The air in the exam hall was sharp with the scent of tension—papers rustling like whispers, the occasional scratch of a pen punctuating the silence. But beneath that calm surface, a storm churned. Lottie felt it humming in her chest, a subtle current of energy as the final moments of the exam ticked away. She kept her head bowed, pen gliding across the paper, though her ears tuned in to every hushed whisper, every shift of weight in a chair.
At the front, a teacher's voice sliced through the quiet. "Evelyn Hayes. Office. Now."
A ripple ran through the room. Heads turned, eyes wide and darting. Evelyn rose with the grace of someone trained for the stage, but Lottie caught the tremor in her fingers, the tightness around her eyes. Evelyn's smile, so meticulously crafted, flickered for just a second—then hardened like glass.
Amy sprang from her seat, clutching her bag like a lifeline as she hovered near Evelyn's side. "Do you want me to come with—?"
"No." Evelyn's voice was velvet over steel. "Stay here." Her gaze flicked—cold, calculating—toward Lottie, then softened into something almost pitiful as she turned away, a masterful shift of expression that might've won sympathy from anyone less perceptive.
Lottie kept her posture relaxed, her pen poised above her paper as though she hadn't noticed the way Evelyn's trusted ally was being led away by sharp-eyed teachers, nor the way the room's atmosphere thickened with unspoken questions. But inwardly, she was a live wire, every nerve attuned to the unraveling. She could feel the weight of the glances, the subtle shift of gazes brushing against her like fingertips, hesitant, curious, beginning to question.
Beside her, Leo slouched in his chair, one leg hooked over the other. His grin was a lazy cut across his face as he murmured under his breath, "Well, that's a first."
"Focus on your paper," Lottie whispered, a faint smile ghosting her lips. Her heart, despite the calm, was drumming against her ribs, a steady, unrelenting beat. She could feel a bead of sweat tracing the curve of her back beneath her blouse, cool and electric.
Leo tapped his pencil against his knee. "I'd say I'm multitasking beautifully."
As Evelyn's ally—Matthew—was escorted out, the teachers' sharp whispers mingled with the students' murmurs. Amy's eyes flicked wildly between Evelyn's retreating figure and Lottie's still form, her face pale, lips parted as if on the verge of calling out.
Lottie didn't look up. Her fingers traced a slow, deliberate line across the final answer, a steady breath easing from her lungs. Every piece was falling into place. She could almost hear the gears grinding behind Evelyn's mask, the desperate recalibrations, the panic licking at the edges of her control.
The scrape of Matthew's chair leaving his desk was louder than it needed to be, a jarring noise that drew more stares. His shoes scuffed faintly against the floor, and as he passed Lottie, she caught the faintest quiver in his jaw, the way his hand twitched at his side. She could smell the faint, acrid tang of his nervous sweat as it clung to the air between them.
"Hey," Leo drawled softly, leaning just close enough for his breath to stir the edge of her hair, "you're enjoying this."
Lottie's smile was a mere flicker. "Just finishing what I started." Yet beneath the words, a thrum of satisfaction pulsed in her chest, mingled with the sharp edge of caution. She could almost taste the electricity in the room, the way the tension curled around her shoulders, the way every movement seemed sharper, brighter, more alive.
Outside the exam hall, footsteps echoed sharp against the marble. The principal's voice rose—cool, clipped, cutting through the hush like a blade. "I expect full cooperation."
Inside, tension coiled tighter. Classmates shot each other furtive glances, their pencils slowing, their ears straining toward the door. Lottie caught the faintest murmur of her name mixed into the swirl of whispers. She let it roll over her like water over stone, her gaze steady on her paper, the tip of her pen hovering just above the page.
When the final bell rang, the room erupted—chairs scraping, papers shuffling, voices rising like a breaking wave. Lottie rose unhurriedly, smoothing her skirt, her movements precise, unhurried. Her fingers brushed lightly over the edge of the desk, feeling the cool, polished surface beneath her palm, anchoring herself as a thrill ran beneath her skin.
Leo stretched with a low groan, arms arching overhead as his spine cracked audibly. "And here I thought exams were boring," he murmured, his smirk lazy but his eyes sharp. He fell into step beside her as they made their way toward the door, his shoulder brushing hers, his presence a solid weight at her side.
"She's going to come for you," Leo murmured, amusement sparking in his eyes. "Hard."
"She already did," Lottie replied softly. "She just didn't expect the ground to shift under her." The faintest hint of steel threaded through her voice, a quiet victory humming through her veins.
Amy darted past, nearly colliding with them, her face tight with panic. "Lottie, wait—" she blurted, her voice cracking slightly, then faltered, caught between loyalty and guilt. Her eyes were wide, rimmed red at the edges, and her fingers clutched the strap of her bag so tightly her knuckles blanched.
Lottie's gaze flicked over her, cool and unreadable. "Be careful, Amy. You're standing on a cracking floor."
Amy's breath hitched, her shoulders trembling faintly. Her lips parted, a soundless protest quivering on the edge of her tongue, but before she could answer, a sharp voice barked from down the hall.
"Amy! Here. Now."
Amy flinched, glancing back toward Evelyn, who stood stiff and regal by the principal's door, her arms crossed, a smile carved sharp across her lips—but her eyes were shards of ice, fixed on Lottie. The look was a spear, hurled across the corridor, a silent promise of war.
"I have to—" Amy stammered, voice thin and frayed. She spun on her heel and scurried away, her steps uneven, her breath a series of shallow gasps.
Leo let out a low whistle, his eyes following Amy's retreat. "Your fan club's looking shaky."
"She's not mine," Lottie murmured, her gaze steady, her pulse a soft drumbeat in her ears. "Not yet."
As they stepped into the corridor, Lottie's phone buzzed softly in her pocket, the vibration a faint tickle against her hip. She slipped it free, the cool glass slick beneath her fingers, and glanced at the screen. A single message blinked up at her: First victory claimed.
A rush of warmth surged up her spine, chased by a sharp edge of caution. She drew a slow, steadying breath, the cool air prickling against the inside of her throat, tempering the flicker of triumph with the familiar chill of vigilance.
Leo peered over her shoulder, his breath stirring the fine hairs at the nape of her neck. "From Mason?"
Lottie only smiled, a small, private curl of her lips, and tucked the phone away. "Keep your eyes open, Leo."
"Always," he murmured, that easy grin curving his mouth. But there was steel beneath it, the kind that didn't miss the way Evelyn's fists clenched white at her sides as she disappeared into the principal's office.
The hallway buzzed, a hive of whispers and darting glances. Lottie moved through it like a shadow, calm, composed, her steps unhurried. She could feel the shift, the eyes turning toward her not with suspicion—but with curiosity. Admiration. Fear. A breath of cold air drifted in from an open window at the end of the hall, lifting the fine strands of her hair, brushing cool fingers against her skin.
Behind her, Evelyn's world was cracking, the pristine image splintering under the weight of suspicion. And ahead?
Lottie felt it—a wide-open path, lined with both opportunity and danger.
As they reached the school gates, Leo stretched his arms overhead, casting her a sideways glance. "So. Victory lap or low profile?"
Lottie's lips curved, a quiet gleam in her eyes. "Low profile. For now." She smoothed a hand down her skirt, fingers brushing away invisible wrinkles, the simple gesture a tether, grounding her in the moment even as her mind raced ahead.
But as she turned to leave, Leo murmured, just under his breath, "Get ready for the spotlight."
For a heartbeat, Lottie stilled, the air sharp in her lungs, the pulse in her ears a steady drumbeat. She tilted her head, a whisper of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth, her eyes catching the pale winter sunlight slanting across the pavement.
"I'm always ready," she said softly.
And behind her, somewhere deep in the school's heart, Evelyn sat in a cold, narrow office, her fingers digging into her sleeves, her gaze fixed on the door as if she could will it closed—on the accusations, on the failure, on the unraveling grip she could no longer hold. The hum of voices leaked through the walls, the faint shuffle of papers, the clipped words of teachers threading through the hush like a slow-building storm.
Evelyn's throat worked as she swallowed, her breath tight in her chest. The chill of the room seeped through her blazer, settling cold and heavy against her skin. For the first time in a long while, the polished mask felt brittle, a glass pane spiderwebbed with cracks. And as she closed her eyes, for just a second, the faint, echoing sound of Lottie's laughter seemed to drift down the corridor, light as a thread of smoke, sharp as the point of a blade.
But Lottie was already gone, the storm at her back and the horizon ahead wide and waiting.