commit suicide right after leaving his computer open with insider trading evidence at 9:30.

She stared at the page for a long while before pulling out her eraser. One by one, she wiped the names away. Erasing the proof. Destroying the trail.

Arma, perched silently on the windowsill, watched her with narrowed eyes. The shadows clung to her frame, as if she were carved out of the same darkness that followed Nicole.

"Do you feel guilty?" she asked, her voice quiet, curiously prodding.

Nicole didn't answer right away. She closed the notebook and tossed it onto the bed with a soft thud. Her eyes returned to the bowl, now smoldering with the last embers of the fire. As she reached to snuff out the flame, she mulled over her question.

"No," she said eventually, her tone was soft and honest.

Arma tilted her head. "Then are you scared?"

Nicole pressed the last ember into nothingness, the air filling with the acrid scent of char. She rose slowly and turned to face her, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. Her voice was almost gentle when she answered.

"Sure I am. But getting consumed by my fear doesn't help."

She walked to the window, her gaze catching the faint flash of sirens blooming in the distance. a red and blue glow danced against the glass as the police cars passed her house. Almost like a warning.

"Because There's no turning back now," she whispered.

Chapter Text

Monday Morning

The sunlight that hit the school that morning was cold, thin, pale, and unfeeling. It didn't warm anything. It just revealed. The kind of light that laid you bare if you weren't careful.

Nicole stepped through the front doors the same way she always did: head low, strides even, hair spilling just enough across her face to stay unreadable. She didn't look tired. But she was. Not from lack of sleep, but from that quiet, dragging fatigue that came from carrying too much truth around without speaking it.

At her locker, Jecka was already waiting. She leaned against the wall like she'd been there a while—one earbud in, the other out, eyes sharp. There was always something analytical in Jecka's gaze, like she was watching a clock tick down on a puzzle only she knew how to solve.

"Have you seen Kelly or Megan?" Jecka asked flatly.

Nicole shook her head. "No."

Emily was the one who said what they were both thinking. She sauntered up from the trophy case with a cigarette behind her ear, hoodie sleeves pulled down past her wrists, slowly swaying, smirk already loaded.

"Guess they're grieving," she said. "Real shame."

Nicole didn't respond. She just stared at the hallway clock until the bell rang, then gave a tiny nod to no one in particular.

"Let's go somewhere quiet," she said.

They cut through the school's west wing, slipping behind the locked gym doors into a forgotten corner. Concrete walls. Windows so grimy they filtered the outside world into a sickly yellow hue. Curling old posters clung to the brick like fossilized lies.

It was quiet. It was perfect.

Emily crossed her arms and kicked at a crushed soda can. "So what's the deal, Nico? You got the money or not?"

Nicole didn't answer immediately. She pulled out her phone, scrolled for a moment, then turned the screen toward them.

The photo was grainy but clear enough: Nicole sitting on the edge of her bed, posture straight, hair sleek. Fanned across her comforter were thousands in small bills—bundled, sorted, precise. Like she'd just robbed a bank and wanted the world to know she did it right.

Jecka let out a low whistle. "That's all of it?"

Nicole nodded. "And I'm giving you both your cut. Like I promised."

Emily's eyes lit up, but her suspicion burned hotter than her excitement. "What's the catch?"

Nicole stared at them, voice cool and level. "No catch. But before I hand it over, I want to talk about what comes next."

She sank to the concrete floor, back pressed to the wall. The chill grounded her. Jecka and Emily followed, curiosity replacing caution.

"I've been thinking," Nicole began, fingers still tapping the keypad of her phone. "This can't just be a one-time thing. Not if we're smart."

Jecka tilted her head. "You gonna start robbing banks or something?"

Nicole gave a crooked smirk. "Worse. I'm going to become a stockbroker."

Emily blinked. "What the fuck?"

Nicole let that settle in before continuing.

"I know it seems unexpected, but just thing about this shit for a moment. Money doesn't come from nowhere. It moves. It responds—to fear, to scandal, to death. If I can control death? If I kill the right people, at the right time, and I choose wisely when to kill and vice versa. I can manipulate the markets."

Jecka stared. "You're talking about murder. For profit."

Nicole corrected her calmly. "Yes, it's murder. But we're the only ones to benefit, unlike hitmen. Anyone whose death benefits us financially will be found dead. Hell, I can make it so the way they die has disappeared for a while, so it's harder to find the body. That's all it takes to shift the market. We'll make millions, and the world will be our oyster."

Emily sat still, unusually silent. No jokes. Just a subtle widening of her eyes in complete awe at what Nicole had said—and she smiled at her.

Nicole leaned in.

"When I've made enough, I'll start my own firm. A real one. No more strip mall deals. No more shitty jobs. And of course I'll hire both of you. You'll never work for any shitty boss in your life."

Emily exhaled slowly. "You're serious?"

Nicole nodded once. "Always."

Jecka ran a hand through her hair. "Holy fuck..."

Nicole stood and brushed the dust from her coat.

"You'll get your share after school. But I needed you to hear this first. If you're in, I need to know you won't flinch. Not when it gets real."

Emily smirked darkly. "I didn't flinch when I blackmailed the bastard at the church. This? This is nothing."

Jecka, slower but steadier, gave a nod. "You want loyalty? You've always had mine."

Nicole didn't thank them. She didn't need to.

As they stepped back into the light, Nicole felt something stir in her chest. Not guilt. Not fear.

Anticipation.

This might have begun as something petty.

But it evolved into a blueprint of greed and selfishness.

The school buzzed with life—lockers slamming, voices overlapping, footsteps like static echoing off the linoleum. Nicole walked a few steps ahead of the other two, hands in her hoodie, eyes scanning the crowd.

"Don't deposit all of it at once," she murmured. "Break it up. Use it in cash. Buy things slowly. Big deposits trigger reports."

Jecka nodded, adjusting her bag. "Got it."

Emily tilted her head. "What about prepaid cards?"

Nicole turned to her, surprised. "That's smart. Use a bunch. Small amounts. Different stores every time."

They were nearing the vending machines when a voice cut through the din.

"Hey—Nicole!" She turned smoothly, face shifting into neutral before she saw who it was. Hunter jogged up, breath shallow. His eyes flicked over Jecka and Emily, then landed on Nicole.

"Have you seen Megan today?"

Nicole frowned. "No... why?"

"She's not answering texts," Hunter said. "And—I heard something. Like... her dad died?" Nicole's expression twisted instantly into horror. "Wait—what?"

"That's what one of my friends said to me this morning. The guy's dad is a cop so it sounded real. I mean he could have just been spreading rumors, but... right now I'm worried about Megan."

Nicole covered her mouth. "Oh my God. That's awful. Are you serious?"

Hunter shrugged, uneasy. "I was hoping you knew. Let me know if you hear anything?"

"I will," Nicole said quickly, already pulling out her phone. "Totally." Hunter gave a final nod, then vanished into the crowd.

Emily stared after him, then turned to Nicole. "You're good at that." Nicole tucked away her phone and fixed her sleeve. "At what?"

Jecka gave her a look. "The 'Oh no, I had no idea' act."

Nicole smirked faintly. "If you can't lie to their face, you shouldn't be in the game."

Emily gave a short, breathy laugh. "Jesus, you're terrifying."

Nicole's eyes were unreadable. "I know."

The bell rang above them—sharp, final.

The hallway drained, students peeling away in every direction. The three of them walked apart, like nothing connected them.

But in the space between their footsteps... something heavy lingered.

Something just waiting to be pulled tight.

Lunch was already halfway over by the time Nicole slid into her usual seat at the far corner of the cafeteria—a spot half-swallowed by the shadow of a support pillar, just far enough from the ever-roaming teacher monitors to allow muttered insults and weaponized eye-rolls to pass unnoticed. The hum of lunchroom chaos—tray clatter, soda fizz, the occasional shriek from a nearby table—blurred into background noise as she unzipped her lunch bag with the muscle memory of routine. Her eyes flicked up.

Jecka slumped into the seat across from her, a half-drunk cherry soda already sweating in her hand. She dropped it on the table with a dull thunk, like punctuation for a sentence she didn't bother saying. Her eyeliner was smudged, and her expression carried that usual cocktail of boredom and mild contempt.

Moments later, Emily slid in beside her, all bones and attitude, a half-eaten brownie clutched like a trophy. Nicole didn't need to ask where it came from—probably swiped from some unsuspecting freshman too dazed to notice. Emily didn't greet anyone. She just sank into her chair, bit off another chunk, and mumbled through a mouthful, "This tastes like drywall and sadness."

They spoke in low tones, voices barely rising above the cafeteria's ambient roar. Meaningless things. The clothes they wanted to have. A rumor about a history teacher who got fired for letting his hand linger just a second too long on a sophomore's shoulder. Then money—their newest daydream. How they'd spend it, where they'd go once it was in hand. The conversation drifted like cigarette smoke—aimless, pungent, vaguely dangerous.

Nicole was just about to mention the next drop—subtle, casual, like mentioning a bus schedule—when a shadow fell over the table.

"Hey, um... do you mind if I sit here?"

Karen.

The air shifted. The three of them froze, not in fear, but because of the awkwardness of it all. She clearly looked completely out of place, not to mention her history with Jecka. Even if she seemed polite and wasn't looking to hurt anyone, it just wouldn't work. Karen stood there gripping her red plastic tray like it was a peace offering, yogurt, banana, and a brown bag balanced awkwardly like they were aware of the situation.

Nicole glanced at Emily, who had already inhaled sharply and opened her mouth—something venomous surely teetering on the edge of her tongue. Then to Jecka, whose body language screamed that she'd rather get shot in the femur than endure Karen's presence.

Nicole raised her shoulders in a barely-there shrug, cool and unreadable. "Sure. Go ahead."

Then came the look—a subtle tilt of her chin toward Emily and Jecka. Let it happen. Don't fight this one.

Karen smiled like she hadn't just stepped into a den of girls with claws. She slid beside Emily and began unpacking her lunch with oblivious cheer, peeling back the foil lid of her yogurt; clearly, she wasn't aware she was entering enemy territory. The silence stretched thin and tight.

"So," Karen chirped, stabbing at her yogurt with optimism, "have you guys done anything interesting these past few days?"

Nicole tensed up. Oh, Jesus, what a terrible time to ask a question like that, she thought to herself.

Jecka didn't look up, arms crossed tight against her chest. However, she still kept her composure when she said, "Didn't really do anything." Her answer made Nicole feel more relaxed.

"Oh?" Karen tilted her head in curiosity. "Well, I guess I just stayed home as well?"

Emily said nothing. Her silence was louder than a scream. Nicole, for once, didn't speak either. She just watched—studying Karen, calculating her intentions.

But before Karen could prod again, the bell rang, slicing through the tension like a razor through gauze.

They stood. Trays dumped. Words unsaid. No glances exchanged. Two of them walked back to class in silence, but before Nicole could leave, Karen asked her a question. "Hey Nicole, do you know where Megan and Kelly are?" Nicole froze in place as if she had just become a statue. She then turned around to face Karen and answer her question. "I think Megan and Kelly's fathers have died, and that's why they haven't come to school.

Karen Face was shocked but before she could answer, Nicole continued. "Look, I have to go, but maybe we'll talk about it later." Nicole then left Karen standing there, unsatisfied with her answer. 

After school, the three of them walked the long route—pavement soft with heat, air dense with the kind of stillness that always comes before something breaks.

Nicole's house was just around the bend when they saw the cars.

Two of them.

One was from Megan's family. The other, unmistakably, belonged to Kelly's mother. Parked right out front, side by side like funeral cars.

Nicole stopped walking.

Emily slowed next to her, eyes narrowing. "That's Megan's mom's car."

"And Kelly's," Jecka added, already frowning.

Nicole turned to face them, her voice level but sharp. "They're here."

"They don't know, do they?" Emily asked, her bravado flickering.

"I don't think so," Nicole replied. "But I don't know why they're here."

A gust of wind picked up, sending dead leaves scraping along the sidewalk like dry whispers.

Nicole took a breath. "I can still get you the money later if you want. No pressure."

Emily stepped back. "Yeah... later. Just in case."

But Jecka hesitated. Then shrugged. "I'll go with you. Just in case you need someone."

Nicole gave her a glance that said thank you without saying a word

Inside the house, the atmosphere was heavy with grief and confusion.

Nicole barely had time to process before Megan stood up from the couch, eyes swollen, mascara streaked.

"They're dead," she said. "Our dads..."

Kelly stood too. Her voice cracked. "Nicole... they're gone. They... both of them..."

Nicole's heart thudded once, then steadied.

"Oh my God," she whispered, eyes wide in carefully practiced shock.

They came to her at once—Kelly first, then Megan, like magnets drawn to warmth. Their arms wrapped around her, holding her like she was the only solid thing in the room.

"We didn't know who else to come to," Megan said, voice trembling. "We needed to see you."

Nicole wrapped her arms around them, her face buried between their shoulders. The scent of Kelly's hair. Megan's tears soaking into her sweater.

"I'm here," Nicole whispered. "I'm so sorry."

Behind them, Jecka stood in the doorway, frozen.

Her eyes darted between the girls. Her mind tried to catch up. Her face read everything Nicole had feared and expected—shock, confusion, and something else.

Something like awe.

Or suspicion.

But Nicole didn't flinch. She only held on tighter.

Because the performance had to be perfect.

And the game wasn't over. 

Nicole's bedroom was dark, lit only by the soft blue glow of her desk lamp and the pulsing red eye of the space heater under the window. The walls were a collage of peeling posters, old concert wristbands, and thumbtacked notes that curled at the edges—each one a timestamp of some past version of herself. The air smelled faintly of incense and burned cotton, like a ritual halfway done.

Jecka sat cross-legged on the edge of the unmade bed, her boots still on, one hand resting on a corduroy pillow faded from too many washes. Nicole stood by the cracked window, the blinds drawn halfway open, cigarette already between her lips. She lit it with casual precision—shoulder leaning into the glass, eyes flicking to the street below.

Without a word, she turned and handed Jecka a thick envelope.

"Count it later," she murmured. "It's all there."

Jecka took it and tucked it into the inner lining of her coat like something sacred and illegal all at once. She pulled her own cigarette from behind her ear and leaned forward to light it off Nicole's.

The tip glowed orange in the dim room. Smoke slithered up toward the ceiling like a ghost that didn't belong.

For a while, neither of them spoke. Only the occasional creak of the space heater, the soft tap of wind against the windowpane, and the low hum of Nicole's old tower fan filled the silence. The kind of quiet that made Jecka feel like anything said would echo forever.

Then, finally:

"...How do you do it?" Jecka's voice came soft, but the weight behind it was unmistakable.

Nicole didn't turn.

"How do I do what?"

Jecka exhaled slow, the smoke veiling her face. "You hugged them."

Nicole's mouth curved into a crooked smile. "I did."

"You looked like you meant it."

"I know."

That's when Jecka really looked at her. Not the way people looked at someone across a cafeteria table—but like she was trying to see through Nicole, to find the part that cracked. Her eyes weren't full of judgment. Just fear. Fear wrapped in disbelief.

"You killed their dads, Nicole. You sat there with them, holding them, knowing that—and they love you. They trust you."

Nicole turned now, just slightly. Her face was mostly in shadow, but her eyes caught the lamplight, sharp and reflective like glass under moonlight.

Jecka swallowed hard. "It's kind of scaring me. You didn't even flinch."

Nicole took a final drag from her cigarette, then let it burn between her fingers for a moment before flicking it into a ceramic mug by the desk. It sizzled faintly.

"Do you know what people want more than the truth?"

She didn't wait for Jecka to answer.

"They want comfort. Assurance. A warm lie that makes them feel safe." She stepped away from the window, the floor creaking beneath her bare feet. "Megan and Kelly didn't come to me because they knew I was completely innocent. They came because I was there. They needed someone to hold onto, and that happened to be me."

She sat on the floor beside the bed, her back to the mattress, staring up at the ceiling.

"I didn't ask for that part. But I'm not about to throw it away just because I know something they don't."

Jecka's voice had dropped to a whisper. "You killed their fathers."

Nicole's tone was even. Measured. Like reciting math. "I made a move. That's all it was. Sometimes people have to go." She leaned her head back against the bed frame. "This isn't some moody high school melodrama anymore. It's a long game. And if I blink now, the whole thing collapses. Besides I'm not the only one doing this manipulative shit. The only difference is I have it much easier."

Jecka pressed her thumb hard against the seam of the envelope in her coat. "But it doesn't bother you?"

Nicole looked up at her, then—really looked. Her voice, when she spoke, was quiet but edged with something sharp. Not anger. Not cruelty. Just bone-deep exhaustion.

"You think I don't feel things? Jecka I have dreams about my failures and regrets." She looked away again. "I have them. Every night. But I just choose not to listen. Because if I listen, then we go nowhere. And if we go nowhere... We lose."

She reached forward and crushed the butt of the cigarette into the mug, grinding it until only ash remained.

"You want to know how I do it?" she said, standing slowly, smoothing the front of her sweatshirt. "I pretend it's already over. I picture the brokerage. The penthouse. The city skyline from the balcony. I see myself living my best life and never being powerless again."

She walked toward the lamp and shut it off. The room dimmed, shadows stretching long across the floorboards.

"I do what I have to, Jecka. And when this is all over..."

She paused, hand on the light switch. Her voice was a whisper barely meant for anyone.

"...I won't even remember any of this."

Jecka walked home under a sky that looked like it had been wrung out and hung to dry—low, gray, and heavy with silence. The neighborhood was hushed, save for the occasional buzz of a dying streetlamp or the distant shriek of tires turning too fast.

Her house stood quiet. Yellow light spilled from the living room window, flickering with the glow of a TV set. The front door was slightly ajar, cracked open like a mouth ready to yell.

She stepped inside.

"You're late. Where were you?"

Her father's voice hit her like a slap. He slurred every word of that sentence. he was drunk this time.

"I said—you're late."

She closed the door behind her. "I know," she said softly. "I stayed after school."

He sat sprawled in his recliner, a beer can sweating into his shirt, half-watching a police procedural through bloodshot eyes. The can slipped from his fingers and thudded to the floor, foaming against the carpet.

"Oh, I see?" he said jokingly, turning toward her. Jecka's father had a somber look curled across his face. "Listen, Jessica, from this day forward, you're going to need to help pay the rent. So, you'll probably have to limit the time you hang out with your friends." He paused for a brief moment before speaking up again. "It's for the best; they were freaks anyway. Always out there smoking and acting like little whores."

"Don't talk about them like that," Jecka snapped, voice shaking.

Suddenly, he lurched from his chair. "Don't you tell me what to say!" he shouted. "I've done so much for you, and this is what I get in return. You think you're grown now? You think your eyeliner and your ripped jeans make you special? You're not special. You're not different. You're just a damn disappointment who thinks she's too good for this house! Just like your mother!"

Jecka stood frozen in the entryway, jaw tight, fists clenched at her sides.

He pointed toward the stairs as he began to simmer down. "Get the hell out of my face before I do something I'll regret."

She didn't argue. She didn't cry.

She just ran.

Her room welcomed her like a wound closing around salt.

She locked the door behind her and leaned against it, breath shaking, pulse in her throat. The TV downstairs kept playing. Some laugh track echoed faintly through the vents. But up here, it was another world.

No one was watching.

She slid down to the carpet and curled forward, head in her hands. She wasn't sure how long she stayed like that—five minutes, ten. Long enough for the ache behind her eyes to finally spill over.

Tears came slowly. Quietly. Hot and furious.

Her breath hitched.

"I need to get out," she whispered to the dark.

Her fingers dug into her coat pocket and pulled out the envelope.

Still sealed.

Still waiting.

She stared at it for a long time before lifting her head.

And she saw Nicole in her mind—those sharp eyes, that calm voice, the way she never seemed to flinch, even when everything was burning.

Jecka wiped her face on her sleeve.

"I'll do whatever she says."

And this time, she meant it with every piece of her still left. 

January 20th, 2009

The snow had turned to slush days ago, matted and gray at the edges of the sidewalks, the kind of winter mess that clung to pant hems and made everything feel just a little bit heavier. Inside the school cafeteria, the lighting buzzed overhead—too bright, too sterile, like a hospital waiting room trying to pretend it wasn't filled with kids who were either half-asleep or silently fraying.

Nicole sat at her usual table, flanked by Megan on her right and Kelly across from her. Karen was next to Kelly, talking softly about an upcoming quiz in math, though no one was really listening.

Megan stirred her yogurt listlessly with a spoon. Her eyes were sunken a little—bruised by weeks of poor sleep—and her long sleeves were tugged halfway over her hands, like she needed to physically shield herself from the cold world beyond.

She smiled when Nicole made a joke about Mr. Katz's new haircut, but the smile was thin. Forced. She was trying, because Nicole was trying. Because Karen was trying. Because someone had to pretend things were normal.

Kelly was more reactive—talking a little too fast, trying too hard to make things upbeat. Her laughter was always a second too late, too sharp. She kept glancing at her phone, even when it didn't buzz, like part of her was waiting for a message that could never come. The little tremble in her fingers when she picked up her soda cup betrayed the calm front she worked so hard to maintain.

Nicole, for her part, played the role well. Supportive. Present. Normal. She was careful to be affectionate without smothering, always offering Megan her snacks or reminding Kelly about study sessions. Her performance was airtight.

Karen, however, wasn't as easily sold.

She kept stealing glances at Jecka across the cafeteria—Jecka, who sat with Emily at another table, laughing at something sarcastic Nicole had texted her under the table only minutes ago.

Then Karen stood up. "I'm gonna run to the bathroom. Be right back."

No one objected. Megan gave a tired nod. Kelly wiped her nose on a napkin and didn't look up.

Karen's boots thudded softly against the linoleum, each step echoing with the weight of her pulse. The hallway was mostly empty—just the hum of flickering fluorescent lights overhead and the muffled sounds of distant lockers slamming like dull warning shots.

Her heart pounded against her ribs, a fast, frantic rhythm like it wanted out.

This is stupid, she told herself, fingers tightening around the strap of her bag. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe it's nothing.

But it wasn't.

She turned the corner near the girls' restroom just in time to catch a flicker of black familiar figure slipping through the door with practiced indifference. Jecka.

Karen stopped short, staring at the bathroom door like it had insulted her. Its dull, off-white surface looked colder than it should've. Her breath fogged faintly in the chill of the hall, like the air itself didn't want to be disturbed.

She swallowed.

You're not a little girl anymore. You're not gonna get pushed around.

The words slipped out in a whisper, barely louder than the blood rushing in her ears.

Then she pushed the door open.

The bathroom was quiet. Almost too quiet. A sterile kind of stillness hung in the air, broken only by the occasional drip from one of the old silver faucets—an irregular beat against the tile that echoed louder than it should've.

The scent of bleach lingered, sharp and chemical, half-masked by cheap floral air freshener.

Jecka had just stepped out of a stall. She caught sight of Karen and immediately froze—not dramatically, but just enough. A flick of her eyes. A tension in the jaw.

Her bangs fell across one eye as she gave her head a subtle shake. Defensive. Ready.

Karen stepped forward.

"Hey."

Jecka blinked. Her mouth twitched. She glanced toward the door behind Karen, like she expected someone else to walk in behind her and say surprise. When no one did, her expression turned flinty.

"What?" she said flatly.

Karen stopped a few feet away, feet planted, shoulders squared.

"I wanted to ask you something," she said, voice low and even. Too even.

Jecka tensed—just barely.

"Do you know anything else about what happened to Megan and Kelly's dads?"

The silence after that question wasn't long—but it stretched like elastic, just enough to pull something tightly.

Jecka's expression didn't crack, but her body did. A twitch in her shoulders. A half-blink. And then—words, slow and measured:

"No. Why would I know that?"

There it is again, Karen thought.

That tiny slip. The old tell—lips parted too long before the sentence. Just a second. Just enough.

She remembered that look from when they were kids. Trading secrets under staircases, whispering about crushes and ghost stories with juice box straws poking through crooked smiles. Jecka used to lie the same way back then—never in the words. Always in the breath before them.

But Karen didn't press. Didn't react.

She just watched.

Jecka stepped forward.

Her boots made a faint, hollow sound on the tile. Each step felt deliberate. Her arms were at her sides, not clenched, but not relaxed either. A fuse without a flame.

"Look," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, but hard as flint. "I know we used to be friends. But we're not anymore."

The words hit the air like a slap. But beneath them... something faltered. A slight stammer of conscience. Like she didn't fully believe it herself.

Jecka was too close now—close enough for Karen to see the hesitation in her eyes, for her breath to ghost in the space between them. However Karen wasn't fairing much better as her Nerves where out of control. Karen took a quiet breath quickly to compose herself, as Jecka continued to speak.

"However as a former friend, I'm gonna give you some harsh advice, Karen," she murmured. "This is in your best interest so pay close attention."

Karen's Heart had skipped a beat. she anxiously waited for an eternity in her mind, but for the world only a few seconds. Jecka then spoke her words of wisdom.

"You'll stay away from me if you know what's good for you."

The delivery was cold. But there was something else buried beneath it—deep, conflicted. Like regret had wrapped itself in armor and tried to pass as cruelty.

Karen stood her ground. Didn't blink.

But she didn't speak either.

Jecka stared at her for a second longer. Then turned.

She walked out without another word, the door swinging shut behind her with a soft, decisive click—like the end of a scene. Like punctuation.

Karen stood alone in the quiet.

The faucet kept dripping.

She didn't cry. She didn't scream. But her fists were clenched at her sides so tightly her fingernails left little crescent moons in her palms.

Her heart was sinking—not from fear, but from something heavier.

Because that had been confirmation.

And the part of her that had still hoped still wished Jecka wasn't a part of all this—was now gasping for air.

Later That Week — Behind the Library

Karen had chosen the spot carefully: a little alcove behind the library where hardly anyone ever went. A rusted bike rack stood crooked against the brick wall, and a narrow strip of dry grass separated them from the main building. It wasn't glamorous, but it was quiet. Private. Safe enough to say what needed saying.

The late afternoon sun slanted across the rooftop above, casting long, golden shadows. School had ended an hour ago, and most students were already on their way home. In this forgotten corner of the campus, time seemed to slow.

Karen stood waiting, her hands clenched tightly in front of her, heart thudding as she watched Kelly and Megan approach. But Karen had prepared herself for this moment. Her theory had been burning a hole in her chest for days.

Megan had a tired, guarded look in her eyes, which wasn't typical of her. Kelly, by contrast, looked more curious than concerned—her brows lifted, mouth drawn into a faint, skeptical smile.

"You said this was important?" Kelly asked, adjusting her backpack strap.

Karen nodded. "Yeah. I didn't want to say this around anyone else. Too risky."

The three girls sat in a rough half-circle on a cracked patch of concrete, backs against the building's warm brick. There was silence for a moment, just the rustle of wind in the dead grass, the distant call of a bird overhead.

Then Karen spoke.

"I think Nicole might have had something to do with your dads," Karen said quietly.

The words hung in the air like a loaded gun.

Kelly blinked, her eyes narrowing as she slowly lifted her head. "What?"

Megan became more focused on Karen. The look she gave was a mix of anger, confusion, and curiosity. "What the hell are you saying?"

Karen didn't look away. Her heart pounded in her ears, but her voice didn't shake.

"I know how it sounds," she said. "Just... hear me out before you get mad. I've been thinking about this for weeks now, and the more I do, the less it makes sense that all of this is just a coincidence."

Neither girl responded. They didn't agree—but they didn't walk away, either.

Karen took that as a small victory. She leaned in, her voice dropping even lower.

"Coach Colby died on October 8th. The next day, three more people die—Kyle, Braxton, and Kylar. That's not just bad luck. That's a chain of events. Colby was hated, fine. But Kyle? He stalked Jecka for months. Braxton and Kylar? Rumored to sell drugs. Same thing Emily's been tied to. That's three deaths tied to the two people Nicole started hanging around the most. On top of that, they all happen so soon after each other. You see what I'm getting at?"

She leaned forward slightly, her eyes serious. "Either Nicole or her other friends had reasons to want them gone."

Megan's voice cut in sharply. "But that doesn't mean Nicole had anything to do with it."

Kelly placed a hand on Megan's shoulder, gently easing her back. "Let her talk. There's no harm in hearing her out."

Megan didn't look convinced, but she leaned against the wall, slightly crossed her arms. Megan then closed her eyes and took a deep breath to calm herself down. Kelly turned her attention back to Karen. "So... you're saying they were eliminated?" she asked, voice low.

Karen nodded. "And there's more. Isn't it strange that both of your dads died on the same exact day? Just like the others. One death could be chance. Two? Maybe. But four? Then six? That's something else."

The girls exchanged a glance. Karen continued.

"Here's another thing—Nicole's personality shift. Before all this, she was rude, bitter, and standoffish to everyone. Then suddenly, right after Colby's death, she's nice? Overnight? That's not how real change works. It doesn't just happen without a reason, and definitely not that fast. Especially not someone like Nicole."

Kelly shrugged. "Maybe she just didn't show that side to her friends? Maybe she changed privately first?"

Megan added, more tentatively, "Or maybe she was being exploited... by Colby. That kind of trauma can flip a switch."

Karen nodded respectfully, but her voice grew firmer. "I thought about that, too. But I've been sitting alone a lot before we all became a group of friends. I overhear things. "I sometimes sat near her during lunch. I've overheard things she's said to Jecka and Emily. And there was not the slightest hint of trying to become a better person. It was vulgar. Mean-spirited. Nothing about her was even a little reflective or remorseful. She talked with pure contempt for those she didn't like. Then suddenly she's preaching about redemption?"

She then turned her attention to Megan. "And I'm not convinced Colby's involvement was the trigger. Nicole's always been antisocial since she got here. So presumably she was like that before she even knew Colby existed."

Suddenly Kelly gave a distinct look at Karen. Like she just had an awkward epiphany.

"So if this is case why did colby die of an accident, there were even multiple witnesses."

Karen looked down at the ground with a look of awkwardness, like she hoping they wouldn't ask that. "Yeah that's the one part I'm still trying to figure out yet."

However undeterred, Karen looked up to faced both Megan and Kelly, and began to speak with convention that even shocked herself. "However that doesn't discredit the other deaths. Also there's something else I haven't mentioned."

Both girls tensed up.

Karen lowered her eyes, almost ashamed to repeat what she'd overheard. "The day after Colby died, I heard her say something. She asked her friends, 'If you could make a ton of money, but someone had to die, would you do it?' I figured she was just being edgy, but looking back..."

Kelly raised her eyebrows. Megan looked unsettled.

"At the time, I thought she was joking," Karen added. "But now... I don't think she was."

There was a pause. Karen took a breath, then added one final piece.

"I asked Jecka a few days ago if she knew anything. She said no. But I've known her since elementary school. I know when she's lying."

Kelly gave her a wary look. "How?"

"She opens her mouth slightly before answering with a lie. It's a habit. She did it when we were little, and she'd fib about sneaking out food. She did it again when I asked about your dads."

Megan looked down at her knees. Her voice was quieter now.

"So... if this is true. Then all of this was about money?"

Karen nodded solemnly. "That's what I think. And Nicole wouldn't do this alone. I think Emily and Jecka are involved. And I think they're being helped—maybe by someone dangerous."

Kelly blinked. "Like a gang?"

Karen shrugged. "Maybe. I've heard Emily's dating someone in MS-13, so it's not out of the question. But I think it could be something higher up. More organized. Hidden. I mean—someone got your father to end his life. That's not something a group of thugs could pull off alone."

Kelly tensed. "Karen, my father killed himself. Are you seriously suggesting someone made him do that?"

Karen softened her tone. "I'm not trying to disrespect him, or either of your families. But if there's even a chance that the deaths of your fathers were intentional, wouldn't you want to know?"

Neither of them said anything for a long moment. The wind picked up, blowing loose strands of hair across Megan's face.

Karen leaned back and looked them both in the eye.

Karen pressed on. "I'm not asking you to believe me. All I'm asking is for you to test it. Just once. Ask Nicole if you can hang out at her house. See if anything's off. If I'm wrong, I'll shut up about it forever. "There was another pause. Then Megan finally raised one hand, her index finger extended.

"Just once," she said. "And if we don't find anything, we forget about this. Deal?"

Karen gave a small, grateful smile. "Deal."

The tension broke slightly. Kelly let out a slow breath and offered a half-smile of her own. "You know, for someone who gets nervous and blushes when she reads aloud in class, you're weirdly convincing."

Karen flushed. "Well... Sherlock Holmes did say the smallest details matter most." The girl's spirt's had strangley been lifted.

"Oh one more thing," Karen asked looking at both girls. "Just in case check to see if any money was withdrawn before your fathers passaway. Because if this was all about money, then there might be a record of the money being taken out." Megan and Kelly where hesitant but agree, because there minds where linked with the same thought. What if she was right.

The girls stood and dusted off their clothes, heading back toward the front of the school. As they walked, their conversation turned to how they'd approach Nicole, what they'd say, what excuses they might use. Their voices dropped to whispers again—but there was a new purpose behind every word.

They were no longer just friends trying to process grief.

They were preparing for a quiet investigation.

And if Karen was right... then they were stepping into something much darker than any of them had imagined. 

The next day drifted by with the kind of heavy silence that felt less like peace and more like pressure, thin, invisible, settling into the bones. Outside, the sidewalks were slick with half-melted snow, gray slush gathering in the corners where boots had trampled paths. Overhead, the sky hung low and colorless, bleeding the edges of the day into a permanent dusk.

Nicole moved through it like she always did—untouched, unreadable.

She sat at the edge of the lunch table, tray untouched, fingers drumming once against her thermos before falling still. Megan was beside her, picking at a soft pretzel that had gone rubbery in the steam tray, while Kelly sat across from them, twisting her travel-sized hand sanitizer open and shut like a nervous tic.

Across from them, Karen talked in vague, empty circles—some YouTube video, a cousin's dance recital, her aunt's new boyfriend who worked in flooring or insulation or something. No one really listened. Karen didn't seem to notice.

Nicole glanced at Megan once, just long enough to notice the small tension in her jaw. The way her eyes didn't lift from her tray even when Karen giggled too loudly.

By the time the final bell rang, the sky had darkened into pale ash. School let out in waves—students swarming down the front steps, boots squelching through slush, backpacks bouncing against shoulders.

Nicole walked with the usual distance: a step ahead, headphones in but silent. Megan and Kelly flanked her loosely, close enough to follow, far enough not to press.

They waited until they were halfway to the bike racks before Megan finally spoke.

"Hey," she said, voice soft and careful, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. "Me and Kelly were wondering..."

Nicole slowed slightly.

"...Do you think we could hang out at your place after school tomorrow?"

She didn't answer at first. Just kept walking, her boots cutting wet, deliberate steps into the slush. Megan glanced toward Kelly, who offered a look that was equal parts shrug and your turn.

Nicole let the question hang there for a moment, like smoke from a match.

"My mom's around this week," she said finally, voice flat. "I've got stuff going on."

Kelly gave a small scoff. "You always say that."

Nicole stopped walking.

Turned halfway toward them.

The look she gave was measured—something between bored and annoyed. "I just don't like people in my house."

There was a pause, short but heavy.

Megan nodded once. "Yeah, I get that, because you hate your brother and all that." But her voice dropped a little, the rehearsed lightness slipping. "It's just... I don't really want to be at my place lately. Ever since my dad—" Her words caught, just slightly, but she didn't stop. "It's been weird. I just want to be somewhere else. Somewhere that doesn't feel like that."

Nicole studied her. Megan wasn't crying. Wasn't begging. She just looked tired—worn down at the edges like a coat that's been through one too many winters.

Megan went on, voice quieter. "You've been really good to me. I just thought maybe... one more good thing."

Nicole didn't say anything. Kelly was silent too, arms crossed against her chest, her breath fogging in the cold. But she was watching Nicole closely, like the answer meant more than either of them would admit.

Nicole looked between them, her eyes unreadable.

Then: "Fine."

Megan blinked. "Yeah?"

Nicole turned back toward the sidewalk, already walking again. "After school. Tomorrow. But not all night."

Megan smiled faintly, and it wasn't a victory grin—it was relief. "Thanks."

Kelly fell in step beside her. "We'll bring snacks and movies."

Nicole didn't respond. Her hands were in her pockets, face half-shadowed by the low, grey light. But behind her unreadable expression, she was already rearranging pieces.

She was trying to decided what drawers to lock. What lies to prep. What silence to weaponize.

Because letting them in meant something now.

And tomorrow, she'd have to be ready.

That Night – 11:43 PM

The attic hatch groaned softly as Nicole pulled it down, the wooden ladder unfolding with a sharp crack like a snapped branch. A soft film of dust drifted through the beam of her flashlight, catching like glitter in the stale air.

The upstairs hallway behind her was dark, save for the bathroom light left on to trick her mother into thinking she was brushing her teeth. But Nicole hadn't spoken to her mother since dinner, and even then, it was all just noise—yes, no, fine.

She climbed the creaking ladder with practiced precision, one hand holding the flashlight, the other gripping the edges of a black suitcase. It was scuffed on the corners, the handle worn raw from being dragged—by her, or someone else, didn't matter anymore.

The attic welcomed her like a tomb. The temperature dropped five degrees the moment she emerged into it. The wooden beams above curved like the ribs of something long dead, and the floorboards beneath her feet moaned with each cautious step.

She moved through it with purpose, brushing cobwebs from her face, her eyes locked on the far corner beneath the windowless eaves. It was where the insulation peeled back, revealing rotted wood and a small pocket between the crossbeams. Perfect.

She crouched and set the suitcase down. For a moment, she just sat there, kneeling before it with both hands on the handle. Then she looked up.

Arma's voice, cold and disembodied, broke the silence like a whisper through cracked glass.

"So you're putting it up here to hide the money from your friends. Do you think there's a better hiding spot?"

Nicole didn't flinch.

"Don't call them my friends."

"Still," Arma said, voice like dry wind in her ear. "That is why you're doing this. I'm just asking if you've considered other hiding spots. It's possible that they could find this place."

Nicole stood and gave the suitcase one last look before sliding it into the crevice between the beams. It fit snugly, almost too perfectly, like it had been waiting to be hidden there all along.

"I doubt it, but even if they do. What's the chance that they'll go up into this decrepit place like this? Not to mention it's at someone else's house."

She brushed her hands on her jeans, leaving behind streaks of attic dust.

Arma's voice drifted again, a little quieter this time. Thoughtful.

"Still, what if they do find the briefcase with the money. What will you do if they find out? If they figure out what you've done?"

Nicole turned toward the attic entrance but didn't go down yet. She stared into the dark for a moment, her eyes catching faint glints of insulation like frost.

"If they can prove I'm guilty with the money," she said plainly, "then they're dead."

She didn't say it cruelly. Just like stating a rule. A law of gravity.

She turned to the ladder and started down.

"But if they can't..." she continued, disappearing into the dark hallway below, "I'll let them live."

"How merciful."

"It's not mercy," she said quietly, as she pulled the attic hatch shut. "It's just better not to raise suspicion."

The ladder folded up with a final groan. The hallway went dark. Somewhere in the house, a clock ticked over to midnight.

And above it all, nestled in the bones of the ceiling, the briefcase sat in its hollow, like a secret buried just one floor too high for a grave.

Chapter Text

The wind howled like something feral through the eaves of the house, rattling the thin glass panes in Nicole's bedroom window. Outside, winter had returned with a vengeance. Fat snowflakes swirled in frantic spirals, chasing each other across the backyard like ghosts. The last few days had been nothing but dull slush—gray and melting, clinging to curbs and boots like chewing gum. But now the snow was clean again, sharp and white, cutting through the air with brutal precision. The kind of cold that cracked your knuckles and made the world feel sterile.

Nicole stood by the window, arms crossed, staring out at the blizzard-washed world.

"Winters pissed," she muttered to herself.

It was nearly four. Megan and Kelly would be here soon.

Nicole turned from the window and checked the hallway. She could hear her brother stomping around upstairs, heavy footsteps moving with all the grace of a drunk elephant. Just the thought of him being around when the girls arrived made her stomach twist. The last thing she needed was him making things worse. And knowing him, he would — in the grossest way possible.

She marched upstairs and found him in the hallway, shirtless and scratching his chest while flipping through a magazine that probably shouldn't be in the house to begin with.

"You're not staying up here today," Nicole said flatly.

Her brother blinked, like he needed a second to load the message. "Why?"

"Because two girls are coming over, and I'm not in the mood for you to ruin literally everything by being a greasy little perv."

He rolled his eyes. "You're overreacting."

"No. I'm reacting exactly the amount required," she snapped, stepping in front of him. "You look at them sideways, they'll leave, and then I'll have to explain why I live with a fucking sentient pair of skid marks."

That hit. He scowled.

"I'm not going to the basement."

Nicole's eyes narrowed. "Fine," she hissed. "I'll just go down there myself and see what I can use against your salad-dodging looking ass."

His face went red.

Arma's laughter trickled through the back of Nicole's mind like a leaky faucet—sharp, barely suppressed.

"God, you're such a bitch," her brother said.

Nicole tilted her head and offered him a thin smile. "And you're the reason every sock in this house has a restraining order."

He went silent.

Footsteps padded down the hallway. Their mother appeared around the corner, still drying her hands with a kitchen towel.

"What's going on now?" she asked with the weariness of someone who had walked in on way too many sibling arguments.

Nicole quickly switched gears, inhaling slowly and smiling like the world's most composed liar. "Nothing. Just reminding our little prince that he still owes me a favor."

Her mom sighed but didn't press. "Can you two please not fight today? I'm going out and I really don't want to deal with this."

Nicole nodded sweetly. "Of course."

Her brother turned to stomp off, but Nicole grabbed his sleeve and leaned in.

"I'll order takeout," she whispered. "Whatever you want. You stay in the basement. Don't make a sound."

His eyes lit up. "Meatlovers pizza and garlic breadsticks?"

"Done."

He trudged off without another word.

Back in her room, Nicole shut the door with a soft click and exhaled slowly, as if releasing pressure from a sealed container. She pressed her back to the wood for a moment, letting the stillness settle over her like dust.

Then she turned—and flinched.

Arma stood in the far corner near the closet, arms folded, her presence half-swallowed by the dimness. Shadows clung to the contours of her figure like soot, the faint light from the window catching just enough of her form to make her seem half-real, half-suggestion. Her eyes gleamed faintly in the gloom, unreadable and amused.

"Thanks for the laugh," Nicole said dryly, gathering her hair and twisting it into a loose bun with fingers that still trembled slightly from the confrontation. "You almost made me blow my cover. Cackling like a discount demon while I was mid-argument."

Arma smirked, cocking her head with an exaggerated expression of false remorse.

"Apologies. Truly. I forget how delicate your little house-of-cards diplomacy can be."

Nicole rolled her eyes and flopped onto the bed, arms spread as her body sank into the mattress. The ceiling above stared back at her, blank and unmoved. The wind outside still hissed through the eaves, muffled but insistent, like nature reminding her it hadn't gone away. Somewhere deep in the walls, the old house creaked—soft and slow, like a creature shifting in its sleep.

For a few seconds, neither of them spoke.

Then Arma's voice, low and curious, threaded through the quiet: "I assume you won't be staying in touch with Megan, Kelly, or Karen after graduation?"

Nicole snorted, her laugh dry and immediate. "God, no."

Arma raised a single brow, tilting her head just enough to signal interest.

Nicole turned on the pillow to face her, her expression cooling into something thoughtful.

"Don't get me wrong—they're useful for now," she said. "But I'm not interested in becoming part of some nostalgia-laced group chat for girls who once knew someone named Nicole."

She rolled onto her side, propping her head up with one hand. Her tone grew more reflective, almost amused.

"You see... I think of it this way: As long as they don't know what I've done, they'll remember me fondly. Years from now, they'll be drinking boxed wine in a two-bedroom rental and saying things like Wow, she was pretty cool. A little cold, but once you got to know her, she was really sweet. Plus, she was smart."

Nicole's grin sharpened.

"And I'll be sitting in a penthouse somewhere with a bottle of champagne and enough money to put their grandkids through therapy."

Arma's lips curled faintly, but she said nothing.

Nicole lay back again, her gaze distant now—eyes dark with calculation, but almost peaceful in the quiet arrogance of her plan.

"In the end," she murmured, "no one will be the wiser."

Megan's car idled at the curb, its aging engine rumbling in quiet protest against the cold. The heater wheezed from the vents, offering barely enough warmth to push back the chill seeping in from outside. Fog crept along the corners of the windshield, each exhale from the girls puffing into short-lived clouds in the stale, recycled air.

Beyond the glass, the world was buried beneath a fresh coat of snow—untouched, glittering under the amber glow of the streetlamps. The sky had darkened early, thick clouds pressed low like a weighted ceiling, promising another round of snowfall before the night was over.

Megan sat behind the wheel, fingers tapping a slow, anxious rhythm on the steering wheel. Her gloves muffled the sound, but the tension was clear in every movement. Beside her, Kelly sat in the passenger seat, legs crossed, swaddled in a scarf that nearly swallowed her neck.

For a while, neither spoke.

Then Megan leaned back and let out a sharp breath, fogging the air again.

"Okay," she said. "So we're really doing this."

Kelly nodded, swallowing hard. "Yeah. We are."

Another pause followed, heavier this time. Then Megan reached toward the glove compartment and pulled out a thin envelope. Inside was a single folded page—Karen's hastily sketched diagram of Nicole's house layout, drawn from memory. She had given it to them at lunch the day before, citing an old school project Nicole once brought in. It wasn't precise, but it gave them a starting point.

Megan unfolded it on her lap, smoothing the creases.

"All right," she said, voice low but steady. "When we get inside, we act normal. Hang out, chat, whatever. After ten, fifteen minutes, one of us pulls Nicole aside. Kitchen, bathroom, doesn't matter."

Kelly nodded along. "And while one of us distracts..."

"The other snoops," Megan finished. "Exactly. We don't go crazy—we're just looking. One drawer, one closet. Something small. Then after twenty or thirty minutes, we switch."

Kelly studied her lap. "We shouldn't both be missing at the same time. That'll make her suspicious."

"Totally. One of us has to keep her talking. Laughing. Hell, if we have to, bring up her dead dad."

Kelly winced. "Let's... not lead with that."

Megan gave a grim chuckle. "Fair."

She turned back to the sketch, tracing their route with a gloved fingertip. "If she's hiding anything, my guess is it's not out in the open. I mean, it's not like we're gonna find a note that says 'I killed Megan and Kelly's dads, please don't read this.'"

Kelly let out a weak laugh, but the smile didn't reach her eyes.

"So what are we looking for?" she asked.

"Anything weird," Megan said. "Documents. Old notes. Maybe cash. Something hidden under her bed, or in her desk. Karen said Nicole acts strange when she zones out—like she's trying to bury a thought. Whatever it is, I think it's big."

Kelly hesitated, then asked, "What about her attic?"

Megan glanced over. "You think she'd really hide something there?"

"Why not? Nobody goes into the attic unless they're hiding presents... or bodies."

Megan narrowed her eyes. "That's creepy specific."

"Still," Kelly shrugged, "it's worth checking."

Megan nodded slowly. "Good point. Let's make it a priority."

Silence returned, just long enough for the worry to start creeping back in.

"We're gonna get caught," Kelly murmured.

"Probably," Megan admitted, though her tone was light. "That's why we need a Plan B."

Kelly raised an eyebrow. "Which is?"

Megan hesitated, then gave a crooked grin. "Pretend you broke something."

Kelly blinked. "What?"

"If one of us gets caught snooping, the other causes a scene. Knock something over. Make Nicole focus on you. Unless the other person is this close to finding something, then just drop it and act normal."

Kelly stared, open-mouthed, before nodding slowly, a flicker of admiration crossing her face.

"That's messed up," she said.

"And brilliant."

They shared a look—short, tense, but solid. An unspoken agreement: they were crossing a line, and they weren't backing out.

Megan reached for the gear shift, ready to pull away, when Kelly spoke again.

"Did you do what Karen asked of you?"

Megan paused, then closed the glove compartment. Her eyes stayed on the dashboard for a moment before she turned to Kelly.

"You mean checking if my dad withdrew any money?"

Kelly nodded, already bracing herself for the answer.

Megan's gaze dropped to her lap, her voice quieter now. "Yeah. I checked."

She took a breath, then looked up again. "Karen was right. My dad had been withdrawing money. Slowly. Quietly. My mom's talking to the authorities about it now."

Kelly's heart skipped. She had suspected—but hearing it aloud made it real. Painfully so.

Megan held her gaze. "Listen. I'm sure there's something weird going on with our dads' deaths. And yeah... I think your father's church donation has something to do with it."

She paused, as if weighing her words carefully.

"But that doesn't mean Nicole's behind it."

Kelly looked at her, uncertain.

Megan's voice grew firmer. "So let's do what we came here to do. If everything's normal—great. We hang out. We have a good time. We figure out the rest tomorrow."

Kelly took a deep breath, Megan's certainty washing over her like a balm.

"You're right," she said. "Let's not jump to conclusions."

Megan smiled faintly, then checked the clock on the dashboard. "Alright. Let's go."

Nicole's house stood on the corner lot like something displaced from a different time—its normal brick exterior frosted with snow, the sharp angles of its roof outlined in white. Against the quiet violence of the winter storm, it looked less like a home and more like a forgotten museum: cold, dignified, and full of unspoken stories.

The porch light glowed above the steps, casting a soft yellow halo onto the snow-crusted walkway. Wind pushed through the bare trees that lined the yard, their skeletal branches swaying, creaking faintly, like tired fingers trying to reach for something they could no longer grasp.

Megan cut the engine. The car ticked in the sudden stillness, and for a moment neither of them moved.

Then, wordlessly, they stepped out.

The wind hit them instantly—sharp and biting, slicing through their coats like it had teeth. Snow crunched beneath their boots, a thin crust of ice making each step feel too loud, too exposed.

They reached the porch.

Kelly lingered in front of the door, her gloved hand hovering near the doorbell. Her breath fogged the air as she turned slightly toward Megan.

"Are we really doing this?" she asked, her voice low, almost swept away by the wind.

Megan took a breath, trying to steady the pounding in her chest. Her cheeks were pink from the cold, but there was tension in her posture—like someone walking into a test they hadn't studied for.

"We said we would," she murmured. "Let's just get it over with."

She reached forward and pressed the doorbell.

A second passed. Then another.

The door creaked open.

Nicole stood in the doorway, backlit by the warm golden glow of the hallway behind her. She wore a black hoodie and fitted jeans, her long hair loose around her shoulders. She smiled wide—welcoming, familiar. Her eyes moved between them quickly, unreadable, but nothing about her expression gave cause for alarm.

Then she opened her arms.

The hug felt rehearsed. Polished. All three girls leaned in at once, like hitting marks on a stage. Megan noticed the way Nicole's hand barely touched her shoulder. Kelly's eyes stayed open.

Nicole pulled back with a light grin. "Hey. You guys made it."

Warmth hit them the moment they stepped inside. The heat pressed gently against their faces, a soft wave that blurred the cold from their skin. Compared to the icy outside, it almost felt too warm. Too perfect.

The hallway was neat. Spotless, even. A coat rack stood in the corner, evenly spaced hooks waiting. A woven bench sat beneath it, and a faint scent lingered in the air—cinnamon or cider. Something holiday-ish. Something homey.

"You can leave your stuff there," Nicole said, nodding toward the bench. "Come on in. I've got snacks set up."

Megan and Kelly exchanged a quick glance—just a flicker of uncertainty passing between them—before unzipping their coats and stepping deeper into the house.

The lights were dim but warm, casting amber tones across the walls and soft shadows at the edges of the room. A bowl of chips and a couple of sodas sat waiting on the coffee table in the living room. Somewhere upstairs, a faint creak echoed—timed just enough to feel wrong.

Megan swallowed.

She could feel it—the tension sitting just beneath the surface. Every step, every glance, felt like it might mean something. It was hard to tell if it was all in her head... or if Nicole could tell they weren't just here to hang out.

They followed her into the living room. Nicole flopped casually onto the couch like she didn't have a care in the world.

But Megan's gaze flicked upward—for just a second—toward the ceiling. Toward the attic.

It loomed above them, silent and sealed.

Nicole smiled, gesturing toward the snacks. "Help yourselves."

Kelly sat down slowly. Megan stayed standing for a beat longer.

Behind Nicole's grin, behind the candles and clean hallway and too-easy charm, there were secrets.

Now it was just a matter of finding them.

Nicole's living room was warm, Brightly lit by an overhead lamp and a small television playing some muted sitcom reruns from a decade ago. The girls sat around a low coffee table littered with a half-empty bowl of chips, a can of off-brand soda, and a plate of grocery store cookies no one had touched yet.

"So," Nicole said, leaning back on the couch with her legs folded under her. "What are we doing today?"

Megan and Kelly exchanged a glance.

It was subtle, barely noticeable—just the twitch of an eyebrow and a half-smile passed between them. The look said, here we go, let our plan begin.

"Oh we're going to have alot of fun," Kelly replied, smooth and casual, her fingers wrapping around a lukewarm can of soda as if it were a glass of wine. "I brought some movies. I think you'll like all of them, Nicole. Which means—whichever one you pick—we're gonna have a good time."

She leaned forward and slid a small stack of DVDs onto the table with an almost ceremonial grace. Goodfellas, Hot Fuzz, and Pulp Fiction. Each one angled slightly toward Nicole, like offerings to a moody goddess.

Nicole raised an eyebrow and leaned in to examine them. Her fingers brushed the edge of the Pulp Fiction case. "Huh. Alright. How about this one? Believe it or not, I've actually never seen it."

Kelly chuckled softly. "That's... shocking. I figured you'd be quoting the entire Royale with Cheese scene by now."

"It's Classic," Megan muttered, crossing one leg over the other. "You're going to love it, Nicole."

Nicole's eyes glittered. "Is it because it's got crime in it. Come on guys, you know I've turned a new leaf.

There was something in her tone that was not sincere with that sentence. It was subtle, Kelly caught it. Megan caught it. But they smiled anyway.

Tarantino would've been proud.

Nicole stood and stretched. "Alright. You two want anything? I've got, like, leftover pizza, mac and cheese, or... well, cereal."

Megan jumped on the opportunity. "Oh, you got left over pizza? I'll help you reheat it."

Nicole raised an eyebrow. "You gonna microwave it with your aura?"

Megan grinned. "I'll supervise. Make sure you don't poison us."

Nicole rolled her eyes but waved her along toward the kitchen. "Fine. Come on, psychic girl."

As soon as they were out of the room, Kelly waited ten seconds—counted them in her head like she was defusing a bomb. Then she stood up quietly, turned toward the hallway, and walked down toward the stairs.

The search began.

Kelly didn't rush. That was the trick.

Tiptoeing got you caught. Tiptoeing meant you were up to something. The real move? Walk like you belonged there. No hesitation, no darting eyes. Just casual boredom, like you were looking for a bathroom you'd already forgotten the location of. Doing this proved to be useful for her.

The hallway upstairs was dim and quiet, lit only by the ambient spill of light from the kitchen and the living room behind her. Nicole's house wasn't enormous, but it had just enough old hallways and tucked-away corners to feel like a place where secrets might sleep.

Kelly passed the bathroom without a glance and moved instead toward Nicole's bedroom. She placed her hand on the doorknob and turned it slowly—just enough pressure to feel deliberate, not sneaky.

The door creaked open. She slipped inside.

Low light filtered in through the window The desk was cluttered but not chaotic—papers, a phone charger tangled like seaweed, a couple of cheap pens. The bed was half-made, just rumpled enough to look lived in. Two orange prescription bottles sat near the edge of the desk, labels turned inward.

Kelly didn't touch anything. Not yet.

She just looked. Noticing. Mapping.

In the closet, an old stuffed bear sat slumped in the corner, its fur matted and one button eye missing. Kelly tilted her head. It looked like it belonged to a much smaller, softer version of Nicole. Someone long gone.

A cracked drawer in the desk revealed a small stack of video games. Older ones—PS1 titles. Kelly blinked. She had pegged Nicole as someone who didn't like video games. Perhaps there was a time when she did.

Under the bed, an unopened cardboard box sat tucked against the wall. Kelly slid it toward her with one foot and opened the lid just enough to peek in. A broken music box sat inside, dusty and quiet. Even if it had worked, she wasn't about to risk it playing.

Then, near the backpack slouched on the floor, she spotted a photo tucked between two notebooks.

Nicole and a man—her dad, probably—smiling wide in front of some kind of amusement park. The image was sun-bleached, edges curling. Both of them looked happy. Real happy.

Kelly stared a second too long before snapping herself out of it. No time for sentiment. She stood up again, moving toward the dresser to check beneath it when—

"Kelly? You okay up there?"

Nicole's voice cut through the hallway like a wire snapping taut.

Shit.

Kelly pivoted instantly, forcing lightness into her voice. "Sorry, Nicole! I'm almost done—just had to go really bad!"

A pause. Then:

"Oh." Nicole didn't sound entirely convinced. "Well, hurry up or we'll start the movie without you."

Kelly flashed a smile no one could see. "Be down in a sec."

She waited. Counted ten slow seconds, listening to Nicole's footsteps recede.

Then she exhaled. "Jesus. That was close."

She darted from the room and made her way downstairs, adjusting her hair like she'd just come back from a hand-washing instead of a full-blown reconnaissance mission.

She stepped back into the living room with a beaming, overdone smile. "Alright, everybody! Let's start the movie."

Nicole turned from the couch, brows lifted. "Why'd you leave the bathroom door open? I could tell while we were talking."

Kelly froze for half a breath. Then—quick recovery.

"Oh. I thought I'd be fast, so... figured there was no point closing it."

Nicole studied her, the way a cat watches a bird hop a little too close. Then she shrugged. "Whatever. Let's just watch the movie."

All three girls settled in as the DVD menu started to loop. Fake laughter continued to buzz faintly from the TV speakers, quickly fading into a crackling silence.

Then the movie began.

And behind the screens glow, the game kept going.

The movie played loudly, Tarantino's signature dialogue spilling from the speakers with rhythm and grit. It should've been captivating—one of his best films, full of sharp lines and sudden violence—but Megan and Kelly weren't paying attention.

Outside, the storm raged. Wind howled like a warning, rattling the windows until the glass trembled in their frames. Snow smeared against the panes, turning the world beyond into a pale watercolor blur.

Inside, it was warm. Too warm.

The heat clung to the walls and furniture, thick and sluggish like fog in a dream. It made the air feel heavy, like it might slow your heartbeat if you let it.

Nicole reclined on the couch, legs crossed, her posture effortless. She was locked into the film, eyes bright with interest. Whatever tension filled the room hadn't touched her.

Kelly sat beside her, mimicking her posture but not her calm. Her thoughts were racing. The movie meant nothing now.

From across the room, Megan looked at her.

Their eyes met. It was time.

Kelly didn't speak. She only reached into her pocket, thumbed out a quick text, and sent it.

Megan's phone buzzed. She glanced down, then stood with practiced ease.

"Sorry," she said with a casual roll of her eyes, "it's my mom. I've gotta take this."

Nicole gave a small nod, unfazed. Megan slipped into the hallway and vanished behind the corner—her fake conversation trailing off in a low murmur. Once she was out of sight, the act dropped.

Her body tensed.

The hallway felt narrower than before. Quieter. Like the house itself was holding its breath.

She checked her phone. Kelly's text was brief but thorough:

Nothing in the closet, under the bed, or in the desk. However I haven't checked the dresser. Also try the other rooms upstairs.

The stairs creaked beneath her step, though she moved like a ghost. The carpet helped, but Megan could still hear the house murmuring under her weight. Every sound felt too loud.

Upstairs was colder.

Still.

There were three doors—Nicole's mother's room at the start of the hall, a guest bedroom opposite Nicole's, and Nicole's room itself, waiting at the end. The door there was closed.

She started with the mother's.

The room was spotless. Unnaturally so. It didn't feel lived in—it felt presented. Megan moved carefully, opening drawers just enough to see inside.

Bills. Receipts. Expired makeup. Insurance forms.

Nothing hidden. Nothing worth hiding.

It was too clean to trust.

The guest bedroom wasn't much different. Well-kept, untouched, like it hadn't been used in months. She swept the space with her eyes, then backed out slowly, and shutting the door quietly behind her.

Now only one room remained.

Nicole's.

The door was closed, but not locked. Megan turned the knob gently and stepped inside.

The air was different here.

Heavy.

The curtains were drawn, darkening the space despite the snow-dimmed daylight outside. Band posters lined the walls, their edges fraying from years of tape. A hoodie slumped over a chair. The scent of dust and faint deodorant clung to the air.

Her eyes scanned everything.

The computer was already on. Strange. Convenient.

She approached it, fingers hovering over the mouse. No password. Just the desktop—clean. Deceptively so.

Megan clicked through a few folders.

Nothing. Schoolwork. Downloads. Music.

No strange files. No diary. No photos of anything incriminating. It was one hundred percent normal.

Her heart sank. She remembered Kelly's instructions.

Under the dresser.

Megan knelt slowly, the floor pressing cold against her knees.

There—barely visible beneath the wood—was a folded piece of paper.

She reached for it, fingers trembling slightly. The paper was smooth, clean, like it hadn't been there long.

She unfolded it.

A single line of cursive in black ink:

"Charles Manson"

Underlined twice. No context. No signature. No explanation. That was it.

Megan stared at the name, frowning. It wasn't a note. It wasn't a quote. It was just... there.

why would she have a piece of paper that only had one name on it, and a killer's at that? something about this wasn't making sense, but perhaps it's nothing serious. She folded it back the way she found it, but as she turned to leave, she caught movement from the corner of her eye—movement of a shadow downstairs.

Her thoughts twisted, but before she could spiral, something else caught her attention.

Movement of a shadow from downstairs.

She moved to the top of the stairs and froze.

Down below—on the couch, right beside Nicole—was something.

It wasn't human.

Its body was long, stretched, the limbs gaunt and jointed like a puppet pulled too tight. Skin the color of old paper clung to its bones. Its head hung slightly to the side, listening. Its eyes were pits. Black and deep, swallowing the light around them.

And it was talking. To Nicole.

Calmly. Casually. Almost with humor.

Nicole laughed.

Kelly didn't even flinch. She stared at the TV, sipping her soda like nothing was wrong.

Megan's entire body locked up. Her chest burned. Her ears roared with her own heartbeat.

The thing didn't look at her.

Didn't see her.

But it existed.

It was real. Or real enough.

Nicole didn't recoil. She looked at it like a friend.

No—like a partner.

Megan stepped back into the hallway, her body cold with dread. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. But she did neither.

She waited.

Nicole's voice floated toward her, light and unbothered. "Oh hey, what are you doing over there, Megan?"

Kelly turned too, smiling politely.

Megan blinked once, twice. The thing was still there, unmoving.

She swallowed her fear.

"Sorry," she said, voice stiff. "Just zoned out."

She crossed the room and sat back down, pretending her spine wasn't made of ice.

"Let's pay attention," she added, eyes fixed on the screen.

Halfway through the film, Kelly stood and stretched. "Gonna walk it off a bit. Be right back. "Nicole nodded, unconcerned. "Okay. But don't take forever." Kelly disappeared into the hallway.

Megan pulled out her phone and typed:

"It's time. Go to the attic. I'll stall her."

She hit send.

Then looked back toward the couch. The creature—whatever it was—was gone. Just... gone.

As if it had never been there at all.

But its presence still lingered. Heavy. Foul.

Like the smoke after a fire that no one else can smell.

Megan drew a long breath. If Kelly found what they suspected in the attic...This wouldn't just be a mystery anymore. It would be a reckoning. 

To Megan, the minutes dragged like hours.

Time blurred into a muted haze. Outside, the storm had worsened. Snow no longer drifted—it lashed against the windows in sheets, driven by sharp, merciless wind. The sky had turned a deep slate-gray, heavy with clouds that seemed to smother the afternoon light. Twilight had arrived early, uninvited.

Inside Nicole's house, the dim lamplight glowed warmer than before, casting long, golden shadows across the living room. Pulp Fiction still played on the TV—somewhere around the halfway mark—but the dialogue had faded to meaningless background noise in Megan's mind.

She sat on the couch beside Nicole, body rigid, stomach twisting in quiet panic. She tried to focus. On the movie. On the cushions. On anything but the clock ticking above the mantel—its second hand impossibly loud, slicing through the stillness like a blade.

Kelly hadn't come back yet.

Megan stole another glance toward the hallway.

Still nothing.

Earlier, Nicole had returned with two mugs of cocoa, her voice bright as she curled back onto the couch beside Megan. Small talk resumed. Laughs were exchanged. Normalcy, performed with grace. And while Megan played along, Kelly had slipped away, casually excusing herself to the bathroom.

But she wasn't heading there.

She had another destination.

Kelly moved swftly and quietly upstairs. Her heart thundered in her chest, a tight rhythm of nerves. Everything looked in place—bed made, closet shut, makeup organized.

Then she saw it. A attic hatch on the ceiling in the middle of the hallway. Her eyes flicked up to the ceiling.

A faint square in the drywall. The attic entrance.

The pull cord swayed gently as Kelly reached it. Dust drifted through the air like falling ash.

She yanked it. The stairs unfolded with a quite groan. The wood slightly creaked under her weight as she climbed into the attic, her breath short and controlled.

It smelled like cold insulation, cardboard, and the memory of old seasons. Bins were stacked in corners. Forgotten boxes. A plastic wreath. All undisturbed for years.

All except one.

A scuff mark on the floorboards—fresh.

Then she saw it.

A black suitcase tucked into the corner, half-concealed behind a plastic Christmas tree.

She dragged it toward her, hands shaking, and slowly opened the zipper.

Cash.

Thick, bundled stacks. Bound in red bands. Dozens of them. Clean. Unmarked. Silent.

For a second, everything stopped—her breath, her thoughts, her sense of time.

Then she heard a voice from below.

"Where's Kelly?"

Megan flinched. Nicole was already standing.

"Well, maybe she's got a cramp or something. She did say she had to stretch. Megan said this while her eyes looked around the room for something to push over.

Nicole muted the TV.

Silence hung. Then—stomp. A faint sound from above.

The ceiling.

Nicole's eyes narrowed.

She moved fast.

"Nicole, wait—please—just hold on a second—" Megan said, throwing herself in front of the stairs.

Nicole didn't break stride.

Megan shoved herself in front of her again, arms wide.

"We just wanted to check something!"

Nicole's face turned to stone. "Move."

"I can't. Just listen, okay? We thought maybe—"

Nicole slammed her palm into Megan's shoulder and shoved her hard into the wall. Megan gasped, knocked sideways, as Nicole stormed up the stairs two at a time. 

Kelly stood beside it, wide-eyed, her hands hovering near the open lid.

Bythe time Kelly turned around in the attic, Nicolehad quickly made her way up into the attic, pulling herself up through thehatch like something out of a nightmare. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Kelly face was pale and trembling. "Nicole... this isn't what it looks like—"

"Get away from it," Nicole snapped, stepping between her and the suitcase like a guard dog.

"Why?" Kelly asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "What is this, Nicole? What are you hiding?"

"You don't get to ask that," Nicole said coldly. "Not after sneaking around like rats in my house."

Kelly's lip quivered. "You've been lying to us. This money—what the hell is going on?!"

At the attic hatch, Megan appeared. "Nicole, just explain! Where did it come from?"

Nicole turned to both of them, wild-eyed but eerily calm.

"You've lost your minds. You can't just crawl through my house like you're detectives."

Megan stepped forward. "We're sorry. We shouldn't have snooped. But this? This is serious. And if you don't tell us where this money came from, we will ask your mom. Or your uncle. Or anyone else who lives here."

Nicole's jaw clenched.

Her mouth opened—then shut.

Finally, her voice came sharp and final.

"Get out."

Neither girl moved.

"I said," Nicole growled, stepping forward, "get the fuck out of my house."

Silence.

Kelly's eyes filled with tears. Slowly, she turned toward the hatch. Megan followed, her face blank but her breath shaky.

They climbed down wordlessly.

Nicole didn't follow.

But they could feel her watching—her gaze like a knife in their backs.

The front door opened with a gust of freezing wind. It slammed behind them as they stepped into the storm.

Back in the car, Kelly's hands trembled so violently she nearly dropped her phone.

Megan reached over gently. "Call," she whispered.

Kelly swallowed hard. Her finger hovered above the keypad.

Then she dialed.

When the line picked up, her voice came low and steady.

"Hi. I need to report something. I think someone's in danger. And I think this girl we know... she might've done something really bad."

Megan stared back at the house, where warm yellow light glowed behind the curtains.

Nicole was still inside.

Waiting. 

Nicole stood at the attic window, unmoving, her silhouette outlined by the faint light of a dying storm. The snowfall had slowed to a gentle drift now, like the house itself was exhaling, finally letting go after holding its breath for hours. Her hands were clenched at her sides, her nails digging half-moons into her palms, but she didn't feel the sting. Not yet. Her eyes stayed on the driveway, watching for red-and-blue flashes to stain the snow.

They hadn't taken the money.

But they didn't have to.

They knew.

Megan and Kelly had seen the suitcase. They'd seen her reaction. Her desperation. Her fear. They would talk. They would tell someone. Hell, they probably already had.

Nicole stepped back from the window, breath sharp and uneven. Her boots creaked against the old wooden floorboards as she paced the attic. The suitcase still sat behind her, squat and mute and undeniable. It looked heavier now. More dangerous. Like it was daring her to pretend this could still be fixed.

She felt sick.

How could she have let them in?

Her hand drifted instinctively toward a particular area of the attic that, a place that her pawns thankfully didn't check. Her fingers brushed against the spine of the small, black book that never left her side now.

The Death Note.

It was warm against her palm. Or maybe that was just the heat of her blood racing beneath her skin. The moment she touched it, the noise in her head got quieter, more focused. She stopped pacing and sat on the attic floor, legs crossed, the book open in front of her, a pen resting on the first empty line.

Megan Shaw
Kelly Tenner

She could write them down. Right now. Two clean lines. One minute each. And just like that, the panic would be over. The walls would stop closing in. No jail, no court, no headlines. Just silence. Safety.

Her hand hovered.

But it didn't move.

Nicole began to think about this. Those two probably already called the cops, so wouldn't that raise suspicion on me if I do this?

A crack of movement behind her made her freeze. Her thought would have to be put on hold.

Nicole turned.

There, crouched on the attic beams like some malformed bat made of shadows and whispers, was Arma.

Her long limbs were folded in sharp angles, her head cocked slightly, blackened eyes gleaming with light reflection like fireflies in the dark. Her wings were folded tight against her back, feathers black as scorched paper.

Nicole didn't flinch. Not anymore. Arma's presence had become part of her world now, like the smell of cigarette smoke in a room that could never quite air out.

"What do you want?" Nicole asked, voice flat.

Arma grinned.

"To help."

Nicole raised an eyebrow. "You don't help."

"True," Arma said, hopping lightly down from the beam with a leathery rustle. "But before I met you Nicole, I was bored out of my mind. And you're one of the best subjects I could have asked for."

She strolled across the attic, circling Nicole like a curious predator inspecting wounded prey.

"I'll do you a favor," she said, nudging the suitcase with the side of her foot. "I'll take this. Bury it somewhere far away. Somewhere they won't find it. Then later I'll show you where I've hidden it so you can pick it up whenever you want."

Nicole narrowed her eyes. "Why?"

Arma knelt, eye-level now, her face inches from Nicole's.

"Because I just want all this to last a little longer."

Nicole gave a bitter little laugh. "So I'm your show now? Your entertainment?"

Arma's grin widened. "You've become my number one pick."

Nicole looked at the suitcase, then at the Death Note. Her hand dropped from the book's cover, and she snapped it shut. The panic didn't vanish—but it dulled, slightly.

"You really think this'll buy me time?" she asked quietly.

Arma stood, already reaching for the handle. "I think it'll keep things interesting."

Nicole crossed her arms. "And what's the catch?"

Arma paused in the attic hatchway. "Just one thing."

She turned, wings now starting to unfurl in slow, sleek ripples like ink bleeding through water.

"This is the only time I help you," she said, voice suddenly sharp. Serious. "Only once."

Nicole gave a slow, sardonic smile. "Yeah. I figured."

With that, Arma vanished downward, her wings brushing the attic beams with a sound like rustling newspaper caught in the wind. Then the hatch thudded closed.

Nicole stood there in the quiet.

The suitcase was gone.

The attic felt larger now. Colder. Like something vital had been extracted from the house and it hadn't quite recovered from the surgery. The snow had stopped completely. Just wind now—howling softly through the vents, rattling the windowpanes.

Nicole sat down again on the attic floor, this time leaning back against the wall.

She didn't know what Megan and Kelly had told the police.

She didn't know if they'd come tonight.

But she knew one thing.

The next time someone threatened her freedom—there would be no mercy.

She reached into her hoodie and pulled the Death Note out again. Just holding it was enough to slow her pulse. Her eyes scanned the remaining blank pages.

She would wait.

She would watch.

And when the time came... she'd be ready. 

The wind howled as the cruiser doors slammed shut. Snow kicked up around the boots of the three officers making their way toward the front door of the Bennett house, Megan and Kelly close behind. The snowfall had started again—not soft and drifting this time, but sharp, driven by hard gusts that screamed through the trees like something wounded.

Megan's heart thudded in her chest as the lead officer raised a gloved hand and knocked.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

From the outside, the house looked harmless. Quaint, even. A warm yellow porch light flickered gently above the door, and fresh shovel lines etched through the walkway like veins. But Megan knew better. She knew what was upstairs. She'd seen it.

Nicole opened the door moments later, blinking with exaggerated confusion, her oversized hoodie hanging from one shoulder, a phone still in her hand.

"Oh—uh, hi?" she said, glancing between the cops and the two girls behind them. "Is... something wrong?"

The officer's voice was clipped and professional. "Nicole Bennett? We've received a report of potential illegal activity at this residence. We'd like to ask you and your family a few questions."

Nicole tilted her head, genuine curiosity painted across her face like she'd been preparing for this moment her entire life. "Illegal? Seriously? Okay... sure. Come in, I guess."

She stepped aside, and the officers filed in.

The warmth of the house hit them instantly—heavy and dry, smelling faintly of cinnamon and cheap cleaner. Nicole's mother, pulled into the driveway moments later, she then stepped out of the car an aproching the officers, her expression was pinched.

"What's going on?"

Nicole raised her hands. "No clue. Apparently Megan and Kelly think we're running a cartel or something."

Megan flinched. Breathe. Stay calm.

The lead officer turned to Nicole's mother. "We'd like to take a look around, with your permission. Just routine questioning. No one's being accused of anything yet."

Nicole's mother, clearly caught off guard, hesitated—then nodded. "Fine. But we have nothing to hide."

"Where's your son?" another officer asked.

"Downstairs," Nicole said before her mother could respond. "I'll get him."

Minutes later, the family was gathered in the living room. Nicole sat cross-legged on the couch, her face the picture of calm. Her brother, slouched in a beanbag chair, scratched at his leg while watching one of the cops with lazy disdain. Theresa stood behind them, arms folded tightly.

Megan watched it all unfold from the dining room, every second scraping against her nerves. The officers asked question after question—about the attic, about recent guests, about anything out of the ordinary. But Nicole answered each one with wide-eyed innocence.

"I mean, I wish I had something shady going on," she laughed at one point, "because then at least my life would be interesting."

Her voice was syrupy sweet, perfectly paced. She even threw in a few embarrassed laughs. "No, I haven't seen anything suspicious. Wait—unless you count how long it takes my brother to shower. That's criminal."

Everyone chuckled except Megan and Kelly.

The search turned up nothing. Not in the attic, not in the rooms, not even in the garage. The suitcase was gone. Arma had done her job.

"Ma'am," the lead officer said to Theresa after a half hour, "we're not finding anything today, but if we do get a warrant later, we'll need full access to the property."

Theresa bristled. "I understand. But again—we've got nothing to hide."

The officers thanked her, turned to Nicole, and told her she wasn't in any kind of trouble—yet. But Megan could see the way one of them kept glancing at her. They didn't believe her. Not fully. But without evidence, there was nothing to act on.

That's when something inside Megan snapped.

"You bitch!" she shouted.

Gasps echoed through the room. Before she could stop herself, Megan lunged forward and grabbed Nicole by the shoulders, eyes wild.

"You smug little—!"

Nicole's face twisted into a look of pure theatrical shock. "Whoa! Whoa, what is your problem?!"

One of the officers stepped between them immediately, hands raised.

"Miss! Back up! Right now!"

Megan froze, realizing how bad it looked. She let go, her hands trembling as she stepped back. Her breathing was uneven, almost shuddering.

"I'm fine," she muttered. "I'm fine."

Nicole, still sitting on the couch, fixed her hoodie and gave Megan a wide-eyed stare.

"You come into my house, accuse my family of—God knows what—and then put your hands on me? Are you kidding?"

The cops were already ushering Megan and Kelly toward the door.

Nicole stood now, arms crossed but her expression perfectly controlled.

"Good talk," she said.

Megan turned without another word.

As they stepped out into the cold again, the wind struck Megan like a slap. The world felt heavier now—colder, not because of the snow, but because of the failure.

The cruiser doors slammed again behind them. The house stood still. Impenetrable.

Megan climbed into the driver's seat, gripping the wheel like it could hold her together. Her cheeks burned with humiliation, anger, and something deeper—something worse. The sick, gnawing sensation of being played.

Beside her, Kelly hadn't said a word.

Megan glanced over.

Kelly's eyes were fixed on the house. Her breath fogged the window, but she didn't blink.

She just stared.

And when she finally did look away, her gaze dropped to her lap, her voice barely audible.

"She was smiling the whole time."

Megan didn't respond.

There was nothing left to say.

As the engine rumbled to life and the car pulled away from the curb, Kelly cast one final glance over her shoulder.

Her face was pale, her eyes drained—like someone who had just stared into something they didn't have words for.

Something they could never unsee. 

Nicole poured herself a glass of water, her fingers shaking just slightly. She kept her eyes on the sink, watching the stream of water swirl down the drain in a slow, spiraling vortex.

Behind her, the soft patter of slippers approached across the linoleum.

"You okay?" her mother asked, voice wary but coated in concern.

Nicole turned slowly, keeping her face neutral. She tilted her head just enough to seem curious, confused—like the question had come from nowhere.

"Okay?" she repeated, then let out a short, nervous laugh. "I mean, I just got accused of being some kind of criminal by my friends, so... yeah, totally peachy."

Her mother frowned, stepping closer. "Nicole. Be serious."

Nicole gave a tired sigh and leaned back against the counter, clutching the water glass like a stage prop.

"I don't know, Mom. They were acting weird earlier, but I figured maybe they were going through something, you know? But calling the police? Searching our house? It's insane."

Ncole's mother crossed her arms. "You didn't... say anything to make them think something was going on, did you?"

Nicole blinked.

Then she furrowed her brow, letting her mouth part slightly like someone trying to remember something from a dream.

"No. No, I mean—we were just watching a movie. Maybe Megan got paranoid? You know how she gets sometimes. Overthinks everything. And Kelly just follows her lead."

Theresa watched her, the way a mother studies her child when she's not quite sure whether to believe them. But Nicole was too well-rehearsed, too still. Her face didn't twitch. Her voice didn't crack.

Theresa sighed and rubbed her temples.

"I'm just glad the cops didn't find anything. Whatever this was, it better be over."

Nicole gave a tight smile, sipping the water to buy herself time.

"I hope so too."

And that was it. The conversation moved on, Theresa mumbling about how exhausting it had all been. Nicole played along, offering just enough empathy to stay convincing.

She excused herself a few minutes later, muttering about needing to lie down. Her mother didn't stop her.

She walked up the stairs slowly. Each step heavier than the last. Her heart didn't race, not anymore. It just ached—like a muscle pulled too many times.

The hallway stretched like a tunnel, shadows licking the corners of the walls. Her hand hovered over the doorknob to her room for a moment before she finally pushed it open.

The room was quiet. Too quiet. Even the soft whirr of her computer fan seemed distant, swallowed by the stillness.

Nicole shut the door behind her.

She didn't bother turning on the light.

She crossed the room and dropped onto her bed, her body landing with a dull whumph. The mattress barely bounced beneath her weight.

She stared up at the ceiling, her eyes half-lidded, lifeless.

Then she turned her head—

And saw Arma sitting at the foot of the bed.

No flicker. No transition.

Just there.

Her red, glassy eyes gleamed faintly in the dim light. Her wings folded close, not spread like usual. She didn't speak immediately.

They just stared at each other.

Nicole didn't move. Her fingers tightened slightly around the blanket.

Finally, Arma tilted her head and said with a soft smile, "You're welcome."

Nicole's throat tightened. She didn't want to say it. But she did.

"...Thank you."

Her voice was flat. Barely above a whisper. She meant it. But not in the way Arma might want.

Not with gratitude. More like resignation.

Arma leaned back, reclining with an ease that didn't match her jagged, surreal frame. Like she belonged there now. Like she wasn't something torn from a nightmare.

Nicole closed her eyes briefly. Then opened them again, locking gazes with the creature.

Silence returned. But it didn't last in Nicole's mind.

Her thoughts came like whispers.

I need to be more careful next time.

They're not stupid anymore. They know something's wrong.

She exhaled slowly, rubbing her eyes with the heel of her palm.

The mask is off.

But only to them. Just Megan and Kelly.

Let them keep their lives...

...for now.

If they want carry the burden of knowing what the others don't, then the bitches reap what they sow. As long as they are alive no one will suspect me. So let them choke on it. Let it unravel them, piece by piece.

Nicole rolled onto her side, facing the wall.

Arma didn't move.

The room sat still, heavy with unspoken things.

And in that cold, shadowed silence, Nicole smiled faintly.

But it wasn't a kind smile.

It was the smile of someone who knew the game had changed—and didn't care.

Because she had all the chips on her side.

Chapter Text

The snow still clung to the town like a stubborn ghost, pressed into the edges of the pavement in streaks of dirty white. It wasn't the soft powder of a first snowfall anymore. This was old snow—hardened, glazed with ice, thawed and frozen again until it had become sharp and brittle. The wind carved through the school parking lot in vicious bursts, clawing at exposed skin like it wanted to strip it raw. Nicole kept her head low, hair whipping against her cheeks, and moved with steady, deliberate steps toward the front entrance.

Inside, the warmth was immediate but hollow—dry heat spilling from vents, stifling and artificial. Her boots squeaked faintly against the scuffed linoleum as she cut through the current of students, shoulders squared, expression unreadable. The hallway buzzed with the usual chaos: locker doors clanging, voices overlapping, laughter edged with teenage cruelty. To anyone watching, Nicole looked the same as she always did—quiet, composed, untouchable.

But beneath the mask, her mind was cold and exacting. Calculating.

She spotted Jecka first, leaning against her locker with arms folded and her eyeliner smudged just enough to look intentional. She wore that same bored, detached expression she always carried, like nothing in the world was worth her full attention. Emily stood beside her, drowning in a hoodie two sizes too big, sleeves pulled down over her hands. One earbud dangled as she spoke, words tumbling out fast, though Nicole didn't bother catching them.

Nicole didn't waste time on greetings. She walked straight up, locked eyes with them, and muttered under her breath.

"Follow me."

Jecka frowned but said nothing. Emily's brow arched in curiosity, though she fell into step without question. Nicole led them toward the west stairwell, a half-forgotten corner between a bank of lockers and the maintenance closet—quiet, secluded, just out of sight from the churning hallway traffic.

When they reached the shadow of the stairwell, Nicole crossed her arms and lowered her voice.

"Megan and Kelly know."

Emily blinked. "Know what?"

"Everything."

Jecka's jaw tightened. "What do you mean, everything?"

Nicole's tone didn't waver. "They found the attic. They saw the suitcase."

Emily's mouth fell open. "You're kidding. Nicole—that's—"

"Calm down." Nicole's words snapped like a whip. "I already moved the money. There's nothing left for anyone to find. No photos. No fingerprints. Nothing that ties us to anything."

Jecka dragged a hand down her face, exhaling hard. "Still, this is bad. They could start talking. Get people asking questions. Get the wrong people paying attention."

"They already tried," Nicole said smoothly. "Cops came by. They tore through my house, questioned my mom, grilled my brother, even sat me down. I played dumb. They bought every word."

Jecka's breath came short, sharp. "And if they ask us?"

"As always—you say nothing." Nicole's gaze cut between them. "Doesn't matter if it's the cops, or Megan and Kelly, or anyone else. You don't confirm. You don't deny. You just act normal. Understand?"

Emily tilted her head, lips curling into something dark. "Or..." she said softly. "...you could just kill them."

Nicole glanced over her shoulder, scanning for ears in the hall before replying. "That would be sloppy. Suspicion is the last thing we need."

Jecka and Emily exchanged uneasy glances. Nicole saw it instantly—the hesitation, the crack of doubt—and acted before it could spread. She placed her hands firmly on their shoulders, forcing their attention back to her.

"Listen to me. They don't have a damn thing on us. Not one shred. If we keep our heads cool, we walk out of this clean. Once our plan is finished, we'll be on some island, drinking from coconuts, laughing at how small this all was. Trust me—you won't even remember this scare."

For a moment, silence. Emily stared at her with a strange blend of awe and disbelief before letting out a soft, breathless laugh.

"Alright," she said. "I trust you."

Nicole's eyes shifted to Jecka. "And you?"

Jecka hesitated, teeth worrying her lip before she finally gave a sharp nod. "Yeah. I'm still in. I'm still here to win."

A slow smile spread across Nicole's face, sharp and satisfied. "That's what I wanted to hear. Keep your heads up. Don't let anyone see a crack."

She turned and walked away, boots echoing faintly against the tile.

"You're amazing!" Emily called after her, her voice a mix of devotion and excitement. "The best of the bad bitches!"

Nicole didn't respond. Instead, she paused halfway down the hall, looked back over her shoulder, and gave them a smile and a wink. Then, without another word, she disappeared into the flow of students, headed for class.

The hallway stretched out ahead of Kelly, long and mostly deserted, save for the occasional straggler drifting toward class. Fluorescent lights buzzed faintly above, casting a sickly yellow wash across dented lockers and cracked tile. Her footsteps came quick and light, echoing in the emptiness, while her eyes scanned every face, every shadowed corner.

Even inside, the cold clung stubbornly to the walls, like winter had seeped into the building's bones and refused to leave. Kelly's breath slipped out in faint clouds, quick with nerves, as she rounded the corner near the English department.

There they were.

Megan and Karen stood by there lockers near the stairwell, waiting. Megan leaned against the lockers, arms folded tight across her chest, her face a mask that revealed nothing. Karen stood beside her with quiet patience, posture alert, as if she were watching for a bus that might never come.

"There you are," Kelly breathed, slowing to a halt. "Have you seen her?"

Megan shook her head. "Not since first period."

Karen raised an eyebrow. "And you?"

Kelly pressed her lips into a thin line. "No. I've been looking. I thought maybe she was avoiding us."

"Wouldn't blame her," Megan muttered. "If I was sitting on a pile of secrets, I'd keep my head down too."

A silence stretched between them, heavy and uneasy, until Karen finally reached into her bag. When her hand emerged, it carried a small, matte-black recorder—the kind you'd find on a gas station keychain rack.

"Here," she said simply. "Figured it couldn't hurt."

Kelly blinked. "Does that thing even work?"

Karen nodded. "It's cheap, but it picks up audio. Probably won't hold up in court, but it might catch her slipping."

Kelly took it, surprised by how light it felt, almost toy-like. She thumbed the switch, and a faint red light glowed to life. It would have to be enough.

"We'll take turns with it," Megan said, her voice sharp. "Whoever's closest. Keep it hidden, keep her talking. Eventually she'll say something."

Kelly slipped the device into her hoodie pocket, but her gaze lingered on Megan. There was something in her friend's expression—tight lips, distracted eyes—that unsettled her.

"What?" Kelly asked.

Megan hesitated, shifting against the lockers. "There's... something else."

Both Kelly and Karen turned toward her.

"I didn't say anything before because... honestly, I didn't think I'd believe it myself." Megan's voice dropped low, almost conspiratorial. "But when I was at Nicole's house—while you were watching that dumb movie—I went upstairs."

Karen's brow furrowed. "And?"

Megan's throat worked as she swallowed. "There was something with her. Not a person. A thing. It looked like... a nightmare wearing bones. Sitting right next to her. Talking. Laughing like it knew everything. But it didn't see me. I don't think it even realized I was there."

Kelly's face froze. "You're not serious."

"I know how it sounds." Megan folded her arms tighter, defensive. "Insane, right? But I wasn't high. I wasn't tired. I wasn't dreaming. I saw it. And it was real."

The silence that followed felt colder than the hall itself. Karen chewed the inside of her cheek, her gaze shifting between them. Finally, she spoke.

"You're right—it's hard to believe. But thank you for saying it. Even the weird things matter. Especially the weird things."

Some of the tension bled from Megan's shoulders, her expression softening into something like relief.

Then the bell shrieked through the hall, a metallic clang that shattered the moment. Doors opened, students spilled out in waves, laughter and footsteps flooding the corridor, sweeping away the quiet.

Karen tugged her sleeves down, her voice steady beneath the chaos. "After school. Chrome Café. We regroup there."

The three of them nodded. No more words. Just the silent agreement of what they were stepping into.

Kelly drifted toward the science wing, her hands buried in her pockets, mind spinning with questions and images she couldn't shake. Megan slipped into the current of students headed toward English, her eyes sharp, searching. Karen peeled away in the opposite direction, backpack slung over one shoulder, already turning the next move over in her head.

They hadn't cornered Nicole yet.

But soon—they would. 

By the time gym class rolled around, the snow outside had started up again—soft now, light and fluttering, but steady. It dusted the windows as flakes clung to the glass like ash from a distant fire. Inside the gym, the students were loud and restless, throwing dodgeballs, stretching, dragging their feet to get changed.

Nicole stood near the bleachers, arms folded across her black t-shirt, watching the others through half-lidded eyes. Her ponytail clung to the back of her neck with sweat. Her breathing was even.

Across the gym, she saw them.

Megan and Kelly.

Standing together, not talking. Just watching her.

There was no friendliness in their eyes now—just frost and flame. Kelly looked like a lost soul, trying to figure out what went wrong. Megan looked like the rage was bubbling inside her soul, like she was ready to punch something. Both were doing their best to stay composed.

Nicole didn't look away. She stared right back, chin lifted slightly.

From there, a new connection would be formed between them just from those stares.

If they wanted to make this a war, fine.

Let them try.

The class dragged on. Running laps. Relays. Some stupid team game that none of them cared about. Nicole didn't try hard, didn't try to blend in either. She let herself stay silent, deliberate.

And still, their eyes followed her every move.

Waiting for their moment, like they were about to pounce.

Finally, the bell rang, with that familiar loud clanking noise.

The gym floor turned into chaos again—squeaking sneakers, lockers slamming, voices echoing off the walls. Nicole grabbed her hoodie, slinging it over one shoulder. She didn't even make it to the door before she heard Megan's voice.

"Hey."

She turned.

Megan and Kelly stood in her path.

"We need to talk now," Kelly said, her voice flat and stern.

Nicole raised an eyebrow, saying nothing at first. Then she sighed before replying with a bored "Lead the way."

The hallway emptied slowly behind them.

Tension hung like frost in the air.

And their minds began to race about what would be said during this confrontation. 

The girls moved fast, their whispers sharp as broken glass, cutting through the near-empty hallway. Their movements weren't casual anymore. No jokes, no nervous glances. Just purpose. Just anger.

Nicole trailed behind them, her boots clicking softly against the dull tile. She didn't rush; she didn't need to. She already knew where they were going. She'd seen this coming, in one form or another, for weeks.

The east wing bathroom.

Always quiet. Always empty between periods.

A perfect stage for a confrontation.

Nicole pushed the door open like she was stepping into a rehearsal. The hinges gave a tired groan, and the fluorescent lights above flickered once before buzzing back to life, spilling their washed-out glow across cracked mirrors and sinks stained by years of rust. The air smelled faintly of cleaning chemicals that never seemed to cover the undercurrent of mildew.

Megan and Kelly were already there, planted near the sinks like sentries. Arms folded, jaws tight. Their silhouettes in the mirror looked more like statues than schoolgirls.

Nicole let the door swing shut behind her with a low thud. The sound seemed to seal the room, shutting them away from the rest of the world.

"So," Nicole said, sliding a hand down the cuff of her sleeve. Her voice was casual, almost playful, as if this was nothing more than a poorly staged intervention. "What's this? Some kind of ambush?"

Megan stepped forward, fire lighting her eyes. "Cut the act."

Nicole tilted her head, one brow lifting. "What act?"

"You know exactly what we're talking about," Kelly snapped, her voice cutting like a blade. "We know what's in the attic. We know what you did. We just want to hear you say it."

Nicole blinked slowly, her face a perfect mask of calm. She'd practiced this—restraint, deflection, control. She had screwed up before and this time she wasn't going to do that again. "This again?" she murmured. "Is this about the money accusations that got the cops called on me? Seriously, I didn't do anything wrong. Why are you two trying to destroy our friendship?"

Her tone was soft, almost pitying, but Megan wasn't buying it.

"Enough with the bullshit," Megan spat. Her voice echoed against the tiled walls. "We both know what you've done. There's nowhere to run. You might as well admit your sins now."

Nicole regarded her in silence for a moment, then let out a faint, exhausted sign. "You're basing all of this on a hunch," she said coolly. "You broke into my house, you rifled through my things, you fucking violated my privacy. And now you want me to... what? Confess? Just to make you feel better?"

Kelly's voice cracked with anger as she stepped forward. "You're not getting away with this."

Nicole's eyes flicked between them, still calm, though her jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

"Okay," she said at last, voice dropping into something sharp and deliberate. "Let's pretend I did do something. Let's say the money in that attic wasn't mine. Let's say it came from someone else's pocket. What then? You couldn't find it. The cops couldn't find it. And if I did have it, I sure as hell wouldn't tell you. So tell me—what's the point of this little performance?"

Megan's fists curled at her sides. "The police are already involved—"

Nicole cut her off, quick and precise. "They came, they searched, and they left. No arrest. No charges. No evidence. Do you know what that means?" Her voice rose just slightly, filled with the sharp edge of victory. "It means they believe me. and rightfully so by the way. You see, I'm innocent. And you two? You look desperate. Obsessed. Insane right now."

Her words hung heavy, pressing down on the room like a weight. Nicole stepped closer, her presence filling the space between them.

"Listen In a few months," she went on, her voice steady, quiet, but also confident, "I'll be gone. soon I'll be attending College. A clean slate. A whole new life. And you two? You'll still be here. Bitter. Broken. Digging through shadows, trying to prove something that never was. And by then..." She smiled faintly. "You'll realize you've lost a good friend."

Kelly's lips parted, ready to fire back, but Nicole's words didn't stop.

"You think this is justice? You think you're protecting anyone? You're not. You're wasting your lives chasing a ghost. If you really want to save someone—" her eyes flicked between them, cutting deep— "start with yourselves."

The silence that followed was suffocating. The only sounds were the buzzing of the lights and the faint drip of a leaky faucet.

Nicole turned toward the door, reaching for the handle. She was almost gone when Megan's voice sliced through the air like a whip.

"Answer me this," she said. Her voice shook, but the fire behind it didn't. "What's the invisible creature?"

Nicole froze mid-step.

Slowly, deliberately, she turned her head. A half-smile curved her lips, but her eyes remained cold, flat, empty.

"What the hell are you talking about" she said lightly.

"That thing," Megan said, stepping forward now, her voice steadier. "In your living room. Sitting next to you. The one that spoke."

For a moment, Nicole said nothing. Just stood there, letting the silence stretch until it frayed. Then she gave the slightest shrug, her expression unreadable.

"Maybe you're just going crazy," she said, her voice almost gentle.

And then, without another glance, she pushed the bathroom door open.

Her footsteps echoed down the empty hallway, fading into nothing, leaving Megan and Kelly frozen in the pale light—shaken, hollow, and more certain than ever that Nicole was hiding something they could barely begin to understand. 

Megan leaned against a locker, thumbs tapping rapid-fire across her phone's keypad. Her expression was tight, guarded, as though she were holding more back than she let on. A soft buzz confirmed her message sent to Karen:

Just finished. Well, that could've gone better. Thought we'd get a confession out of Nicole. But we'll get her next time.

Kelly stood nearby, arms folded across her chest. She didn't look angry, not even disappointed—just... drained. Her gaze was unfocused, fixed somewhere far beyond the hallway walls.

When she finally glanced over at Megan, her lips curved into the faintest of smiles.
"I think I need some time alone," she murmured.

Megan only nodded, almost relieved. No arguments. No questions. Just quiet agreement. With that, they drifted apart, both too exhausted for goodbyes.

Kelly wandered to the far edge of the school grounds, where a row of half-buried benches sat neglected under winter's grip. She brushed snow from the driest one and lowered herself onto the cold metal, breath puffing pale into the air. The chill didn't bother her today. Not compared to the weight inside her chest.

Her thoughts, as always when she let her guard slip, drifted back to her father. The grief still carved through her in uneven waves—sometimes dull, sometimes sharp enough to knock the air from her lungs.

A gust rattled the school's windows, scattering powder from the rooftops. Snowflakes spiraled down, stubborn and unrelenting. Winter, it seemed, wasn't finished with them yet.

That's when she heard it—the crunch of boots pressing through snow.

Kelly looked up.

A girl approached from across the yard, hair blazing red against the gray sky. Her jacket hung half-zipped, her stride confident, the kind of walk that made people take notice without trying. Ari.

They hadn't spoken much this year, but back in sophomore and junior year they'd shared a few classes, even a handful of laughs. Ari had always been a strange balance: talkative one moment, withdrawn the next, like a tide pulling in and out. Rumors trailed her—whispers about self-harm, about family troubles—but Kelly had never seen malice in her, only kindness. And kindness, in this school, was rare.

"Mind if I sit?" Ari asked, nodding toward the bench.

Kelly gestured beside her. Ari flopped down with a sigh, knocking snow from her boots.

"Rough day?" Kelly asked.

"Algebra was a war crime," Ari muttered with a crooked grin.

Kelly laughed, the sound short but genuine. The ice between them cracked.

Their conversation wandered easily, as if it had only been paused for a year or two. Favorite movies—Ari confessed a love for old horror flicks, Kelly leaned toward surreal indie films. Worst teachers—they bonded over their hatred for Mr. Burleday's endless droning. Dream escapes—Ari wanted to backpack through Iceland; Kelly dreamed of nothing more than a warm beach, a sunburn, and a good book.

The more they talked, the lighter the air became, softening the weight that had been pressing on Kelly all day.

Then Ari leaned back, stretching her arms behind her head, a lazy grin spreading across her face.
"You always had that dreamy look in when you were thinking in English class," she said. "Almost like you were writing poetry in your head while the rest of us were just trying to survive."

Kelly blushed faintly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I don't know if I'm much of a poet but thank you anyway."

Silence followed, but it wasn't heavy or awkward. Just... comfortable. Real.

"I guess I've been thinking recently about how tiring it can be, pretending everything's fine," Kelly admitted softly. "Because when you say it enough times, and people stop asking. But it's not fine. Not even close."

Ari tilted her head, red hair catching the pale light. "Yeah. I know that one too well."

Her gaze lingered on Kelly, steady, searching. "You've got one of those faces," she said finally. "Even when you're pretending, it looks like you care too much."

Kelly let out a quiet laugh. "And you look like you don't care at all."

"That's the goal." Ari winked.

But then her grin faltered. Her expression shifted into something uneasier, more vulnerable.
"Hey, Kelly... can I tell you something?"

Kelly turned toward her, curiosity soft in her eyes. "Of course. What is it?"

Ari hesitated, the words caught in her throat. "This is the first time I've told anyone. You have to promise it stays secret."

Kelly leaned closer, nodding firmly. "Your secret's safe with me."

Ari took a deep breath. "I'm a lesbian."

Kelly blinked, surprised by the buildup. "...That's it?"

"You don't care?" Ari asked, studying her face.

"Of course I don't care. Why should I?" Kelly shrugged. "Anyone here who does is the problem, not you."

Ari's features softened into sorrow. "Yeah. but I got a feeling my parents would have a different reaction."

The air grew still, the words hanging between them.

"Can I vent a little more?" Ari asked quietly.

Kelly nodded before Ari continued.

That's when the dam broke.

"My brain feels like it's at war with itself," Ari blurted. "Even on good days, it twists everything back into something awful. I make stupid choices because of it. My parents think I'm exaggerating. I've... I've cut myself. I just want it to stop."

Her voice cracked, and for a moment she looked horrified at herself—like she wanted to shove the confession back into her chest.

But Kelly's face softened with sympathy. "It's okay. I'm not judging you."

Ari blinked, shoulders loosening at the words.

Kelly offered her a small smile. "Have you looked it up? Your symptoms?"

Ari gave a faint, tired laugh. "Yeah. I think it's depression. But that doesn't matter if my parents think I'm just being dramatic."

Kelly leaned in, her voice warm. "I can't pretend to know exactly what you're going through. But... I've had my own storms."

Ari listened, quiet, as Kelly went on.

"My dad died recently. And the way it happened— Well it's complicated but let's just say there's a huge extra sting to it. Everything around me feels unjustly cruel right now, like the world's been set against me. So no, I don't know your pain. But I can a least empathize with you."

The cold around them seemed to fade. For a moment, warmth lived in the space between their words.

"Oh—and one more thing," Kelly added, her tone lighter. "Something you'll probably relate to. I'm Bi."

Ari's eyes widened, a smile tugging at her lips. "You're bisexual?"

Kelly nodded, grinning. "Thought you'd get a kick out of that."

The day had been long, one of those days that left scars. But this moment—this strange, bittersweet spark—softened its edges.

They didn't even notice when the bell rang. Lunch was over, the world moving on without them. Reluctantly, they stood. Their shoulders brushed once. Then again.

Neither of them pulled away. 

The wind had eased into a soft whisper as Megan pushed through the diner's entrance. Above her, the neon sign blinked stubbornly — CHROME — the final letter stuttering like it might give out at any second. Inside, the clink of plates and the low hum of an old radio filled the quiet space with a steady, late-night rhythm.

Karen was already in their booth, her coat still speckled with half-melted snow, hands wrapped around a steaming mug of tea.

Megan slid into the seat across from her, shoulders slumped, face bare of makeup — stripped of all pretense.

Karen studied her for half a beat before asking softly, "So, you talked to her?"

Megan gave a slow nod, eyes sinking to the cracked linoleum tabletop. "Yeah. We had the recorder running. Came in hard, tried to push her, thought maybe we could corner her into saying something." She let out a bitter exhale. "But... nothing. The closest she gave us is useless. The way she worded it? Makes us sound like the crazy ones."

Her voice faltered, frustration roughening the edges. "It was like digging through cement with a toothpick. She's too careful. It's like she knows we're watching."

Karen's brows drew together, her silence heavy. At last she asked, "What did she say? The part that came closest?"

Megan hesitated, her voice dropping low. "It wasn't much. Not an admission. Just little details that almost sounded like one. But if you listen back..." She pulled out her phone, thumbed through, and let Karen hear it.

The two of them sat in silence as the faint recording played between them. When it ended, Karen exhaled slowly, gaze falling to the table.

"It's not enough," she said finally.

Megan's lips trembled before she caught herself. "I wanted her to crack, Karen. I wanted... something. Anything." Her throat tightened as tears slipped free, betraying her.

Karen reached across the table and laid a cold but steady hand over Megan's.

"I know," she murmured. "I hate her too. Even though she didn't go after my family, I hate her for what she's done. For twisting everything, for making you and Kelly look like the unstable ones. And now she walks around like none of it ever touched her."

Megan's grip tightened slightly, pulling Karen's gaze back to hers. Her eyes were wet, but steady.

"She's guilty," Megan said, her voice low, bitter, certain. "We just have to prove it. She hides behind that perfect little smirk, waiting for everyone to forget. But I won't. Not ever."

She squeezed Karen's hand harder, her words sharp as steel.

"I don't care how long it takes. If I can't get her now, I'll wait. Years, if I have to. Because one of these days, I'll rip that mask off and show the world exactly what she is." 

Later that night, the cold was sharper than usual — a bitter, windless freeze that made the streets feel like they were holding their breath. Nicole followed Arma down an alley that branched off from the rear of an abandoned strip mall, boots crunching softly over patches of ice glazed across the pavement. The sodium streetlights buzzed weakly overhead, casting everything in jaundiced orange.

They reached a dead-end where the fence had long since collapsed. Beyond it, a narrow slope of frozen mud led to a stretch of overgrown land pressed against the back of an old laundromat.

"This is it?" Nicole asked, scanning the terrain with a squint. Her breath fogged the air in front of her. "Looks more like the beginning of tetanus than a treasure hunt."

Arma gave a lazy shrug, the chain on her hip jangling faintly with the motion. "I don't choose aesthetics. I choose places people forget exist."

"It's called sarcasm," Nicole said, before stepping forward, her boots slipping slightly on the ice before catching solid ground. Her eyes landed on the spot: a half-buried wooden pallet beside a leaning utility pole, dusted in snow like a half-finished crime scene.

"So when are you going to use the money?" Arma asked in a mischievous voice.

"As soon as I finish College, of course. Once I'm done that, I can get my brokerage up and running," Nicole replied in a low voice, while brushing snow from her hoodie sleeve.

Nicole smirked, but it didn't reach her eyes. Then suddenly, her face then took on a serious expression. "Now remember, there are two things you'll need to never forget. First off, I think Megan can see you."

Arma Looked over at Nicole with a mix of shock and intrigue. "Really, how?" Nicole just shrugged. "I don't know how, but I'm not taking any chances, so you can't come to my high school with me understand?"

Arma laughed, a dry, metallic sound. "Man, you screwed up worse than I thought. Alright, fine, I'll stay away from your high school?" She gave a crooked smile, then let it fade. "You need to be more careful next time. I can't let my entertainment go away just yet."

Nicole just rolled her eyes. "Yes, I'm aware," Nicole then turned to face her. "Now the second thing you'll need to remember is that college is a busy place, plus I'm laying low. So don't expect to be entertained twenty-four seven."

There was a few seconds of silence, and Arma didn't look back at Nicole. Finally, Arma blurted out a quick, "Yeah, that's fine, just make sure to kill a lot of people when you're out."

Nicole walked forward as slushy snow crunched under her feet. She looked down at the ground before turning back. "Hey, when I come back, will you help me dig up the money?"

"I said I'd lead you. Not hold your hand," Arma said, tone cool but not unkind. "Also, I saved you, if recall correctly. So, from here on out, I'm just an observer. You act, I watch. That's the deal."

Nicole looked up at the night sky — a wide, yawning expanse painted in deep indigo, the stars blurred behind gauze-thick clouds. Snow had begun to fall again in lazy spirals, dotting her hair and shoulders.

"Winters always got that funeral vibe," Arma murmured. "But I guess it's fitting. You're about to bury the last version of yourself that didn't have blood on her hands."

Nicole crossed her arms, the cold biting through her jacket now. "Funny. You say that like I'm not already six feet under."

Arma chuckled, tilting her head. "Oh, you're under something. Just not sure if it's guilt or delusion."

Nicole smirked, biting back a sharper retort. Instead, she stepped toward the buried pallet, crouched down, and brushed the snow away with one gloved hand.

"Fine," she muttered, half to herself, half to the wind. "This treasure is going to stay safe here, and once I come back, I'll be queen of the world."

Chapter Text

June 2nd, 2009.

So, today’s the day I graduate. Normally, this would be a happy day — cameras, hugs, people beaming like they own tomorrow — but for me it felt hollow. Driving there with Kelly was quiet in that way where every small noise gets bigger: the click of my seatbelt, the radio fuzz, the engine settling down after a stretch of highway. Mom hugged me before we left and said she was proud. I could hear the words, see her face, but I couldn’t force the same feeling back into my chest. It’s like someone removed the part of me that knows how to be proud of myself.

The school looked the same as it always does, sun on brick and kids milling around in dresses and caps, but everything felt distant, like I was watching it through glass. Kelly and Karen found me by the bleachers. We hugged each other, it was honest, clumsy and real. We talked like everyone else about plans and where we might end up. Almost every sentence looped back to the same place. I told them I’m not giving up. I told them I will find a way to bring the bitch to justice. We made a promise: maybe not now, maybe not tomorrow, but someday. Saying it out loud made it more real than keeping it inside.

I didn’t see the bitch until she was on stage receiving her diploma. Honestly, it was quick and to the point, with no smile or anything. That’s fine with me because I’d rather see who she really is. She’s not getting away with this. I don’t know how yet, but that certainty sat in me like a stone. Everyone else clapped. I know it’s just a formal thing, but it’s still made my blood boil. In that moment, I felt my vow settle and harden.

Dad If you can read this. First off, you were the best dad I could have asked for, and I hope heaven is treating you well. Second, I’m so sorry I couldn’t get justice for you sooner. Mark my words that I will. Love you, Dad.

Megan.

July 26, 2016.

The years had settled quietly on Megan, like snow that never quite melted—soft, deceptive, and heavy all at once. The overhead fluorescents in her office gave off that sterile hum, particularly to law firms: too white, too constant, as though they were trying to bleach out time itself. Papers whispered under the low drone of air conditioning. The window beside her desk framed the city skyline—twenty-seven stories up, a jagged ocean of glass and steel stretching into the afternoon haze. The towers caught the sunlight like blades, gleaming, perfect, unfeeling. She’d come a long way since her high school days—since the nights filled with paranoia, whispered recordings, and desperate attempts to prove a truth no one wanted to see.

Now, her life ran on order and deadlines. Morning briefings. Lunchtime arguments in glass-walled conference rooms. Quiet evenings spent reviewing case files until her reflection in the monitor became little more than a ghost.

But sometimes, even in the rhythm of professionalism, memories found a way to crawl back. They came in flashes: Nicole’s mocking smile, the police reports they’d read too many times, their fathers’ names written in black and white. Those ghosts never asked for attention; they just lingered.

That evening, Megan packed her bag early. The sound of zippers and rustling paper echoed faintly in the otherwise sterile hush of the office. She needed air, something real. The sun had just started to dip when she walked down the street to Briar & Brew, a small coffee shop tucked between an art store and a florist. It smelled like espresso and old books—her favorite kind of nostalgia. The low murmur of conversation blended with the hiss of the milk steamer and the gentle clatter of cups. She ordered her usual, black with a touch of sugar, sat down near a window, and began stirring sugar into her cup when a familiar voice cut through the low hum of conversation.

“Megan?”

The voice pulled her out of thought—familiar, bright, carrying a decade of distance.
She looked up. Kelly stood a few feet away, her hair longer now, a softer shade of blonde that framed her face with the kind of warmth time had learned not to take away. She wore a thin tan coat that was complemented by a pale green shirt, the color of sea glass. and a smile that carried both surprise and an old gentleness.

“Kelly,” Megan said, rising. The hug that followed was slightly awkward—shoulder-first, uncertain—but there was sincerity in the squeeze. “It’s been forever.”
“Almost a decade,” Kelly replied, laughing as she took the seat across from her. “You look so... official. Like if I said the wrong thing, I’d get subpoenaed. Are you method acting?”

Megan laughed and gave the kind of smile that softened only the corners of her mouth. “I’m a lawyer now, which, knowing acting, can benefit the profession. So, I guess it turns out all those years on stage weren’t for nothing.” 

“That actually makes perfect sense.” Kelly grinned. “Well, I went into marketing. Which is basically lying, but with fonts.”

They fell into conversation easily, like people testing the shape of an old friendship. Small things first—bad apartments, worse bosses, the way the city always felt one espresso short of peace. The kind of talk that let them breathe without looking too far backward.
Eventually, Kelly’s tone softened. She stirred her drink absently, eyes flicking toward the window. “So… are you seeing anyone?”

Megan hesitated, then smiled faintly. “Yeah. Hunter and I met again last year. We thought—maybe we can find that spark again and do it better this time. So far it’s going pretty good.”
Kelly’s brows lifted, her smile blooming into something genuine. “That’s wonderful, Meg.” Then, after a pause, that smile changed, still happy, but tinged with anticipation.
Megan tilted her head with a grin. “What is it?”

“There’s something I wanted to tell you,” Kelly said. “Ari and I… we’re getting married.”
Megan blinked, the news washing over her like a warm tide. “Kelly, that’s—wow. That’s amazing.”
Kelly’s eyes glimmered, a mix of nostalgia and nerves. “You’d like her now. She’s calmer. Softer, I think. We both are, maybe.”
“I’m glad,” Megan said quietly, meaning it. “You deserve that kind of peace.”

For a moment, the world between them went still. Outside, cars rolled past in waves of reflected amber light. The silence wasn’t awkward; it was heavy, careful—like two people standing at the edge of something neither wanted to name.

Kelly’s gaze dropped to her cup. “You still think about it sometimes, don’t you?”
Megan didn’t ask what it was. The air cooled just enough to notice. “Yeah,” she admitted. “Every time I walk into a courtroom. Every time I see her name in my old notes.”
Kelly nodded slowly. “I told myself I should let it go. That forgiveness was part of healing. But… sometimes I think about our dads, about everything she took—and I still want her to pay for it.”
Megan’s eyes lifted, steady and dark. “She’s still out there,” she said. “Living like none of it mattered.”

Neither of them spoke after that. They didn’t need to. The silence filled the room like a third presence—familiar, patient, unresolved.
When it came time to leave, Kelly scribbled her number on a napkin, her handwriting the same looping mess Megan remembered from study halls and detention slips. She slid it across the table with a half-smile. “In case you ever want to talk. Or if you have something to say about our… unfinished business.”
Megan folded the napkin carefully, almost reverently, and tucked it into her coat pocket. “I might just take you up on that.”

Kelly rose, buttoning up her coat. “Good. I’ll be waiting.”
When she left, the door chimed softly behind her, letting in a wash of fading sunlight. Megan sat there for a long time, her fingers brushing over the folded napkin like it might dissolve if she let go. Outside, the city moved—alive, indifferent, and endless.
Some ghosts, she thought, don’t fade. They wait.

That night felt longer than any Megan could remember. The city outside her apartment glowed in fractured blues and golds, the streetlights bleeding through the blinds like slow-moving rivers. Inside, she sat hunched over her desk, her fingers tangled in her hair, the glow of her laptop reflecting off her tired eyes. It wasn’t just insomnia keeping her awake—it was conflict, coiled deep in her chest like something alive. There would be no sleep tonight. No peace. Not while the ghosts were whispering again.
Her thoughts swung back and forth between the present and the past, colliding until they hurt. She had built a life—an orderly, respectable one—at a prestigious law firm, surrounded by ambition and glass walls that looked down on the city she’d fought so hard to rise above. Did she really want to risk all of that? Her career, her reputation, her future?

And yet… when she thought of her father, all that logic burned away.
He had been the gentlest person she’d ever known—patient, principled, endlessly proud of her. He used to tell her that kindness was strength, that justice was more than rules written in ink. And they had taken him from her. They murdered him, not out of passion or madness, but for profit. For convenience. For greed.

Her hands trembled as she moved the cursor across the screen, opening a forgotten folder labeled Family. Thumbnails bloomed snapshots of simpler days. Her father’s arm slung over her shoulder at the county fair, his wide grin as she blew out candles at seven, the grainy photo of him clapping in the front row during her first school play. Her throat tightened when she reached the later years—photos that grew fewer, more distant. And then she stopped at one thought that never left her: graduation.

He hadn’t been there.

The one day he would have smiled the brightest. But he was gone.
Megan exhaled sharply, pushing herself up from the chair. The air in the apartment felt heavy, stale with doubt. She crossed the room to her closet, sliding open the door to grab her coat. Her fingers brushed something crinkled in the pocket—the napkin from the coffee shop. Kelly’s handwriting, faint but legible, looped across the paper.

She stood there for a moment, holding it like it might burn her. Then she sat back down by the computer, smoothing it out beside the keyboard. Carefully, she took a blank sheet of paper and copied the number down, her pen pausing halfway through the final digit.
Her mind churned. Should she really drag Kelly back into this? Dig up something that had already buried most of their youth?

For a few minutes, she just stared at the paper, frozen in a silent tug-of-war with herself. The room was quiet except for the faint hum of her laptop fan and the distant wail of a siren somewhere beyond the window.
Then something shifted—resolve, cold and sudden. She sat up straighter, her pulse quickening as she opened a new browser tab. Her fingers began to fly across the keyboard.
She wasn’t looking for Nicole. Not yet.

She was looking for Karen Rossi.

The name she hadn’t spoken aloud in years. The one person who had once stood beside her through all the grief, the suspicion, the long nights of planning and evidence.
Megan’s reflection stared back at her in the screen—a woman older, harder, but still carrying the same ache.
If Nicole thought time had erased her crimes, she was wrong.
Megan was done sleeping through ghosts.

The morning sun glowed vibrantly through the café’s large front windows, spilling across polished wood tables and the faint mist of freshly brewed espresso. Outside, the city was just waking — the dull roar of traffic, the sharp rhythm of shoes on pavement, the laughter of strangers too early to be tired yet. Inside, the atmosphere was calmer, punctuated by the soft clink of spoons and the low murmur of conversations blending with the jazz playing over the speakers.

Megan sat near the back, nursing a half-drunk cappuccino, her nerves tracing circles around the rim of the cup. She hadn’t seen Karen in years. The message she’d sent had been simple — Let’s talk. Coffee? — but her mind had replayed all the ways it could go wrong a dozen times since. The clink of the doorbell snapped her out of it.

Karen walked in, scanning the room until her eyes found Megan. She looked older, yes, but also grounded. Her hair was tied back neatly, her black coat dusted with the light sheen of the cold morning air. When she smiled, it was small but real.

“Still pick the quietest places, huh?” Karen said as she sat down.
“Some habits don’t die,” Megan replied, smiling faintly.
They ordered another round of coffee, the first few minutes filled with light conversation. Karen told her about her work — computers, mostly, she said. Software testing, coding, debugging things that refused to stay fixed. The way she described it made it sound both methodical and strangely poetic, like she was stitching broken pieces of logic back together.
“It’s not glamorous,” Karen said, stirring her drink. “But it pays the bills. I like it, though. It’s… quiet work. Predictable.”

Megan nodded, her smile soft. “You always liked order. Even when everything else was chaos.”
“Guess I needed something stable,” Karen said with a faint laugh. “And you? Still saving the world through lawsuits?”
“Trying,” Megan said. “Or pretending.” She hesitated for a moment, the air between them tightening. “Actually, that’s part of why I wanted to see you.”
Karen’s spoon stopped mid-stir. “I thought it might be.”

There it was — the unfinished business. The unspoken thread that had brought them together after all this time.
Megan sighed, her fingers tightening around the coffee cup. “I still wanted to see you,” she said softly. “Even if it wasn’t about that.”
Karen’s expression softened immediately. She leaned back, her tone gentle. “I know. And it’s okay.”

For a long while, they didn’t speak. The silence wasn’t awkward, just heavy — the kind that carried history, memory, and the weight of what they’d both lost. Outside, snow had begun to fall again, drifting lazily past the window, catching the golden morning light.
Karen broke the silence first. “Does Kelly know you’ve started this up again?”
Megan shook her head slowly. “Not yet. But I’ll tell her. She deserves to know.”
Karen nodded. “Yeah. She does.”
She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a small notepad, tearing off a page and scribbling quickly. Her handwriting was still clean and measured, just like it used to be. She slid the paper across the table.

“My number,” she said. “I’ll look into Nicole’s whereabouts — anything she’s been connected to, online or otherwise. If she’s been careless, I’ll find it.”
Megan blinked, absorbing the words. “You mean… you’re in?”
Karen smiled, tilting her head. “You didn’t think I’d let you do this alone, did you?”
A warmth bloomed across Megan’s face — that rare, almost forgotten kind of warmth that made her eyes shimmer like sunlight on glass. “Thank you,” she said, voice low but steady. “Really, Karen. I mean it.”
Karen gave a quiet nod, her gaze steady. “We’ll do it right this time.”
The tension that had shadowed Megan all morning seemed to ease. They spent the next hour simply talking — about work, old classmates, little stories from their lives that reminded them they were still human outside the ghosts of the past. The laughter that slipped through between sips of coffee felt almost out of place at first, but soon, it filled the table like music.
Outside, the sunlight kept blazing down, yet it still felt gentle, uplifting, and full of possibility.
By the time they left, the world felt a little lighter. Not because their ghosts were gone, but because for the first time in years, Megan didn’t feel like she was chasing them alone.

The evening unfolded softly in Kelly and Ari’s apartment — a quiet kind of warmth that only came from routine and love. The living room smelled faintly of garlic and butter, the remnants of dinner still on the table: two half-finished plates of pasta, a candle burning low between them, and an open bottle of cheap red wine that Ari had sworn wasn’t that bad once it breathed.
Kelly laughed as Ari twirled her fork like she was performing some elegant dining ritual, only for the noodles to slither off and plop back into the sauce.

“You’re supposed to eat the pasta, not baptize it,” Kelly teased, grinning.
Ari shot her a look. “You said to make it fancy. I’m giving drama, babe.”
Kelly rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smiling. She leaned back on the couch, legs tucked beneath her, watching Ari gesture dramatically with her fork as she recited lines from a made-up cooking show.

“And now, our brave chef faces her greatest enemy yet: spaghetti.” Kelly snorted, nearly choking on her wine. “God, you’re ridiculous.”
“I learned from the best,” Ari said, winking before setting the fork down and leaning over to kiss her.

The kiss lingered — slow and unhurried — a perfect match to the lazy warmth of the evening. For a moment, everything was still. The world outside didn’t exist; it was just them, the candlelight, and the faint hum of a record spinning in the background.
Then Kelly’s phone rang.
The sound sliced through the quiet, vibrating across the table. She frowned, reaching for it. Megan.

“Give me a sec,” Kelly said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear before answering. “Hey, Meg. What’s up?”
Megan’s voice came through low, steady, but with that same current of conviction Kelly remembered too well.
“Kelly, I wanted to tell you before you heard it from someone else. Karen and I — we’re going to look into Nicole again. We’re not dropping it this time. We’ve already started.”
Kelly froze, eyes flicking toward Ari, who was pretending not to listen but clearly was.
“I see,” she said softly. “That’s… that’s a lot, Megan. I need some time to think about it.”
“I understand,” Megan replied. “Just—don’t shut me out, okay?”
“I won’t,” Kelly said after a pause. “I promise.”
She ended the call and sat still for a long moment, the phone heavy in her hand. Ari’s laughter had faded; only the faint scratch of the record filled the air.

As night settled over the city, Ari found Kelly sitting on the edge of their bed, still dressed, staring at the floor. The lamp light from the living room barely reached the doorway, but it caught on Kelly’s hair, turning it gold at the edges. Her expression was distant — somewhere between thought and grief.

“Hey,” Ari said gently, walking over. “What’s going on? You’ve been quiet since that call.”
Kelly hesitated before speaking. “It’s Megan. She and Karen… they’re reopening old wounds.”
Ari sat beside her. “Is this about what happened to your dad?”
Kelly nodded slowly, her voice a whisper. “Yeah. About him. I thought I could move on. I wanted to. But now… I don’t know if I can just ignore it.”
Ari’s voice softened. “But is it worth it, Kel? Digging all that up again? You’ve built so much since then.”

Kelly’s gaze dropped, her hands twisting in her lap. “You know, when I was a kid, I wanted a dog more than anything. I begged for one. Drew little doodles, left them on the fridge, went through pet ads on that old internet. But my dad… he was allergic. Really allergic. He told me it wasn’t going to happen.”
She smiled faintly at the memory, though her eyes glistened. “Then one day, he came home with this scrappy little mutt from the shelter. He could barely breathe the first week. Had to get shots every few weeks for years. But he kept doing it — because he said he’d never seen me smile like that before.”

Ari stayed silent, her hand finding Kelly’s.
“He loved me that much,” Kelly said, her voice trembling. “And someone — someone—took him from me for money, for nothing. If I let that go, if I just… pretend it’s over, then what kind of daughter am I?”
Her voice cracked at the end, and she pressed her palms to her face. Ari wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close.
“You’re the kind that still feels it,” Ari whispered. “The kind that doesn’t let love die easy. And that’s not weakness, Kelly. That’s who you are.”
Kelly leaned into her, the tension in her chest finally giving way. “I have to do something, Ari. I can’t keep pretending it’s fine.”

Ari nodded slowly. “Then do it. I’ll be here — whatever happens.”
Kelly turned her head, meeting Ari’s eyes with a mix of gratitude and sorrow. “Thank you.”
They sat there together in the quiet room, the city lights filtering through the curtains, painting soft gold lines across the walls. Outside, the world moved on — but inside, a new resolve had settled between them.
Kelly knew there would be no peace until justice found its way home.

The hum of the air conditioner filled the quiet apartment as Megan sat at the edge of the couch, tapping her nails against a coffee mug she hadn’t drunk from. The blinds were drawn, casting slanted shadows across the small living room. Beside her, Karen scrolled through her phone with the same stillness she always carried, measured, calm, the sort of composure that could make silence feel heavier than words.

“She’s five minutes late,” Karen said, her eyes not leaving the glowing screen.
Megan glanced toward the clock on the wall. “Give her some time. She said she’d come.”
Karen exhaled through her nose, slipping the phone into her pocket. “She used to be the punctual one, remember? Always ten minutes early, even when no one asked her to be.”
“Yeah,” Megan murmured, staring at the door. “A lot’s changed since then.”
They sat in uneasy stillness for a moment longer, Megan lost in thought, Karen idly tracing the rim of her coffee cup. Then came the knock.

Three sharp taps.
Karen’s expression softened, almost imperceptibly. “Speak of the devil.”

Megan got up and opened the door. Kelly stood there, a little out of breath, strands of her hair catching the hallway light. “Sorry,” Kelly said, stepping in quickly. “There was a bit of traffic on Main. Some idiot stalled at a green light.”

“I see, the good old traffic excuse,” Karen teased lightly, though her tone was warm. “Some things don’t change, I suppose.”
Kelly smiled thinly. “You’d be surprised.”
She slipped off her jacket and joined them at the table. Megan handed her a cookie, the same way she always used to back when all of them would study together—only this time, the air between them was heavier.

“So,” Karen began, leaning forward, “let’s start from what we do know.”
Megan nodded. “She’s not acting alone. Jecka and Emily have both been helping her.”
Kelly frowned. “You think they’re still helping her?”
“I know they are,” Karen said. “After doing some research, I found that Jecka is still working for Nicole. She might be too loyal at this point to walk away. Now, Emily on the other hand. Well, Emily would follow Nicole into hell if she asked. So it wasn’t too surprising that Nicole keeps her around.”

Megan crossed her arms. “So it’s going to be trickier then last time.”
Kelly’s jaw tightened. “You think she knows about Karen as well?”
Karen hesitated, then shook her head. “Well, since Jecka is there, it’s hard to say, but I don’t think we should be taking that kind of risk just yet. We’ll talk about that later. Right now, we need to focus on what we can use.”
The silence stretched for a beat before Megan spoke again, her voice quieter. “There’s… something else I want to say, just in case any of you forgot. It’s about something I saw.”
Karen raised a brow. “Go on.”

Megan looked down, fingers curling around her mug. “Do you two remember that night at Nicole’s house, before everything went down? Well, I saw something strange. Something was sitting next to her. It wasn’t human. It had these… wings, but not like an angel’s. More like shadows that moved.”
Kelly blinked, disbelief flickering across her face. “You mean… like some kind of creature, right?”
“Yeah,” Megan said, meeting her gaze. “And no one else saw it. Just me.”
Karen didn’t react right away. Her expression stayed thoughtful, clinical.
Kelly rubbed her temples. “Yeah, I do remember you saying something about that. You sure it wasn’t?”

“I know what I saw,” Megan cut in, sharper than she meant to. “I don’t care if it sounds crazy. It was there.”
A pause. Then Karen spoke softly, but firmly: “Every piece of information matters. Even the unreal. Also, if what you’re saying is true, then it could have something to do with how she’s getting away with these murders.”

That quieted the room.
Megan nodded slightly, grateful for Karen’s composure and open mind. Kelly, though, still looked uneasy. She was caught between rational doubt and instinctive fear.
“So,” Kelly said after a moment, “let’s say Jecka talked about Karen. Then how do we get in?”
Karen’s eyes flicked downward, a sign that did not bode well; she looked hesitant. “Well, I think I do have a solution to the problem, but some of you might not like it. We need to find someone who can get close to her, or at least close enough that she won’t suspect anything. Someone loyal to us, but invisible to her.”

Her words hung there, deliberate.
Kelly’s hand twitched against her knee, and both women noticed.
“Kelly?” Megan asked softly. “Something on your mind?”
Kelly exhaled, her eyes darting between them. “Well, Karen, I’ve… been seeing someone. Ari.”
Megan blinked. “Ari? Your fiancé?”
“Yeah,” Kelly said. “Nicole doesn’t know about her. We started dating after everything went down—after we stopped talking to Nicole. She’s fun, smart, and… she wouldn’t question if I asked her to help.”

Megan frowned. “Kelly, we’re not forcing you into anything. This is your choice—yours and hers.”
Kelly hesitated, then nodded. “I know. But this might get Nicole behind bars… Then, I don’t know. We’ll have to have a long talk about it.”
The air grew still again, the kind of quiet that felt like a vow forming.
“If we’re going all in, then maybe Hunter can do something as well.”
Pleased by Megan’s suggestion, Karen nodded before pulling a folder from her bag and spreading a few printouts across the table—crime scene photos, maps, and a few grainy surveillance stills.

“I’ve been digging,” she said. “She’s in L.A. now. And get this—Some of the people she’s been in contact with recently? A few of them are dead. No evidence pointing to her, but the pattern’s too neat to ignore.”
Kelly’s brow furrowed. “Murders?”
Karen nodded. “People whose deaths would benefit her. Enemies, debts, loose ends. But it’s clean—no fingerprints, no footage. On top of that, she’s playing smart, not doing it continuously.”
Megan stared down at the table, a cold shiver running through her. “She’s not stopping. Not now.”

“No,” Karen said. “But neither are we.”
She extended her hand toward the center of the table. Megan looked at it for a moment, then placed hers on top. Kelly followed a heartbeat, her hand trembling just slightly.
Three hands. Three promises.
The air seemed to thicken around them, heavy with something unspoken mix of fear, duty, and the faintest spark of hope.
“Then it’s settled,” Karen said quietly. “No more running. We find her, we stop her, and we end this for good.”
The candles flickered in the draft from the window, shadows bending across the walls like watching figures.
For the first time in years, the three of them were united again.
But deep down, they all felt it—
this wasn’t the beginning of a reunion.
It was the beginning of a war.

The house stood alone on the hillside, swallowed by the surrounding forest and wrapped in moonlight like a pale shroud. It was the kind of place that looked old even when it was new—too large, too quiet, too still. Thick stone pillars framed the porch, their bases cracked with creeping ivy. A faint fog could be had rolled in from the woods, curling around the gate and up the cobblestone path like the fingers of something patient. The windows, all dark, gave the impression of eyes that had long since grown tired of watching.

The silence broke when a sleek black limousine eased up the driveway, its headlights cutting through the mist like two sharp blades. The engine hummed to a stop, and for a moment, everything went still again—until the back door opened with a low click.
Three figures stepped out, their heels echoing faintly against the stone path.
Emily was first, her blonde hair loose and slightly messy from the night out, makeup smudged just enough to look intentional.

She stretched her arms out and sighed dramatically, the kind of sigh that said I’ve had too much fun but not enough to regret it. Behind her came Jecka, black jacket half-zipped, red lipstick fading but still fierce against her pale face. Then, finally, Nicole emerged—graceful, detached, every step deliberate. The cold didn’t seem to bother her at all.

The front door creaked open as Nicole turned the key, and with a flick of a switch, the interior came alive. Golden light flooded the foyer, spilling over polished floors, velvet drapes, and a grand staircase that spiraled upward like something out of a dream. It was beautiful, but it felt… hollow. The kind of beauty that didn’t welcome anyone.
Emily immediately broke the quiet.

“God, that was fucking amazing!” she said, half-laughing as she stumbled out of her heels. “Nicole, I swear—thanks for taking us out. I know clubs aren’t really your thing, but you still looked totally awesome out there.”

Nicole said nothing. She dropped her purse on the nearest chair, shrugged off her coat, and sank into the couch. The exhaustion showed in her posture more than her expression. She reached for her pack of cigarettes, tapped one out, and lit it with the ease of habit. The flame’s brief glow illuminated her face—tired, indifferent, unreadable.
“...You’re welcome, I guess,” she muttered finally, exhaling smoke toward the ceiling. “If you want, you can crash here tonight. I don’t care.”
“Hell yeah,” Emily said, already halfway up the stairs. “You’re a lifesaver, Nick.”
Jecka stayed behind, leaning against the banister as the sound of Emily’s footsteps faded above them. She looked over at Nicole with curiosity. “Hey Nicole, I have one question before I go to bed.”

Nicole closed her eyes before answering, “Sure, what is it?”
“Are you content where you are in life right now?”
Through Nicole's closed eyes, an expression of annoyance grew upon her face. “No, Jecka, not until we’re completely free. And to do that, we need to be at the top of the food chain.”
“Ok Nicole I understand.” Jecka moved towards the stairs, before coming back for her final words of the night.

“Actually, one more thing.” Jecka’s gaze was softer than usual. “You know I get it. Clubs aren’t your thing. Too loud, too fake. But… I had a good time tonight. So, thanks for coming along anyway.”Nicole’s lips curved slightly—a genuine smile. “You’re welcome, Jecka.”

Jecka gave a small nod before heading upstairs, her boots thudding gently against the wooden steps.

The house fell still again.
Nicole leaned back against the couch; cigarette balanced between her fingers. The smoke spiraled lazily toward the ceiling, catching the light from the chandelier. For a while, she simply sat there with her eyes closed, just listening to the faint ticking of the grandfather clock that came with the house. The distant hum of the heater, the whisper of the wind pressing against the windows.
Then she felt it.
That cold shift in the air. The faint, static-like crackle that preceded its arrival.
Nicole’s eyes opened, and there it was—sitting beside her like it had been there the whole time.
Arma.

The Shinigami’s shape towered over Nicole, eyes like faint embers in a fog. It wasn’t smiling, wasn’t frowning—just watching her with that eternal, neutral curiosity that made every word it spoke sound like both a statement and a threat.
“Having fun, are we?” Arma’s voice echoed softly, neither male nor female—just there, wrapping around the room like smoke.
Nicole exhaled and tilted her head toward it. “It was… alright.”
Arma leaned back, its form rippling faintly. “Alright? You humans throw away money, drink poison, dance like fools—and call that entertainment. I’m starting to think you’ve grown boring, Nicole.”

“Yeah,” Nicole said dryly, taking another drag. “Well, sorry I can’t summon a tragedy for you every weekend.”
The creature hummed, eyes narrowing faintly. “You know, I’ve been watching you for quite some time. And lately… I’m getting restless.”

“Restless?” Nicole arched a brow. “You want me to go out and do something stupid, don’t you?”
Arma’s grin flickered faintly through the haze—small, but unsettling. “I guess I’m saying that I hope something crazy happens soon. Something that shakes the board, flips the pieces. Something that throws everything out of order.”
Nicole dropped her cigarette into the ashtray, grinding it out with deliberate slowness. She met Arma’s gaze with a tired smirk.

“Please, for fuck’s sake—no.”
Arma only chuckled—a sound like wind through broken glass—and vanished, leaving the room colder than before.
Nicole leaned back, closing her eyes once more. Upstairs, she could hear Emily laughing at something, Jecka telling her to shut up.
And for a brief, quiet moment, everything felt normal.
But Nicole knew better.
Nothing in her life stayed normal for long.

Chapter Text

August 26th 2016.

The highway stretched endlessly ahead, a ribbon of dull gray cutting through the torrid California desert. The sun was beginning its slow descent, turning the sky a warm, hazy orange. Dust clung to the windshield, catching the light in faint gold flecks as Megan gripped the steering wheel, her gaze fixed forward. The radio was off—by choice. The hum of the engine and the occasional gust of wind through the cracked window were enough background noise for now.

In the passenger seat, Hunter reclined slightly, one arm hanging lazily out the open window. His sunglasses reflected the fading sunlight, and his brown hair whipped around in the breeze. He was quiet, the way he always got when Megan was deep in thought. In the back seat, Karen sat upright, laptop resting on her knees, phone on speaker as the steady buzz of conversation filled the car.

“Alright, we’re all checked in,” came Kelly’s voice, slightly tinny through the speaker. “Motel Six, right off Sunset. Not exactly five-star, but at least the AC works.”

“That’s good to hear,” Karen said, adjusting her glasses. “Just make sure no one recognizes either of you. We can’t risk Nicole finding out you’re here before we’re ready.” 

“Already handled,” Kelly replied. “Different names on the registry. Ari booked it herself.”

From the other end, Ari’s voice joined in—soft, but steady. “And before you ask, yes, I dyed my hair blonde like you wanted, and we scrubbed every picture of us from mine and Kelly’s socials.” All of them.” She paused, her voice lowering slightly. “But I saved them somewhere private. I couldn’t just erase everything.”

Karen nodded to herself, though no one could see it. “That’s fine. Just make sure your social media says you’re single now. No location tags, no pictures of the motel, nothing that ties you two together publicly.”

Ari gave a small sigh. “Yeah. It’s done. Feels weird, though. Also If we’re going to be in disguise, why did I need to delete the pictures?” 

Karen sighed, “it's a precaution, we need to have as little chance that Nicole will figure it out what we’re doing as possible. Also I think having your accounts public, would make it look cleaner, and less like we’ve got something to hide.”

Ari gave a fragile “ok” before Kelly’s voice brightened slightly, trying to lighten the mood. “It’s all ok, we’ll be making new memories later. Private ones.”

“Please,” Karen muttered, half-smirking. “Spare me the details.”

Hunter laughed quietly. “She’s got a point.”

Feeling witty with a dash of sympathy, Megan decided to chime in as well. “And don’t worry Ari because you're not alone. Hunter had to go through the same process. Now his hair looks kind of like yours did.” 

Kelly chuckled. “Alright, fine. Anyway, we’ll keep our heads down. Probably just order in, maybe go through the files Ari brought on her laptop.”

Karen’s tone sharpened slightly. “Good. No sightseeing, you two. I mean it.”

“Promise,” Kelly said.

“Yeah,” Ari added softly. “We won’t go anywhere.”

“Alright then,” Karen said, closing her laptop. “We’ll meet you in the morning.”

There was a round of goodbyes before Megan reached over and tapped the screen, ending the call. The car fell into silence again, leaving only the hum of the tires against the road and the faint rustle of papers in Karen’s lap.

The mood shifted almost instantly. The desert stretched out endlessly on either side—brown, dry, and hauntingly beautiful. The setting sun threw long shadows across the sand, painting everything in slow-moving amber. The silence was heavy, but not uncomfortable; it was the silence of people who knew what they were heading toward but weren’t ready to speak it aloud.

Hunter broke it first, turning his head toward Megan. “You good?”

“Yeah,” she said softly, eyes on the road. “Just thinking.”

He nodded, not pushing it further.

A few minutes passed before Megan spoke again, her voice quiet but clear. “Karen, can I ask you something?”

Karen looked up from her laptop. “Yeah of course.”

Megan glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “I’m… really grateful for everything you’ve done. For coming this far with us. But I’ve been wondering—why? You’ve got your own life, your own career. Why risk it for something that doesn’t even directly affect you?”

For a moment, Karen didn’t answer. She stared out the window, watching the desert roll by in blurs of beige and gold. Her reflection in the glass looked distant, almost fragile.

“I suppose,” she said at last, “there are a few reasons.”

Megan waited, eyes flicking between the road and the mirror.

“The first,” Karen began slowly, “is simple. I like you both—a lot. You’re good people, and I want to help you.”

Megan smiled faintly, her knuckles easing a little on the wheel.

“The second,” Karen continued, “is that… this gives me a reason to spend more time with you. After everything that happened, I guess I missed it—the sense of belonging. Having people to actually care about.”

Hunter looked back over his shoulder, thoughtful but silent.

“The third,” Karen said, her voice softening, “is because I believe we need more people in this world willing to help each other. Life is hard enough as it is, and society doesn’t go anywhere when we emotionally isolate ourselves.”

She paused, fingers tracing the edge of her laptop, lost in thought. The setting sun caught her face, and for a moment, her expression shifted—something quieter, older, almost wistful.

“The fourth reason…” she hesitated, then gave a small, self-conscious laugh. “It’s a bit sentimental.”

Megan glanced back at her. “Go on.”

Karen took a deep breath, her voice lowering. “I’ve read a lot of fictional books about people who made an impact on their worlds. People who stood up for something, even when it cost them everything.” She looked down at her hands. “And I’ve always admired them—these people who actually do things. But…”

She trailed off, staring at the streak of light fading across the horizon.

“I’m tired of just reading about it.”

The car fell quiet again. The only sound was the steady hum of the tires and the faint, distant cry of the wind across the open desert.

Megan looked at her in the mirror, her eyes shining faintly in the last light of day. Hunter turned forward, resting an arm on the door, lost in thought.

For the first time in a long while, Megan felt something stir in her chest—not quite hope, but something close.

Ahead, the highway bent toward the distant glow of Los Angeles, the city lights flickering like stars waiting to be reached. 

The motel room was quiet except for the occasional chatter outside. The quiet air conditioner's cold breath spilled across the carpet in slow, uneven waves. A single lamp in the corner painted the walls a weak amber, making the space feel smaller than it was — like a box holding something fragile. Kelly stood in the bathroom, the door half-shut, staring at her reflection under the harsh fluorescent light. The mirror was cheap, smudged, and slightly warped at the edges, bending her features into something almost unfamiliar.

For a long moment, she didn’t blink. She just looked — into her own tired eyes, the faint smudge of eyeliner, the subtle tremor in her jaw. There was something haunting about it. Like the girl in the mirror wasn’t her at all, but someone waiting to be understood. She leaned closer, fingertips brushing the cool glass.

“This is for real. Can I really do this?” she thought. The reflection didn’t answer, but the silence felt heavier than any response.

She took a deep breath, watching it fog up a corner of the mirror, blurring her face. The mist spread like doubt — fleeting, shapeless, and impossible to fully wipe away. A symbol, she realized, for the person she was trying to become — or maybe the one she was still hiding from.

With a slow exhale, Kelly stepped out of the bathroom, letting the door creak shut behind her. The room beyond was dim, washed in the muted glow of streetlights leaking through thin curtains. Ari sat at the edge of the bed, elbows on her knees, twisting a strand of her now blonde hair between her fingers. Her leg bounced restlessly, a nervous rhythm that betrayed the calm she tried to project.

“You okay?” Kelly asked softly, drying her hands with a towel she didn’t really need.

Ari didn’t look up right away. “Why do I have to be the one in disguise?” she finally said, her tone caught somewhere between irritation and fear.

Kelly crossed the room and sat down beside her, close enough for their shoulders to touch. “Because Nicole knows my face too well,” she said gently. “She’d spot me before I could even open my mouth. But you… if you’re in disguise she might not recognize you. That gives us a chance.”

Ari looked down at the floor, chewing her lip. “Doesn’t make it any easier,” she muttered.

Kelly smiled faintly, the kind of smile that carried more empathy than confidence. She reached out and wrapped her arms around Ari, pulling her close. “You’re the best thing that’s happened to me, you know that?” she whispered, voice warm against Ari’s ear.

Ari froze at first, then melted into the hug, her hands resting lightly on Kelly’s back. There was something steady about Kelly — a quiet determination that felt almost unbreakable. When Kelly pulled away, she kept her hands on Ari’s shoulders, eyes meeting hers with a softness that could almost disguise the tension beneath.

“If you can’t do it,” Kelly said, “then you can leave. I won’t hold it against you.”

Ari’s eyes darted up, uncertain. “What about you?”

Kelly hesitated — just long enough for the air to feel different. Then she gave a small, tired smile. “I’m sorry,” she said. “But this… it’s something I have to do.”

Ari searched her eyes, as if trying to find the part of Kelly that was scared too. And maybe she did, because after a long silence, she drew a slow breath and said, “Then I’ll do it. You were there through my pain. So… I’ll do the same for you.”

Kelly’s lips parted in surprise before curving into something softer. “Thank you,” she murmured.

She leaned forward and pulled Ari into another embrace, longer this time, one that said more than words ever could. When they finally pulled apart, Kelly pressed a brief, trembling kiss against Ari’s lips — not out of passion, but out of gratitude. Out of the quiet promise that they were in this together, no matter what waited on the other side of tomorrow.

Outside, a car passed, its headlights spilling through the curtains for a fleeting second — illuminating their faces before fading back into shadow.

The mirror in the bathroom caught that light for just a moment too, glinting like a quiet witness — holding the reflection of two people who were about to become someone else entirely.  

The sun had already sunk beneath the horizon by the time Megan’s car rolled into the motel parking lot. The neon sign buzzed faintly above them, casting a dull red glow over cracked asphalt and the faded yellow lines of the lot. It wasn’t the kind of place you stayed for comfort, rather it was the kind you stayed in when you didn’t want to be found.

Megan turned off the engine, and the silence that followed was thick, humming with the low whining and rumbling of the distant traffic. Hunter leaned forward in his seat, looking through the windshield at the flickering sign, his reflection overlapping the light. “Home sweet hideout,” he muttered with a crooked grin.

Karen let out a short breath through her nose, half amusement, half exhaustion. “Come on,” she said, pushing open her door. “They’re waiting.”

Inside, the motel room smelled faintly of old carpet and cleaning chemicals that had long since given up their fight against the air. Kelly was sitting on the edge of the bed when they entered, her hair pulled back, her posture alert but tired. Across from her, Ari stood near the window, peering through the curtain before turning toward them.

When Hunter walked in, Ari blinked twice, her brow lifting. “Wow,” she said, staring at his new red hair and goatee. “You look… really different after the makeover.”

Hunter smiled, brushing a hand over his shorter hair. “You also look different,” he said. “Guess we both got the ‘new identity’ memo.”

Ari rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a grin. Hunter smirked and added, “You know, I think I might keep this look. Might finally stop getting carded at bars.”

Even Kelly laughed. It was a small, genuine sound that lightened the thick air.

They all gathered around the small round table near the center of the room. The surface was covered with papers, a laptop, and two disposable coffee cups from a gas station nearby. Karen reached into her bag and slid two laminated cards across the table, her tone immediately turning serious.

“These,” she said, tapping them once, “are your fake IDs. You’ll memorize the names, the birthdays, everything.”

The cards caught the lamplight — one read Tucker Williams, the other Olivia Brody. The photos were convincing enough, the names bland enough to slip by unnoticed.

Hunter picked his up, examining it with an amused expression. “Tucker Williams,” he said, trying the name on his tongue like a test. “Sounds like a guy who drives a pickup and thinks ‘craft beer’ just means Bud Light in a different can.”

Ari smirked. “Fitting.”

Karen ignored the banter and continued, her voice steady and clear. “The plan is simple, at least in theory. You two are going to go undercover. We need eyes close to Nicole — inside her house if possible. That means getting hired. One of you goes in first, gets the job, then puts in a good word for the other. If it all goes perfectly, we’ll have both of you working there within a week.”

Ari shifted slightly, unease creeping across her face. “And what if I don’t get the job?”

Karen looked at her, the kind of look that made people sit up a little straighter. “Then it’s Hunter’s turn.”

Hunter gave a mock salute. “Got it.”

Karen paused — just a beat too long. “And if he doesn’t get it,” she added, her tone dropping lower, “then things get a lot more complicated. And we’ll have to figure out a new plan.”

The weight of her words hung there for a moment, the air still except for the faint hum of the motel light.

Finally, Kelly leaned forward, forcing a smile. “Alright,” she said, “that’s enough doom and gloom. How about we… give ourselves a name? You know, to lighten the mood.”

Ari raised a brow. “A name? Like a team name?”

“Yeah,” Kelly said, “why not? Every great mission has one.”

Megan leaned back in her chair, eyes flicking toward the ceiling as if thinking it over. Then she said, “ANJE.”

Karen blinked. “Anjay?”

“ANJE,” Megan repeated, a small smile tugging at her lips. “It stands for Anti Nicole, Jecka, and Emily.”

There was a beat of silence — then Hunter laughed, the kind that broke tension like a match to a fuse. Ari smiled despite herself, and even Karen allowed a faint smirk.

“Well,” Hunter said, “guess that makes us official.”

“Team ANJE,” Kelly said, nodding with mock solemnity. “Not exactly catchy, but it’ll do.”

Karen closed her notebook with a firm snap. “Alright, Team ANJE,” she said. “Let’s get to work.”

They spent the next hour running through dialogue, posture, fake backstories. Hunter practiced introducing himself as Tucker Willams, the new landscaper with a quiet personality and a decent résumé. Ari rehearsed her lines as Olivia Brody, a calm, organized housekeeper who’d worked in small estates before. Kelly corrected their tone, Megan observed their body language, and Karen drilled them on consistency — every small detail mattered.

By the end, the room felt different — as if the air had thickened with purpose. Ari and Hunter exchanged a look, both nervous and steady.

Kelly leaned against the wall, watching them. “You two don’t just look like different people,” she said quietly. “You are different people now.”

Ari exhaled slowly, gripping the edge of the table. “Let’s hope that’s enough.”

Outside, the motel sign flickered again, bathing the room in brief flashes of red. For a moment, it almost looked like the beginning of something — or maybe the calm before everything could potentially start to fall apart.

The motel was quiet when Hunter woke up, the kind of silence that felt almost staged. The clock beside his bed glowed 3:17 a.m., its light faintly illuminating the cheap wallpaper and the shadowed outline of the curtains swaying with the draft.

He sat up, rubbing the back of his neck. Sleep wasn’t coming back anytime soon. With a low exhale, he pulled on a hoodie, slid his shoes on, and stepped outside.

The night air was cool and still, carrying the smell of asphalt, damp grass, and the faint exhaust of passing cars from the highway beyond. The neon motel sign flickered behind him, buzzing like a restless thought. He breathed in deeply, letting the cold air clear the residue of uneasy dreams.

That’s when he saw her.

Ari was sitting on the curb near the parking lot, knees pulled to her chest, her hoodie drawn tight. Her hair caught faint strands of gold from the streetlight above. She looked like she’d been out there for a while — maybe lost in her head.

Hunter approached quietly, the gravel crunching beneath his shoes. “Couldn’t sleep either?” he asked.

Ari glanced up, startled for a moment, then managed a small, tired smile. “Yeah… something like that.”

He sat down beside her, keeping a comfortable distance. The silence stretched for a while, filled only by the low hum of the night. Finally, Ari spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I don’t know if I can do this, Hunter.”

He turned toward her. “Do what?”

“This whole thing,” she said, staring at the ground. “The interview, pretending to be someone else. What if I mess up? What if she sees through me?” Her voice trembled slightly — not from fear exactly, but from exhaustion, the kind that came from carrying too much for too long.

Hunter reached into the pocket of his hoodie and pulled out a small plastic water bottle, twisting off the cap before handing it to her. “Here,” he said.

She took it and drank, the motion grounding her.

After a beat, he asked, “You ever had a job interview before?”

Ari frowned slightly. “Of course I have.”

“Then,” he said with a shrug, “just think of it like that. A normal interview. Only difference is, this one’s just got higher stakes.”

Ari let out a small, shaky laugh. “Yeah, that’s comforting.”

Hunter smiled faintly. “Hey, you’ve made it this far. You’re smart. You’re calm. You’ve got Kelly in your corner. You’ll be fine.”

“Maybe,” she murmured. “But what if.”

“Come on,” Hunter interrupted, standing up suddenly. “Let’s go for a run.”

She blinked up at him. “A run? Right now?”

“Yeah,” he said, already jogging in place. “You’re wound up. Running helps. Clears the static.”

Ari gave him a baffled look but slowly stood. “You’re insane.”

“Probably,” he said with a grin. “But it works.”

They ran with all the vigor in their souls.

Past the flickering sign, down the quiet stretch of cracked pavement that curved around the edge of the motel lot. The night air bit at their skin, cool and sharp. Their breath came out in pale ghosts under the streetlights.

Neither of them said much — just the steady rhythm of sneakers slapping pavement and the rush of air filling their lungs. By the time they looped back to the motel, Ari’s hair clung to her forehead, her pulse steadying with each breath.

She collapsed onto the patch of grass near the parking lot, staring up at the sky. The stars looked faint, half-drowned by city light, but they were there — scattered and distant, steady despite everything below them.

Hunter stood for a moment, catching his breath before sitting down beside her. He rested his arms on his knees, eyes fixed on the horizon. “See?” he said softly. “Not so bad.”

Ari exhaled a quiet laugh. “I feel like I just ran a marathon.”

“You didn’t,” he said. “Trust me. But you do look a lot calmer.”

Ari turned her head toward him. “A little.”

Hunter leaned back on his palms. “You should count your blessings, you know.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Like what?”

He smiled faintly. “You’ve got someone who loves you. Someone who’s been through hell and still stuck by you. Someone who helped you through the worst of it. That’s more than a lot of people can say.”

Ari looked away, her expression softening. The wind brushed gently through her hair.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The night stretched on, calm, endless, heavy with the scent of grass and asphalt.

Finally, Hunter stood, brushing off his jeans. “You good?”

Ari nodded slowly. “Yeah… I think I am.”

“Good.” He smiled, tired but genuine. He turned slightly towards the direction they'd come from, and considered heading back right then and there, but there was something else he needed to do.  He didn't know if he was going to get another opportunity.  "Hey, Ari?  Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah?"  She looked up, eyes still alight from the adrenaline.

Hunter leaned against a nearby street lamp, steadying his nerves.  Some part of him knew this was a question that shouldn't be asked, lest the answer only complicate matters further.  "Have any of the other girls ever told you, you know, what they think Nicole did, exactly?"

Ari tilted her head.  "She murdered Kelly and Megan's fathers..."

"Yeah, but I mean how?  Like, what specifically did she do?"  The cat was out of the bag now, he could only charge forward with the thoughts that had been quietly storming inside of him this whole trip.  "As far as the official record is concerned, Kelly's dad committed suicide, and the guy who murdered Megan's dad was already caught.  There's no actual evidence that Nicole was involved in any of that.  I've overheard some talk between Megan and Karen, and maybe I'm not hearing all of it, but all of the evidence I've heard just sounds, what's the word...  Circumstantial?"

Ari sighed.  "I've kind of been thinking about that too, and honestly, I don't know what to think.  Losing her father was one of the most traumatic experiences of Kelly's life.  You haven't seen her grief the way I have."

Hunter nodded, having been absent from Megan's life for so long between high school and now.  "So what do you think?"

Ari shook her head.  "I don't know.  Part of me wants to believe that Kelly's buying into a conspiracy theory to help her cope with her loss.  That kind of thing can help people deal with the cruel randomness of reality, you know?  But there's this other part of me that thinks, maybe.  I'm not foolish enough to believe I understand everything that's out there.  And hell, if Nicole really did figure out a way to kill people remotely like this, what happened does feel disturbingly like something she would do."

"Right, but how?"  Hunter persisted.  "Is it like mind control or something?  Some vast conspiracy involving blackmail and assassination?  I know coincidences are weird, but you know, occam's razor and all that..."

"I love Kelly," Ari concluded.  "And I trust her.  Whether she's right or wrong about this, I want to stay by her side and see it through."

"And I trust Megan..."  Hunter relented.  "Karen, though..."

"You feel it too, huh?"

Hunter nodded.  "She was giving this speech earlier about all these heroic reasons why she's involved in all this, but I saw that glint in her eyes.  She's just as curious as I am.  Maybe even more.  I'm not saying any of her other reasons are lies, but she definitely wants to know HOW Nicole does it.  If she's even doing anything."

"Why?"

"Lord only knows, I guess."  Hunter had a disquieting premonition, though, of Karen obtaining Nicole's power and using it for herself.  Surely this was just an overreaction, right?  

"Yeah..."  Ari replied, wistfully.  "Well, whatever the case, we're gonna find out soon, right?"

Hunter nodded.  “I’m heading back in. But if you need anything — anything at all — you come get me, alright?”

“Alright,” she said.

Hunter gave her a small nod before heading back toward the motel, his shadow long under the buzzing light.

Ari lay back against the cool grass, still breathing steadily. The stars above seemed closer now — not any brighter, just nearer somehow.

She didn’t feel fearless. But she felt ready.

And for now, that was enough.

The world of the living always felt heavier to her.
The air too thick, the sounds too cluttered. Mortals called it atmosphere—Arma called it weight.

From where she perched on the chandelier above the sitting room, unseen by human eyes, she could feel the static tension moving between the two women below like the flicker of a storm about to break.

Nicole sat poised on one end of the table, her posture sharp, elegant, predatory. The sunlight, filtered through sheer curtains, painted gold across her face and caught the faint curl of cigarette smoke rising from the ashtray beside her. Her expression gave nothing away—she wore it like armor.

Across from her sat a blonde girl wearing glasses, who called herself Olivia.

Ari—Arma noted with quiet amusement. She looked almost too small in the oversized chair, her back straight but her fingers restless in her lap. The human heart was an orchestra of noise to Arma, and this one was thundering like war drums. Every beat echoed off the walls of the room.

Nicole flipped through the papers in front of her, not looking up. “So,” she said finally, her voice smooth, detached. “Olivia Brody, is it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ari said. Her voice trembled at the edges, but she managed to steady it on the second word.

Arma tilted her head, and for a fleeting second, she saw the truth.
Floating just above the girl’s head, faint as breath, glowed a name not written on paper but etched into her soul.

Ari Cullen.

How strange, Arma thought. Why would this human not give her name. What could she be hiding. 

Still, she said nothing. She simply smiled to herself, legs swinging gently as the cigarette smoke coiled up toward her invisible perch.

Nicole leaned back in her chair, eyes scanning Ari with the quiet intensity of a predator sizing up uncertain prey. “You’ve done housework before?”

“Yes,” Ari replied quickly. “A few years of experience. Mostly residential.”

“References?”

“They’re listed on the last page,” Ari said, trying to keep her voice calm. Her fingers pressed tight together to hide their trembling.

Nicole’s eyes flicked down to the page but didn’t seem to read it. She was watching her, gauging not words but movement—every twitch, every hesitation.

Arma smiled faintly.
Nicole was testing her, to see what she’d do. She didn’t care about experience. She cared about reactions.

“How do you feel about privacy?” Nicole asked suddenly.

Ari blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“Privacy,” Nicole repeated, tapping ash into the tray. “I value it. If you work for me, you’ll need to value it as well. There’s certain places in my house that I like to keep private. Is all that understood.”

A pause.

Ari nodded, throat tight. “Understood.”

“Alright, good.” Nicole folded her hands, her tone neutral but her gaze unwavering. “And one other thing, why what would you bring to this job?”

Arma leaned forward, interested now. Nicole’s games always fascinated her—the way she liked to peel people back layer by layer.

Ari hesitated only a fraction too long before answering. “Well like I said I’d bring experience, and determination to my job, I don’t give up until the job is done.”

Nicole did not look impressed, “Yeah that’s what everyone says, is there anything else.” 

Ari began to panic. What could she do to impress Nicole. Thinking back at who Nicole was, She decided to try something risky. A true gamble. 

“Look I’m going to be real with you, I am experienced and housework is a hard job. but it’s not exactly rocket science. The reason I’m doing this is because all I’m really good at is housework. It sucks but that’s life. So as long as you pay me I’ll do whatever you want, and fallow all the rules.”

The silence that followed was thick enough to hear the clock ticking on the wall.

That earned Ari a glance. A brief, curious flicker in Nicole’s eyes. 

Nicole smiled with a faint, approving curve of her lips. “God damn finally, I’ve been waiting for some honesty.” Nicole though about it before deciding to strike while the iron was hot. “Fuck it you’re hired.”

Ari was completely speechless, her mouth fell open slightly. She tried to speak but she was too stunned. 

“You start tomorrow, do you have any questions.” Nicole asked with an awkward expression. 

Ari then re-adjusted herself, “no I totally understand everything.” 

Nicole leaned back in her chair. “You don’t talk much do you.”

“Not unless I have to,” Ari replied.

Arma chuckled quietly, the sound like wind against the rafters. Oh, this one was interesting. She carried fear, yes, but not the kind that froze—more like the kind that burned. She was definitely up to something. 

“One last thing.” Nicole stood up and walked over to Ari. Her face shimmered from the light coming outside the glass, she looked distant and pale. “Tomorrow you start at 8:00 in the morning, don’t be late.”

Ari swallowed hard, but gave a strong nod. “I understand.”

Nicole walked back to her chair and waved her hand dismissively. “Alright, you’re dismissed.”

The living room felt like it was holding its breath.

Kelly paced back and forth across the floor, her sneakers scuffing the worn rug. Every few seconds, she’d glance toward the door, mutter something under her breath, and then resume pacing as if the rhythm kept her from unraveling. Karen sat on the couch, her leg bouncing rapidly, fingers drumming against her knee in sync with the ticking clock on the wall.

Megan sat beside Hunter, her hands clasped tight in her lap. The air between them was heavy with anticipation, the kind that made every passing minute feel like an hour.

“How do you think she’ll do?” Megan finally asked, breaking the silence. Her voice was gentle but tight, threaded with worry.

Hunter leaned back, resting his arms across his knees. His expression was calm, but his eyes betrayed a quiet focus. “I talked to her last night,” he said after a pause. “She was nervous, but she had it under control. I think she’ll do fine.”

Megan smiled faintly, though she didn’t seem convinced. “You really think so?”

Hunter gave a small shrug. “She’s stronger than she thinks.”

Kelly stopped pacing, crossing her arms. “She better be. I swear, if that woman made her cry, I’m—”

Before she could finish, the door clicked.

Every head turned.

Ari stepped inside, the afternoon light framing her in a soft glow. She took off her glasses and for a moment, said nothing. She just stood there—still, trembling slightly, her eyes wide and glassy. The silence stretched long enough for Kelly to take a cautious step forward.

“Ari?” she said carefully. “What happened?”

Ari blinked, and suddenly her face broke into a grin. She let out a sharp, joyful scream that filled the room like sunlight breaking through a storm.

“I did it!” she shouted, voice cracking as she ran forward and threw her arms around Kelly. “I got the job!”

Kelly stumbled back with a startled laugh before hugging her tight, spinning her once in disbelief. “Oh my god—are you serious?!”

Ari nodded, a few tears already spilling down her cheeks. “I—I actually did it.”

Karen shot to her feet, clapping her hands with a whoop. Megan’s eyes softened, and she smiled wide as she joined the hug. Hunter stood last, the corners of his mouth lifting in quiet satisfaction before he stepped forward and wrapped an arm around all of them.

For a moment, everything was warmth. The sound of laughter, the tangle of arms, the release of a weight none of them realized they’d been holding. Ari buried her face in Kelly’s shoulder, her voice muffled but full of joy.

“She said I start Tomorrow,” Ari said, her breath shaking with disbelief. “I thought I’d mess it up, but she… she actually hired me.”

“You deserve it,” Kelly said, squeezing her tighter. “You really do.”

Hunter chuckled softly. “Told you so.”

Ari wiped her eyes and looked up, her expression glowing with relief. The tears that had once come from fear now shone like proof of something finally earned. “I can’t believe it,” she whispered.

Megan smiled, brushing Ari’s hair from her face. “Believe it. You earned this.”

The four of them stood in that small room, surrounded by quiet laughter and the smell of coffee gone cold, as if for one brief moment the world outside didn’t matter.

As the sun had set and the night had begun. 

Nicole lay in bed, the room dimly lit by the glow of her phone screen. The sheets were pulled neatly around her, and the faint hum of cars driving by the neighborhood filtered through the half-open window. She scrolled idly through a few unread messages before setting the phone aside.

“Arma,” she said softly, eyes half-closed. “That woman I interviewed today. She looked really familiar. I’m trying to think where I’ve seen her. Did you recognize her.

Across the room, perched lazily on the windowsill, Arma’s small form tilted her head. The faint light traced the curve of her wings.

“Familiar?” Arma repeated, her voice quiet and airy. “Hmm… I don’t think so.”

Nicole studied her for a moment, then shrugged. “Alright. Just seemed like I’d seen her before.”

She reached over, turned off the light, and sank into the sheets. Within minutes, her breathing evened out, the rhythm soft and steady.

Arma, however, didn’t move.

When the last bit of light from the phone faded, she stretched her wings and slipped through the open window. The night air was cool and vast, wrapping around her as she rose toward the roof.

From up there, the neighborhood stretch out into the city, like a living constellation. Quiet streets, distant headlights, the hum of life moving from far away.  Arma perched on the ledge, her feet dangling, and giggled softly to herself.

A sound that didn’t belong to innocence.

“Familiar,” she whispered, her voice carrying just enough amusement to twist the word into something else. “Oh, Nicole… I may not know what, but something is coming.”

Her laughter, light and deliberate, drifted into the night wind.

Arma did remember who Ari was.
Although she didn’t know what was going on, she had a few theories. But her lips would be sealed tight. 

All for the sake of intrigue.

Chapter Text

September 20th

The night moved through the safehouse like a held breath. it was slow, taut, waiting to see what would come next. The rooms of ANJE’s hideout were thick with it: every chair and surface felt like a place to perch and listen. Each of them sat somewhere between hope and dread, caught in that strange, brittle quiet when nothing can be done but wait.

Karen was at the window; silhouette hunched against the glass. Her leg bounced in a nervous metronome; her fingers tapped the armrest in a rhythm that had long lost any sense of time. Outside, rain had turned the streetlights into smeared coins, and the puddles threw back the world in trembling shards.

Megan hunched over the table, phone face-down as if that would make it easier to pretend nothing bad would arrive. Kelly had literally worn a line into the floorboards with her pacing — arms crossed, brow furrowed, lips moving with half-formed sentences none of them could fully catch.

Only Hunter was missing. His interview felt like the last piece of a puzzle they’d been forcing together for weeks. Ari had already wormed her way into the estate as Nicole’s cleaner; if Hunter could get a foot in as the gardener, they’d have eyes inside from both the interior and the grounds. But it also meant he was stepping into Nicole’s world — a place Ari’s notes hinted was slick, strange, and quietly dangerous. “God, he’s been gone forever,” Kelly snapped, her pacing cutting sharper. “How long does a gardening interview even take?”

“Depends,” Karen said without looking up. “Maybe she made him prune a hedge into the shape of her ego.” Megan snorted, the sound thin but genuine despite the tension. “Wouldn’t put it past her.” The clock ticked. Rain eased to a patter. Then the front door opened.

They all froze.

Hunter came in dripping, rain streaking his hair, clothes dark at the shoulders. He kept his expression unreadable for a long second, then let out a slow sigh that unfolded into a grin. “I got it,” he said simply.

Relief broke across the room like sun through clouds. Kelly exhaled a laugh and clapped her hands. Megan’s shoulders dropped, the tight coil of worry unwinding. Even Karen — who tried to hide everything behind a scoff — let a real smile show. “Damn right you did,” she said, rising. “Knew you would.”

Hunter dropped his bag and sank into a chair, the day finally catching up to him. “Wasn’t easy,” he admitted, rubbing his palms together. “She asked a lot of questions — personal stuff. Last job, where I live, if I knew anyone she knew. Like she was cross-checking me in real time.”

“That’s sounds like Nicole,” Kelly muttered. “Always suspicious of men.”

“We did it,” Megan said softly, eyes bright. “Both of you are in.”

“Yeah,” Hunter said, nodding. “But being in there — even just for the interview — it’s weird. The place feels alive. Not just expensive, but watched. Like every corner has eyes.”

Karen’s gaze flicked to the wall where Ari’s notes and diagrams were taped in a rough collage — a map built of scrawled handwriting and photocopied printouts. “Alright,” she said, voice switching to business. “Let’s run through what we know. If this goes sideways, we need everyone to be clear.”

They gathered around the table; the folder from Ari sat between them, pages rustling as Megan rifled through. The papers fan-opened like blueprints, Ari’s looping script labeling rooms and corridors.

“Layout first,” Karen began. “It’s basically a small mansion. Big foyer with marble floors and a chandelier that belongs in a cathedral. To the right: formal living room, huge bay windows, heavy velvet curtains. Left side: dining and a kitchen she apparently never uses — sterile clean, like it’s only for show. A grand staircase in the center leads up.”

“Bedrooms upstairs,” Megan added, tracing a pencil along the lines. “Nicole’s room is massive. Jecka and Emily have their own. A long hallway ends at a locked door and the basement stairs.”

“Basement’s off-limits,” Hunter remembered. “She keeps the key on her. Always. Even when she sleeps.”

“Exactly.” Karen tapped a corner of the paper where Ari had marked camera locations with little X on each of them. “Cameras. Living room, hallways, front door. Some are obvious, some are hidden. If we want to do anything in there, we have to either take them down or loop them.”

Megan glanced at Karen. “The safest way I can think of to handle the cameras is to hack in,” she said, voice cautious. “Karen, I don’t know much about computers — I’ve only seen this in movies. Is that something you can do?”

Karen’s eyes lit with a plan. “That’s what I was thinking. Yes — it’s doable. But I’ll need a few days to set up something that’s reliable. In the meantime, Ari and Hunter act like they’re just doing their jobs. Don’t draw attention.”

Hunter leaned back, letting the room’s tension ease a fraction. “Anything else from Ari?”

Megan flipped a page, the paper whispering. Her face shifted as she read. “Yeah. Ari heard Nicole on the phone — about a brother. Apparently he’s dead.”

Ari — who had stayed quiet, hands folded in her lap — lifted her head. Pride softened her voice. “I only caught that part. I’m sorry, that might not even be useful.”

“It’s fine,” Hunter said quickly. “If you don’t mind me asking…” His tone gentled. “Do you know anything about what he was like?”

Kelly’s mouth twisted into a grin that carried a dark humor. “Let’s say he had his own special brand of terrible.” The room chuckled — a brittle, grateful sound that broke the tension for a beat — while Ari and Hunter waited for more.

“More profiles,” Megan continued. “Jecka’s pretty much the same — sharp, sarcastic, but… calmer. Emily’s worse: volatile but watchful, always glued to Nicole. Ari said Emily sat next to Nicole the whole time the night she was there — like a shadow that won’t go away. Nicole herself — Ari says she’s colder. Like she’s wrapped everything in some kind of armor.”

“Fits,” Karen said. “She’s always been good at hiding things.”

“How’d you learn all this?” Hunter asked, eyes on Ari.

Ari’s shoulders straightened a little; there was something small and fierce in the way she answered. “Jecka invited me to hang out one night, and Nicole let it happen. They drank, talked, listened to music. Emily sat right beside Nicole the whole time — at first she was kind of flirty with me.” She glanced at Kelly and gave a small nod, the gesture saying it was okay.

“Then she started asking about my past — where I’m from, who I know.” Ari’s voice held a thread of pride. “I remembered every answer we practiced. Didn’t miss a beat. After that, I just watched them whenever I could.”

Kelly gave a quick approving look. “Good. Keep doing that.”

Megan turned another page, fingernail tracing the margin. “The last thing — Ari overheard them talking about something big. She didn’t catch the details, but the phrase was ‘taking out the competition.’ Could be business, political, personal — but whatever it is, it sounded serious.”

Silence settled again, heavier this time.

Karen exhaled, folding her arms. “So — recap. Paranoid sociopath with a mansion full of secrets, two likely accomplices, a locked basement with a single key, cameras everywhere, and a possible criminal plot in the wings. Sound about right?”

“Pretty much,” Kelly said, face set.

“Then we move carefully,” Hunter said. “Ari’s been doing great. My job gets me outside — I can scope the grounds, see if there’s anything odd around the basement entrance. If I can get close, I’ll try to find a way in without being noticed.”

Karen leaned forward. “And how did Nicole react when Ari mentioned you?”

Hunter smirked, the edges of the day still showing in his fatigue. “Suspicious. Naturally. But she agreed — said the gardens needed attention. So I’m in.”

Megan’s smile was small but bright. “Then we’re officially inside.”

Kelly’s pacing finally stilled. For the first time that night she looked a little calm. “Feels like we’re making progress,” she said, voice softer.

Karen scanned the tired but determined faces around the table. “Progress,” she echoed. “But this is just the beginning.”

Hunter nodded. “Then let’s be ready for whatever comes next.”

Outside, the rain had stopped, and the sky had thinned to a pale, washed gray. Indoors, the tension hadn’t vanished — it had hardened into something sharper. Determination.

They didn’t know what was waiting in Nicole’s mansion, or what that locked basement really held. But one thing had shifted: they were done waiting. The game had begun.

Karen rose, moving to the small cabinet by the door. She opened it and pulled out a slim, worn kit — a tangle of cables, a compact wireless device with a rubber antenna, a tiny digital recorder, and two sets of false keys. She set them on the table with deliberate care.

“Oh — one more thing,” she said, voice casual but carrying the weight of preparation. “You’ll need these.”

September 23rd

The night had a lazy rhythm to it—the kind that made time stretch and bend until it felt like the whole world existed only inside those walls.
The three of them were gathered in the living room: Nicole, Jecka, and Emily.
A record played softly in the background, its needle crackling between songs. The golden light from the chandelier hung low, reflecting off the glasses of wine on the table, painting everything in warm amber tones.

Nicole leaned back in her chair, a small, contented smirk tugging at her lips. “You know,” she said, her voice smooth, “I can’t remember the last time we actually took a night off.”

Emily, sitting cross-legged on the couch beside Jecka, grinned lazily. “That’s because you don’t believe in them,” she teased. “Even when you say we’re relaxing, you’re thinking of ten different things at once.”

Nicole lifted her glass, swirling the deep red wine inside. “Someone has to,” she replied. “If I didn’t, we wouldn’t be where we are now.”

Emily laughed, low and throaty, and clinked her glass against Nicole’s. “To survival, then.”

“To survival,” Nicole echoed.

For a while, everything was easy.
They talked about nothing—the past, music, even old classmates whose names felt foreign now. The laughter came freely, echoing through the high-ceilinged room, bouncing between the dark corners where the light didn’t reach.
But then, slowly, the rhythm changed.

It was subtle at first—Jecka’s silence.
Her laughter dimmed, her posture softened, and her eyes wandered to the floor.
Nicole noticed immediately. She always did.

She set her glass down with care. “You’ve gone quiet,” she said. “Something wrong?”

Jecka blinked, caught off guard. “No, I just—” She stopped herself, forcing a smile. “It’s nothing.”

Emily tilted her head, studying her. “Doesn’t look like nothing.”

“Really, it’s fine,” Jecka insisted, her voice smaller than usual.

Nicole leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on her knees. “Jecka,” she said softly. “You don’t get to say it’s nothing and then look like that. Talk to me. What’s going on?”

For a moment, Jecka didn’t answer. Her fingers played with the edge of her glass, tracing the rim. Then she sighed. “I just… I don’t think we should be doing this anymore.”

The words fell like a stone between them.
The warmth in the room flickered, almost as if the air itself recoiled.

Nicole raised an eyebrow, her voice even. “Doing what, exactly?”

Jecka hesitated, then looked up, her eyes meeting Nicole’s. “All of this. The plans. The deals. Whatever you want to call it.” Her voice trembled slightly but held steady. “It’s starting to feel like it’s getting worse. Like it’s going to end badly.”

Emily straightened, her smile fading. “You’re kidding, right?”

“I’m serious,” Jecka said. “I can feel it. I’m scared, Nic. I really am.”

Nicole sat back, folding her arms, her expression unreadable. “You want to be free, don’t you?”

Jecka swallowed. “Not if I keep increasing the chance that I’ll end up behind bars.”

Emily snorted. “Come on. You’re overreacting.”

Nicole didn’t say anything right away. She just watched Jecka—the way her shoulders hunched, the way her voice cracked at the edges. The doubt had been festering in her for a while, Nicole could tell. It always starts that way—quiet, cautious, until it blooms into something dangerous.

“Jecka,” Emily said, her tone firm now. “Nicole’s clever. She’s gotten us farther than anyone thought possible. Since high school, even. You think we’d still be here if she didn’t know what she was doing?”

But Jecka didn’t look convinced.
Nicole could see it in her eyes—fear, guilt, and something else. A flicker of conscience that refused to die.

Nicole exhaled through her nose, slow and deliberate. “You remember your father, don’t you?”

That made Jecka flinch. Her fingers tightened around her glass.
Nicole’s tone remained calm, almost soothing. “You told me once you’d rather die than go back to that house. I’m the one who got you out. Don’t forget that.”

Jecka looked at her, eyes wide, torn between gratitude and dread. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “And I’ll always be thankful for that. But, Nicole—”

Her voice strengthened. “You can’t keep using that against me.”

Nicole’s smile faltered. “I’m not—”

“You are.”
Jecka’s tone was sharp now, cutting through the tension like glass. “He was a douchebag. I’ll never defend him. But this?” She gestured around the room. “This isn’t freedom, Nic. It’s just another cage. You built it prettier, that’s all.”

The silence that followed was heavy enough to crush.

Nicole’s eyes darkened. “If you walk out that door,” she said quietly, “you’re as good as dead.”

Jecka froze.

Her hand hovered near her jacket on the couch, but she didn’t move. The clock ticked once—twice.

Then Nicole rose slowly from her chair, her voice soft but heavy with weight. “You know I like you, Jecka. I really do. But just like the mafia…” Her gaze was steady, almost gentle. “…if you step out of line, you become a liability.”

The color drained from Jecka’s face.
She stared at Nicole in disbelief, her lips parting to speak, but nothing came out. Emily didn’t say a word—she didn’t have to. The look she gave Jecka said enough: disappointment, maybe even anger.

Finally, Jecka lowered herself back onto the couch, her movements mechanical. Her breathing came shallow.

Nicole’s smile returned—small, polite, practiced. She picked up the wine bottle from the table and poured a fresh glass, the liquid catching the light like blood under gold.

She handed it to Jecka, who accepted it with trembling hands.

“See?” Nicole murmured. “It’s all going to be okay, there’s no need to ruin anything. You work with me and I give you a good life.”

Jecka stared at the wine but didn’t drink. Emily did, watching her with cold eyes.

Nicole sat back down, lifting her own glass. “To us,” she said softly, raising it toward the dim chandelier.

No one answered.
The record skipped once before the next song began—an old jazz tune, soft and haunting.

As Nicole took a slow sip, she watched Jecka from over the rim of her glass, her eyes calm but unblinking.

Everything was under control.
Or at least, that’s what she told herself.

September 25th

The parking lot was mostly empty, the yellow glow of the streetlights blending into the soft haze of night. McDonald’s stood like a lonely beacon on the corner of the block — its neon sign flickering every few seconds, humming faintly against the still air. Through the window, Megan sat in one of the far booths, a paper cup of soda in her hands. A hoodie framed her face, casting shadows under her eyes. Across from her sat Hunter, his hood up too, looking equally exhausted but trying not to show it.

Outside, the sky was clear — that rare kind of city night where the smog thinned just enough for the stars to break through. Megan kept glancing out the window, her gaze fixed on them like she was searching for something they might say.

Hunter unwrapped a burger, then set it down, watching her quietly. “You okay?” he asked finally, his tone soft.

Megan looked back at him, a small, tired smile flickering across her lips. “As good as I can be.” She took a sip of her drink, then set it down, the straw trembling faintly. “It’s weird, though. We’ve been talking about this plan for so long — and now that it’s happening, it feels… heavier.”

Hunter nodded. “It’s the waiting. That’s always the hardest part.”

They sat there in silence for a few moments. The only sound was the hum of the refrigerator behind the counter and the low murmur of the radio playing a soft pop song from years ago.

Megan leaned back in the booth, running her fingers through her hair beneath the hood. “Remember when things used to be simple?”

Hunter chuckled. “Define simple.”

She smirked. “Wasn’t there a time you somehow convinced me to try sneaking into the movies without paying.”

“Oh yeah, Hunter said with mock seriousness, taking a fry. “That was the great popcorn heist of 2008. A masterclass in failure.”

Megan laughed softly — genuinely this time. “Hey, it wasn’t that bad.”

“You got us caught,” he said, pointing at her with the fry.

She shrugged. “The security guard was cute. I was distracted.”

Hunter blinked, pretending to be offended. “You were flirting while I was panicking?”

“I multitask,” she said, grinning. “You should try it sometime.”

The two of them laughed quietly, their voices fading into the hum of the restaurant. For a moment, the tension that had followed them for weeks melted away. It was just them — two people sitting under cheap fluorescent lights, pretending the world outside wasn’t falling apart.

“So what’s it like working for Nicole.”

Hunter’s smile faded slightly as he looked down at his tray. “Well Nicole’s been acting sort of like she usually does,” he said. “Well, she’s not in your face rude exactly, she’s just more subtle about it. Like she knows something’s off, but she’s waiting for proof.”

Megan’s expression grew serious. “Has she said anything?”

“Not directly,” he replied. “But she watches me. Whenever I’m trimming the hedges, cleaning the walkway — she’s there. Not every time, but enough that I notice.”

Megan frowned, stirring her drink absentmindedly. “Do you think she suspects you?”

Hunter thought about it for a moment. “Maybe. But probably not because I don’t think she knows about the ANJE.” He paused, then smirked faintly. “Also, I forgot to mention she left me a note on the counter.”

Megan gave him a look. “So what did she say?”

“Well, not much,” he said with a shrug. “It just said some rule about when to come into the house. I think that’s also her way of saying don’t talk to me unless I call you.”

Megan laughed softly despite herself. “Oh Jesus. Well, I guess that’s to be expected.”

The laughter faded, replaced by a quieter kind of silence — the kind that lingered between words too heavy to speak. Megan’s gaze drifted toward the window again, where the stars glimmered faintly over the empty streets.

“Tomorrow’s the day,” she said finally.

Hunter nodded slowly. “Yeah. Tomorrow it starts.”

They both fell silent. The hum of the overhead lights suddenly felt louder, more oppressive. Megan’s fingers tightened around her cup, her reflection faintly visible in the glass. “You ever think about what happens if it doesn’t go right?” she asked softly.

Hunter looked at her — really looked at her. The worry in her eyes, the exhaustion in the set of her shoulders. “Hey,” he said gently. “Don’t go there. We’ve all come too far. We’ll be careful. And no matter what happens, I’m not backing out.”

She turned her head toward him, meeting his gaze. “You really mean that?”

“I’m here,” he said simply. “All the way through.”

For a long moment, neither of them said anything. The air between them shifted — not awkward, but electric in a quiet, unspoken way.

Megan leaned forward slightly, resting her chin on her hand. “You’ve changed, you know,” she said with a faint smile.

“Changed?” Hunter raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” she said. “You used to be more of a meat head. Now you’re all… mysterious and noble.”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guess the disguise rubbed off.”

“Maybe,” she said softly. “Or maybe you just grew up.”

Hunter looked away for a second, smiling faintly. “You make it sound like that’s a bad thing.”

“It’s not,” Megan said. “It suits you.”

The quiet stretched again. Outside, a car passed by, its headlights cutting across the window for a split second before vanishing down the road.

Then, without really thinking about it, Megan gestured for him to come closer.

Hunter blinked, confused but obeyed, leaning forward over the table. “What is it?”

Megan smiled — soft, tired, and real. “This,” she said.

And before he could respond, she leaned across the small gap and kissed him. It was a little quick, but also gentle, lingering just long enough to make his heart stumble in his chest. When she pulled away, he sat there blinking, his face flushing red.

“Wh–what was that for?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Megan leaned back, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “Because tomorrow’s going to be chaos,” she said. “And I thought we should enjoy tonight.”

Hunter laughed nervously, running a hand through his hair. “Well… yeah, that works.”

She smiled at him again — that quiet, knowing kind of smile that said everything she didn’t have to.

They stayed there for a while longer, talking about nothing and everything — childhood and teenage memories, stupid jokes, even what kind of future they’d have if life was flawless. Outside, the stars shone faintly above the golden arches, indifferent to the plans, the fear, the love that filled that small booth.

Eventually, Hunter stood, stretching. “We should get back,” he said.

“Yeah,” Megan said softly. “Tomorrow’s a big day.”

They walked out together into the cool night air. The city lights shimmered off the pavement, and for a brief, fleeting moment, it almost felt peaceful. Megan looked up at the stars one last time before they got in the car — a silent reminder of everything they’d lost, and everything they were still fighting for.

As the engine started and the headlights cut through the dark, the world felt suspended — like the breath before a storm.

Tomorrow would bring everything. But for tonight, under the quiet hum of the stars and streetlights, they were just Megan and Hunter. Two people trying to find light in the shadows.

Nicole had woken up late, sunlight spilling across the floorboards like a quiet apology for another sleepless night. She stared at the ceiling for a while, tracing the tiny cracks in the plaster with her eyes — like constellations drawn by someone who’d lost interest halfway through. The air felt still, too still.

She rolled over, checked her phone. No new messages. No calls. Nothing from Jecka. Nothing from Emily.

Good.

She needed the quiet today.

Another day off, she decided. Another day to watch. To listen. To make sure the new “gardener” wasn’t more than he claimed to be.

Tucker.

Nicole had been telling herself since last week that he was just some random guy that Olivia recommended. He was polite, unremarkable, maybe a little too careful with his words. But something about him didn’t sit right. The way he moved, the way his face looked. Something didn’t add up.

She couldn’t place it, but somewhere in the back of her mind, his face was uncanny. It all just echoed déjà vu.

Maybe she’d seen him before. Maybe not. Maybe she was just being paranoid.

Nicole sat up and stretched, letting the blanket fall to her waist. Her bedroom window was cracked open, and the faint scent of cut grass drifted through — that sharp, earthy smell that told her Tucker had already started working. She walked over and peeked through the blinds.

There he was. Same navy work shirt, same calm movements, same irritatingly composed posture. She watched him for a while, chin resting on her hand.

Maybe she was overthinking it. He was doing his job, after all.

Still…

Nicole sighed and turned away. “I hate when I can’t tell if I’m being smart or crazy,” she muttered under her breath.

A knock at the door frame made her glance up.

Olivia stood there — small, quiet, almost invisible as usual. Her blonded hair was a little messy, like she’d been working all morning. “Do you want something to drink?” she asked softly.

Nicole rubbed her forehead. “Yeah, actually. I’m thirsty.” She stood up, brushing off her pajama shorts. “I’ll just get it myself.”

Olivia nodded and stepped aside as Nicole walked past her. The stairs creaked beneath her bare feet — the sound echoing faintly through the still house.

The living room was quiet, save for the soft hum of the fridge and the faint buzz of cicadas outside. Nicole made her way to the kitchen — only to stop short.

On the counter sat a glass of water. Clear, cold, condensation beading along the sides.

She looked puzzled.

“I guess she poured it anyway,” Nicole murmured, half amused. She picked it up, the chill seeping into her palm, and took a sip. Cold, crisp, clean.

The kind of simple refreshment that felt grounding.

Except… something about it felt too grounding — like the moment you exhale too deeply and realize you can’t quite breathe back in.

She took another sip anyway, then set the glass down and leaned against the counter, tapping her nails absentmindedly. Her reflection in the stainless-steel toaster stared back at her — eyes a little unfocused, a little tired.

She told herself to stop worrying.

You’re fine. It’s just stress.

Still, a faint unease started to bloom in her chest, curling slow and thick, like fog.

Nicole sat down at the kitchen table, her elbow propped against the wood. The ticking of the wall clock started to sound louder. She tried to think about something else — anything else — but her thoughts scattered, slippery and disjointed.

Tuckers’s face flashed in her mind again.

Then Jecka and Emily’s.

Olivia’s voice from the hallway.

The glass of water.

Her eyelids felt heavy.

She blinked hard, trying to focus, but her surroundings were beginning to blur at the edges. The colors seemed to dim, the lines of the world softening like wet paint.

“Okay, that’s weird…” she muttered, pressing her fingers to her temple. “What the hell’s wrong with—”

“Nicole?”

The voice startled her.

She looked up to see Oliva walking down the stairs, holding a phone in her hand. “Are you okay?” she asked, her tone careful, almost rehearsed. “You look… pale.”

Nicole blinked slowly, her head swimming. “I’m fine,” she slurred slightly, though even she didn’t believe it. “Just… tired.”

Olivia set the phone down on the counter, glancing at her with a faint crease of concern between her brows. “You’ve been working too hard,” she said gently. “You should rest even more, I mean it is your day off.”

Nicole tried to focus on her, but Olivia’s words sounded distant — like they were being spoken underwater. Her heartbeat thudded in her ears, slow and muffled.

“Yeah,” Nicole murmured, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Maybe you’re right…”

She leaned back in the chair, her body feeling strangely disconnected from itself.

Ari kept talking — about something trivial, something that Nicole couldn’t quite follow. The sound of her voice faded in and out, like a dying radio signal.

The room swayed slightly, the clock’s ticking now impossibly loud.

Nicole tried to lift her hand, but it felt heavy, unresponsive.

A wave of warmth spread through her chest, followed by a dizzy stillness that almost felt comforting. Her head tilted back. Her breathing slowed.

Olivia’s voice was still there — quiet, faintly echoing — but the words didn’t make sense anymore.

Nicole’s eyes fluttered once.

Then again.

“Just… gonna close my eyes,” she mumbled weakly, her lips barely moving.

Her last conscious thought was that the world had gone strangely soft.

And then

It was lights out.

The day felt like it had stretched on forever — the heat hanging heavy in the air, thick with the scent of cut grass and damp earth. By the time Hunter pulled the last stubborn weed from the flower bed, his gloves were streaked with soil and sweat clung to the back of his neck. He wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his hoodie, squinting at the fading sky. The mansion loomed quietly behind him, its windows glinting with late-afternoon light like a set of watching eyes.

It was quiet. Too quiet.

He tossed the handful of weeds into the bin, exhaled, and turned toward the house. That was when he heard a faint call from inside.

Ari’s voice.

“Tucker,” she hissed through the open door, her tone sharp but low. “Come inside. Now.”

He froze for only a second before dropping his tools and hurrying up the path, brushing the dirt from his hands as he went. The door creaked softly when he pushed it open, and the air inside felt strangely still, almost thick — the kind of stillness that settles just after something irreversible happens.

Nicole.

Now slumped in the living room chair, head tilted slightly, her dark hair falling forward like a curtain. The half-empty glass of water sat on the table beside her, condensation still running down its side. Her breathing was shallow but steady — her face relaxed in a way that didn’t belong to someone like her.

Hunter blinked, swallowing down the jolt of adrenaline that rushed up his spine.

“So,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I see the pills worked.”

Ari stood a few feet away, arms crossed but hands trembling slightly. She nodded. “They did.” Her voice was calm, but her eyes, that glow of confidence, was shining in her pupils. It carried a flicker of unease beneath the surface. “Remember to put your gloves on.”

He slipped them on without a word. The leather fit snugly, the faint scent of rubber and dirt clinging to his fingers.

Ari reached into her pocket, pulled out a small ring of two keys, and tossed one of them to him. They clattered softly in his hand.

“The basement key’s the small silver one,” she said.

Hunter nodded once, but before he could say anything, she unclipped the walkie-talkie from her belt and brought it to her lips. The static crackled to life, sharp and brief.

“This is Ari,” she said, keeping her voice low but steady. “Nicole’s knocked out. I repeat Nicole is down.”

There was a brief pause before Karen’s voice answered, filtered through a faint buzz of static. “Copy that. Is the house clear?”

“Clear,” Ari replied, glancing toward the living room. “No movement. Emily and Jecka are not he.”

“Good. And the footage?”

Hunter stepped closer, listening.

Karen’s tone shifted — brisk, all business. “We’ve confirmed the loop is holding. The cameras will replay the same two hours on repeat, No one will see the footage of you drugging her, so don’t worry. However, it won’t last forever. Right now you’ve got maybe an hour, before the system catches on.”

Ari’s gaze flicked to Hunter. “Understood. We’ll move fast.”

“Be careful,” Karen said. “And remember — if something goes wrong, you pull out. No hesitation.”

Ari didn’t reply right away. She looked at Nicole again, her chest rising and falling gently in unconscious rhythm, then back at the walkie-talkie.

“Got it,” she said finally.

The line went quiet.

Hunter exhaled, the tension that had been building in his shoulders easing just slightly. “You know,” he said softly, a faint grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, “I kind of like this version of you.”

Ari blinked. “What version?”

“The confident one,” he said. “The one who doesn’t shake every time things get heavy.”

For a brief moment, the faintest smile crossed her face. “Well,” she said, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek, “I guess that’s thanks to you.”

Hunter shrugged lightly. “Nah. You had it in you. I just reminded you.”

Ari met his eyes for a beat longer than expected a look that carried gratitude, nerves, and something quieter beneath it. Then she turned and started up the stairs, her footsteps careful and quick.

“Let’s split up,” she said over her shoulder. “You handle the basement. I’ll double-check upstairs — make sure we’re really alone.”

“Got it.” Hunter gave a small nod before glancing back at Nicole one last time.

Even unconscious, she seemed powerful — like a shadow that refused to disappear even in the light.

He tightened his gloves and turned toward the hallway. The air felt colder now, the hum of the refrigerator louder, every sound magnified.

Ari reached the top of the stairs and disappeared into the hall. Hunter crouched down, found the door to the basement, and slid the silver key into the lock.

It turned with a quiet click.

From above, the faint creak of floorboards followed Ari’s movements. From below, the basement seemed to breathe — a slow, stale exhale that met him as he opened the door.

The plan was in motion.

And in the heavy silence that followed, neither of them said what they were both thinking:

It’s all on us now.

The second floor of Nicole’s mansion was quiet. Every quick footstep Ari took was muffled by the thick Persian carpet that stretched across the hall, its red and gold threads catching the dim light from the chandelier above. The air was faintly perfumed with lavender and something more sterile underneath — the lingering scent of expensive cleaning supplies and control.

Nicole’s office door stood at the end of the hall, painted a muted gray that matched the rest of the mansion’s modern decor. Ari paused in front of it, heart pounding, her hand tightening around the small silver key she’d taken from Nicole’s pocket. She drew in a slow breath, pressed the key into the lock, and turned.

The latch clicked.

She slipped inside, closing the door softly behind her.

The office was… normal. Almost disappointingly so. A sleek black desk sat against the far wall, flanked by tall bookshelves filled with legal texts, business manuals, and a few framed photos that looked too curated to be genuine. A computer hummed quietly on the desk — its monitor asleep — and the faint smell of cigarette smoke lingered near the open window.

Ari’s eyes moved across the room, every instinct screaming not to trust what she saw. Nicole wasn’t the kind of person to leave anything important lying around.

She started with the desk.

The drawers were neatly arranged — too neatly. Pens aligned perfectly, folders labeled in tight block handwriting, every surface wiped spotless. She found receipts, some vague legal documents, and a few travel itineraries, but nothing incriminating.

“Come on,” Ari whispered to herself. “There has to be something…”

She remembered Karen’s words: ‘If she’s as careful as I think she is, look for something that’s not meant to be found. Hidden compartments, false bottoms — anything that doesn’t belong.’

So Ari crouched down.

She ran her hands along the underside of the desk, feeling for seams or irregular shapes. Her fingers brushed against smooth wood, then something slightly uneven — a thin ridge that didn’t match the rest. Her pulse quickened.

She pressed it.

A faint click echoed beneath the desk. A small panel shifted, revealing a narrow compartment tucked just above where someone’s knees would be if they were sitting. Inside, sealed in a plastic sleeve, was a single dark-blue folder.

Ari’s breath hitched.

She pulled it out, careful not to disturb anything else, and opened it.

The papers inside were filled with transaction records, transfer confirmations, and digital wallet IDs — all meticulously documented. Bitcoin movements in the hundreds of thousands, all traced back to shell companies and fake accounts. It was all there in black and white — evidence of a massive Ponzi scheme, wrapped in layers of fake investment fronts.

Her eyes widened as she flipped through the pages.

At the bottom of the final sheet was a handwritten note, the letters sharp and deliberate:

“Ensure this record is reviewed only for clarity. Burn immediately after the operation concludes.”

Ari stared at the words, her stomach turning cold.

She’s laundering money. She’s actually laundering money.

She quickly closed the folder, slid it back into the compartment, and pressed the panel shut until it clicked. Her pulse thundered in her ears. She pulled her phone halfway from her pocket, tempted to snap a photo, but thought better of it — not with Nicole’s surveillance tech everywhere.

As she straightened up, she took a long, shaky breath, trying to calm the racing in her chest. She needed to get this information back to Karen. It was proof — the kind they’d been praying for.

She then took pictures of all these documents.

But then.

A sound.

A muffled, sharp noise from somewhere below her.

Ari froze.

It came again — faint but distinct. A thud followed by what might’ve been a muffled shout. Her blood went cold. The basement.

“Hunter…” she whispered.

She hesitated at the door, every rational part of her screaming to call Karen, to wait — but the sound came again, louder this time, more desperate. She clenched her jaw, heart pounding against her ribs.

Then she moved.

Her footsteps were soft but quick as she descended the staircase, every shadow suddenly feeling thicker, every corner darker. The air grew cooler the farther she went, the sound of her own breathing filling the silence.

At the bottom of the stairs, the basement door was cracked open. A dim orange light spilled out through the gap, flickering slightly.

Ari swallowed hard, pushing the door wider.

“Hunter?” she whispered into the dark.

No response. Only the faint hum of the house above and the whisper of the old pipes in the walls. She took another cautious step forward, gripping the banister to steady herself.

Somewhere in that darkness, she knew — something had gone wrong.

And as the silence stretched on, the last thing Ari felt before she crossed the threshold was a chill that told her — they weren’t alone down there anymore.

The last of the weeds fell limp beneath Hunter’s gloved hands, their roots snapping with a dull tug that echoed faintly in the quiet yard. He wiped a sleeve across his brow, exhaling slowly as the chill of the early afternoon rolled through the garden. The air smelled of soil and iron—freshly turned earth and something older, stale. Something buried.

When the last patch was cleared, Ari’s voice came faintly from the back door.
“Hunter! Come down to the basement!”

Her tone wasn’t panicked, but it wasn’t casual either. Hunter brushed the dirt from his jeans and made his way inside, the old screen door creaking shut behind him.

The basement stairs groaned under his boots as he descended. The deeper he went, the cooler it became, the faint scent of mildew and dust growing thicker. The basement itself was dimly lit—one naked bulb hanging from a frayed cord above, its yellow light spilling over the cracked concrete floor. Rusted pipes lined the walls like veins, sweating condensation. Cardboard boxes, some torn and sunken with damp, were stacked along the corners, marked with labels faded from years of neglect.

At first glance, it was ordinary—too ordinary. Hunter scanned the shelves, the broken tools, the water heater rumbling in the far corner. Nothing stood out. But Karen’s voice echoed in his head: “Don’t just look. Think. Hidden things are never in plain sight.”

He started searching the obscure spots, the space behind the pipes, beneath the workbench, even inside the vents. Nothing. Not even a scrap of paper out of place. Then his gaze drifted toward the mirror mounted crookedly on the far wall, half-covered in dust. It seemed out of place down here, a lone piece of glass surrounded by decay.

On a hunch, he stepped closer. His reflection was faint, distorted by grime. He reached out, fingers brushing the cool surface—and heard a click. The mirror shifted slightly inward, like it was on a hinge. Heart pounding, Hunter pulled the edge and the mirror swung open, revealing a narrow doorway carved into the wall.

Behind it, a dim room waited.

He stepped through. The smell changed instantly—less musty, more metallic. The room was small, maybe ten by twelve feet, and lit by a soft blue glow from a pair of computer screens still humming quietly. There was a bed tucked into one corner, its sheets wrinkled but clean, and beside it, a desk scattered with papers and half-burned candles. One wall was covered with security monitors showing different angles of the house—the living room, the back yard, even the basement stairs.

Hunter’s breath caught in his throat. Nicole’s been watching everything.

On the desk sat a black notebook, perfectly centered. Its cover was smooth and leathery, with one title written in silver ink: DEATH NOTE.

Curiosity prickled his skin. He picked it up carefully and opened it.

At first, it was just a list of names—dozens of them, handwritten in clean, deliberate strokes. Each name followed by a date, a time, a cause. He flipped further, brow furrowed. Then, suddenly, the pages trembled under his fingers. A ripple of air passed over the room.

Something moved.

From behind him, a sound—a low, distorted breath. Hunter turned sharply, and there it was.

A creature loomed in the far corner, tall and gray-skinned, its limbs thin and angular like they’d been carved from bone. Its eyes glowed faint yellow, and black feathers drifted from its shoulders as it tilted its head to study him. The grin that spread across its face was too wide to be human.

Hunter stumbled back with a shout.
“Jesus—what the hell are you!?”

The thing chuckled, voice deep and echoing like a cave wind.
“Relax, human. I’m not here to hurt you.” It stretched its wings lazily, letting a few feathers fall to the floor. “Name’s Arma. Shinigami. Death god, if you prefer.”

Hunter just stared, pulse racing, the notebook trembling in his hands.

Ari’s footsteps came pounding down the stairs, and she burst into the room.
“Hunter! What happened?”

Hunter pointed toward the corner, but when Ari looked—nothing. The creature was still there, but only he could see it.

Ari frowned, noticing the book in his grip. “What’s that?”

Before he could stop her, she reached for it. As soon as her fingers brushed the cover, Arma’s grin widened.
“Oh… so now you can see me.”

Ari froze, eyes widening as the shinigami came into focus—its towering figure now impossible to ignore. Her throat tightened, and her first breath came out shaky, almost a whisper.
“W–what… are you?”

“Turn around,” Arma said softly, almost kindly. “Don’t be afraid.”

Ari obeyed, spinning slowly—and immediately went still, her face draining of color.

Arma lifted a clawed hand in a gesture of peace. “Don’t scream. I’m not here to harm either of you. You have my word.”

Ari’s voice came out small. “Then what are you doing here?”

“I’m here because of that,” Arma said, pointing at the notebook. “It’s mine. I dropped it in your world. Whoever holds it can kill anyone they choose—so long as they know their face and their name. They simply write it down, and that person’s heart attack, or any other way if they wish to choose.”

The words hung heavy in the air.

Hunter swallowed hard. “So… Nicole’s been using this?”

Arma’s grin thinned. “You’re quick. Yes. She’s been very creative with it. Clever, too—hiding her tracks with digital trails, fake investments. And those two names she wrote years ago…”

Hunter’s stomach dropped. “Megan’s and Kelly’s fathers.”

Arma nodded slowly. “Both of them. Perfect handwriting, perfect timing. She even laughed while writing the second one.”

For a moment, no one spoke. The hum of the monitors filled the silence like a pulse.

Hunter set the notebook down, his hands shaking. The guilt hit him like a punch to the chest. All this time, all that grief Megan carried—he’d thought it could just be misfortune, cruel coincidence. Now it was murder. But he wasn’t there for her.

Ari finally took out the walkie-talkie from her pocket, her fingers trembling as she pressed the button.
“Karen… You’re not gonna believe this.”

And in the corner, Arma watched them both, her glowing eyes soft with something unreadable—almost pity.

The car had been sitting idle for more than an hour, its engine was turned off as to not look suspicious. The late noon sun had shined bright, spilling a tired white light across the rows of houses. Inside the car, Megan sat in the driver’s seat, her hand tapping the steering wheel to a rhythm only she could hear. Karen sat in the passenger seat, scanning through a set of printed maps and camera feeds on her tablet, while Kelly reclined in the backseat, chewing on her fingernail, her nerves too sharp to sit still, as she acted as the lookout.

The air smelled faintly of gasoline and old coffee—the kind that had been reheated too many times. Every minute stretched longer than the last.

“Any word from them?” Kelly asked, her voice low.

Karen glanced at the walkie-talkie sitting in the cup holder. “Not yet. They’re probably just being thorough. Ari’s good at keeping her cool.”

Megan wasn’t so sure. She kept her eyes on the live feed from the tiny drone camera perched near Nicole’s fence. The house looked calm. No movement. No sign of anything wrong. Still, something about the silence gnawed at her.

Then, the radio crackled to life.

Ari’s voice came through, uneven and breathless. “Karen… you’re not gonna believe this.”

Karen snatched the walkie-talkie immediately. “What’s wrong? What did you find?”

A beat of static. Then Ari replied, her tone hushed but shaking with disbelief.
“We found some kind of creature in Nicole’s basement.”

Kelly sat up straight. “What do you mean, creature?”

“I’m serious,” Ari continued. “It’s tall—gray skin, wings—like something out of a nightmare. It calls itself a Shinigami. Says its name is Arma. And… we found this book. It’s called the Death Note. Supposedly, it can kill anyone if you write their name in it… as long as you know what they look like.”

The car fell into total silence. Even the sound of the engine felt distant.

Megan turned to Karen slowly, her expression pale. “Are you serious.”

“She’s telling the truth Megan, in fact I’m the one who found it,” Hunter said earnestly.

Before anyone could speak again, another voice came through the radio—deep, echoing, almost inhuman.
“Don’t call me the creature. My name is Arma.”

Megan Froze, her heart stopped mid-beat. She grabbed the walkie-talkie from Karen’s hand. “Arma? You can hear me?”

Karen looked over, confused. “Who are you talking to?”

Megan’s voice was shaking now. “That voice, didn’t you hear it?”

Kelly blinked, wide-eyed. “I didn’t hear anything.”

Arma’s voice came through again, calm and deliberate. “Ah. You must be Megan. The one whose father Nicole killed.”

Megan’s throat tightened. The world seemed to narrow to the static hiss of the radio.
“So we’re not crazy, then?” she whispered. “Nicole killed my dad. And Kelly’s as well?”

“Yes,” Arma said simply. “She wrote their names in the Death Note. I watched it happen. You’re father died of from getting shot in the heart, and the other one’s died from hanging himself.”

The words sank into Megan’s chest like stones. Her fingers trembled around the walkie-talkie. For a second, she couldn’t even breathe. Kelly reached forward, gripping her shoulder from the backseat.

“Megan,” she said softly. “Hey, breathe. Please.”

But Megan wasn’t listening. She forced herself to focus, to keep her voice steady. “Then why can I hear you? And not them?”

“Because,” Arma replied, “only those who have touched the Death Note can see or hear me. The others remain blind and deaf to my presence.”

Megan swallowed hard. “Then tell Hunter and Ari to come back to the car. We’re done here.”

A pause. Then Ari’s voice cut in again, her nerves audible. “Alright put the keys where you got them, Wait for Nicole to wake up like nothing happened, and when you get the chance leave. Remember to bring the death note and pictures.”

The car went quiet again. The tension was suffocating, every tick of the clock in the dashboard sounding louder than it should. Megan leaned back, clutching the walkie-talkie tightly, her eyes flicking to the window every few seconds.

That’s when Kelly stiffened.

Her gaze had drifted toward the house, and her eyes went wide with horror. “Oh my god…” she whispered.

Megan turned sharply. “What?”

Kelly’s hand shot out, pointing toward the house. “She’s here.”

Karen followed her gaze and felt the blood drain from her face.

Walking slowly up Nicole’s front steps, her head bowed slightly, was Emily. Her hair hung in a wild, tangled mess around her face, her clothes torn and stained. She moved with a strange calmness, her steps too deliberate, too heavy.

Kelly fumbled for the walkie-talkie, her hand trembling. “Ari! Hunter! Get out of the house now!”

Static. Then Ari’s voice, confused. “What? Why?”

“Emily’s here!” Kelly screamed. “Get out! Now!”

Megan and Karen both stared at the house, hearts pounding, as Emily reached the front door.

The floorboards creaked softly as Ari and Hunter made their way up the narrow staircase, every step echoing louder than it should have. The air was heavy—thick with dust and the scent of cleaning chemicals Ari had used earlier that morning. Their hearts pounded in sync, every sound amplified by fear and anticipation.

As they reached the top of the stairs, Hunter raised a hand, signaling Ari to stop.

That’s when they heard it.

The front door opened with a drawn-out creak, followed by a familiar voice.

“Hello?” Emily’s voice floated through the hall, calm at first. “Nicole?”

Ari froze. Her pulse raced so fast it felt like the walls themselves were vibrating with it. She looked over her shoulder at Hunter, who mouthed one word—hide.

But there was nowhere to go. The hall was narrow, lined only with paintings and old photographs.

Emily’s boots tapped lightly across the hardwood floor. “Nicoooole…” she called again, in that singsong tone that managed to sound both mocking and concerned.

There was no response.

Then came the sound of a gasp—Emily had found her.

“Nicole? Hey, wake up.” Her voice trembled slightly now. “Come on, this isn’t funny.”

Ari glanced at Hunter. They shared a silent, desperate look.

Now or never.

If they could just slip out before Emily turned around—

Ari took a careful step back, then another. But on the third, her sneaker betrayed her—one soft, treacherous squeak against the polished floor.

The sound shattered the fragile quiet.

Emily’s voice snapped sharp and cold. “Who’s fucking there?”

Hunter’s jaw tightened. He stepped forward, his hands half-raised. “It’s us— Oliva and Tucker. Nicole wanted us to.”

“To what?” Emily’s eyes darted between them as she stepped closer into view, for them to see their worst nightmare in this situation. Her expression twisted as she noticed the black notebook in Hunter’s hand. “Why were you down there, and what is that?”

Ari’s mouth opened, but the words wouldn’t come.

Emily tilted her head. “That’s what you came up here for, isn’t it?” Her tone was low now, controlled—but her eyes glinted with wild suspicion. “You’re lying. I can hear it in your voices.”

“Emily” Ari began, but the other girl cut her off.

“You think you’re scared right now?” Emily’s lips curled into something between a grin and a snarl. “Then let me show you what real fear looks like.”

From inside her jacket, Emily quickly drew a pistol, turned off the safety, and leveled it at them with frightening steadiness.

The room went silent—so silent that Ari could hear the hum of the refrigerator down the hall.

“Street life teaches you things,” Emily said softly, her finger resting on the trigger. “Teaches you what to do when someone’s trying to screw you over. So, let’s start simple. What are you after?”

Hunter raised a trembling hand and gestured toward the Death Note. “That. We were… trying to keep it safe.”

“Yeah?” Emily said, her tone dripping with disbelief. “Then toss it over here.”

Hunter hesitated, but one glare from Emily’s gun was enough. He slid the notebook across the floor; it came to rest at her feet with a dull slap. Emily crouched, picked it up, and set it carefully on the kitchen counter behind her.

“Good,” she said. “Now your phones.”

Ari’s throat went dry. “Emily, come on.”

“I’m not asking again.” She raised the pistol slightly.

They exchanged a helpless glance and slowly slid their phones across the tile. Emily snatched them up, scrolling through with frightening precision, checking up to let them know not to try anything. A tense silence filled the air as her eyes flicked back and forth across the screens.

Then she stopped.

“Well, what do we have here?” she said darkly. “Pictures of Nicole’s files. That’s pretty interesting, Olivia.”

Ari’s stomach dropped.

Emily’s brow furrowed as she checked the contact names. “Olivia Brody” and “Tucker Williams.” She gave a humorless laugh. “So those are your real names. Not to bright”

She tossed Hunter’s phone onto the counter beside the notebook, then reached into her back pocket and pulled out a switch knife. With two smooth motion, she drove the blade down through both phones, cracking glass and metal in a single, shattering sound.

Ari flinched as shards skittered across the floor. Those pictures were everything.

Emily turned back toward them, her face half-shadowed by the dim kitchen light. “You two really thought you could play spy in this house? Cute.” She cocked the gun again, raising it level with their chests. “Now tell me who you’re working for or it’s time for you to meet the Grim Reaper.”

Ari felt her body go rigid. She couldn’t even blink. Hunter’s hand twitched at his side, but he didn’t dare move.

Then they heard it

A small creak.

It came from behind Emily, near the door behind her.

Her eyes narrowed. “What the.”

Before she could turn, the door burst open with a deafening bang!

Kelly stormed in, her hair wild, eyes blazing, a length of metal pipe clutched in both her gloved hands. She didn’t hesitate—she swung with all her strength.

CRACK!

The pipe connected with the side of Emily’s head. The impact echoed through the room like a gunshot. Emily stumbled, eyes wide, before collapsing to the floor in a heap. The pistol skidded across the tile and slipped deep under a nearby couch.

A calm began to fill the room as Emily’s body laid on the floor, looking completely unconscious. Kelly began to walk towards the two. “Ok everybody let’s go.”

The moment Kelly finished her sentence, a faint click could be heard, and sharp pain slid down her leg. She reacted to her wound with a shout and a stumble. As she turned to gaze behind her, she could see Emily rising from the floor and leaping onto her with a knife. The tackle and dive that Kelly took caused the pipe to slip out of her hands.

Hunter attempted to intervene, which only resulted in a slash and a few stabs into his chest. He fell to the floor with a painful slam and was incapacitated. Kelly used this opportunity to throw Emily off her. Afterwards, Kelly attempted to get off the floor and regain her composure, but this ultimately failed, as Emily lunged at her like a wild animal. The struggle on the floor that came after was nothing but pure insanity and survival instinct. Shouts of chaos echoed through the halls as both women attempted to get the upper hand on each other.

Finally, Emily had completely pinned Kelly to the ground, exactly where she wanted her. Two slashes to Kelly’s cheeks came after, and with a wicked grin Emily reversed the grip of her knife. The blade was facing downwards like an ice pick. As Kelly watched Emily raise the knife up, she could only think of one thing. Is this really the end.

Suddenly, Emily stopped and her eyes widened. She began shaking and breathing heavily as she dropped the knife. Emily held her chest while she struggled to scream. She fell off Kelly and rolled on the ground as she clenched her breast. Then she lurched on her back and Laid there lifeless.

After feeling stunted that she survived, Kelly then looked around the room to find Ari, only to see her slump over on the floor with the death note laying out in her hand. The page clearly said Emily Koch, 5 seconds.

Ari had a look of shock and melancholy as she stared at the corpse of Emily.

Kelly quickly ran up to Ari. “Baby listen to me. Grab Hunter we got to go now.”

After they quickly grabbed the pipe and gun, they lifted Hunter up, ran through the hall, out the door, down the steps, hearts pounding like war drums.

The day's air hit them cold and sharp.

Hunter and Ari jumped into their car, Kelly right behind them. The engines roared to life as the tires screeched against the asphalt. In the rearview mirror, Nicole’s house grew smaller—its windows dark, one of them cracked from the inside.

Inside the car, no one spoke. The only sounds were their ragged breathing and the rhythmic slap of the wipers against the windshield.

Ari clutched the death note in her lap, her hands trembling. Hunter drove like a man possessed, his jaw set. Kelly stared out the window, blood still dripping from the end of the pipe.

Finally, Megan’s voice came through the radio—tight, urgent. “What happened?”

Ari closed her eyes, swallowing hard. “Just drive,” she whispered.

But deep down, she couldn’t shake the thought that things were going to get worse.

One hundred percent.