The school auditorium buzzed with restless energy, the air thick with anticipation as students crammed into every seat, phones held high to catch the start of the livestream. The smell of floor polish and overheated lights mingled in the space, giving the room an edge of raw, electric tension. Onstage, the glare of spotlights painted the polished floor in shards of white, the hum of audio equipment pulsing like a heartbeat through the room. Lottie Hayes stood just beyond the velvet curtain, fingers curled tightly around her cue cards, the faint tremor in her hand masked only by sheer force of will. She could feel the thin sheen of sweat gathering at her nape, sliding down between her shoulder blades, the sharp thud of her heart a counterpoint to the rising murmurs beyond the curtain.
Beside her, Leo adjusted the streaming console with swift precision, his expression cool but eyes sharp with mischief. His fingers danced over the controls, the faint clicking sound oddly soothing in the chaos. "Audience count's already pushing a hundred thousand," he murmured, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. His voice carried an edge of glee barely concealed beneath his smooth tone. "Evelyn's definitely watching." His gaze flicked toward Lottie, and the grin widened into something feral. "Ready to set the stage on fire?"
Lottie drew in a slow breath, smoothing the line of her blazer. The fabric rasped beneath her fingers, cool but slightly rough, grounding her in the moment. "It's not fire I'm bringing," she murmured, voice calm as steel. "It's light." Her throat felt tight, dry, but her voice held steady, and for a heartbeat, the coil of nerves in her chest loosened.
From the opposite wing, Mason emerged, his stance easy but eyes assessing, a phone tucked to his ear. He caught Lottie's gaze, offering a subtle nod, the smallest flicker of approval passing between them. "Everything's in place," he murmured under his breath before retreating to the shadows, the faint tap of his shoes fading as he moved.
Across the auditorium, Evelyn sat rigid in the front row, her flawless poise betraying nothing, but her knuckles whitened where they gripped the edge of her seat. Her nails dug crescents into her palms, the tendons in her neck tight as piano wires. Amy hovered a few rows back, phone clutched tight, eyes darting between Lottie and the restless crowd, her chest tight with a cocktail of guilt and adrenaline. She chewed her bottom lip, the metallic tang of nerves sharp on her tongue, her fingers trembling as she refreshed the media feed again and again.
The host's voice boomed through the speakers, sharp and sudden, slicing through the murmurs. "And now, the moment we've all been waiting for—the reopening of the classroom mystery livestream!"
A cheer erupted, the crowd surging forward like a single breath, and Lottie stepped into the light. The moment the spotlight hit her, it was as if the air thinned; the heat of the stage lights bit into her skin, the weight of hundreds of gazes pressing against her chest. For a heartbeat, everything slowed—the shimmer of camera lenses, the collective inhale of the room, Evelyn's frozen smile—and then the floodgates opened.
"Thank you for being here," Lottie began, her voice smooth, a calm current against the storm. Her fingers flexed slightly around the cue cards before she let them fall to her side, the paper whispering against her thigh. "Tonight isn't about spectacle. It's about truth."
Behind her, the first images flashed across the giant screen: footage from the incident months ago, grainy clips that had once been buried under gossip and denial. Leo's fingers flew over his console, splicing in the new evidence they'd unearthed—discreet messages, scheduling logs, a damning chain of coordination that pointed, unflinchingly, back to Evelyn.
A ripple tore through the crowd—gasps, whispered curses, the sharp intake of breath as realization crashed through the room. The weight of those sounds slammed into Lottie's chest, but instead of knocking her off balance, it steeled her spine. She let her gaze sweep over the crowd, lingering a fraction longer on the cluster of teachers at the side, their faces pale, eyes darting between the screen and Evelyn.
Evelyn's jaw clenched, a flicker of panic flashing across her features before she smoothed it into a brittle smile. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, the movement quick and sharp, and her foot tapped an erratic rhythm against the polished floor. "Pathetic," she muttered under her breath, but her eyes darted left, right—searching for an escape route that wasn't there.
Amy's fingers trembled around her phone as she fired off rapid updates to the media, her pulse thrumming in her ears. She could feel sweat prickling at the base of her neck, her mouth dry as she struggled to steady her breathing. Mason's voice came soft over Lottie's earpiece. "She's unraveling. Hold the line."
Adrian's silhouette appeared near the side doors, his tall frame unmistakable even in the dim light. He crossed his arms, his gaze fixed on Lottie—not with the distant calculation of a corporate heir, but with something quieter, steadier: pride. His jaw tightened briefly, then eased as his eyes softened, the faintest crease appearing at the corner of his mouth.
"Some truths," Lottie continued, "are heavy. But the weight isn't in carrying them—it's in hiding them." She paused just long enough to meet Evelyn's eyes, a flicker of challenge passing between them like a live current. Evelyn's lips parted, a breath catching in her throat, but no words came. "And tonight, we stop hiding."
A sudden commotion rippled through the faculty section as teachers leaned toward each other, murmuring in tight voices. Robert Hayes' terse statement, displayed on the projection screen—acknowledging the investigation and pledging cooperation—landed like a thunderclap in the room. A sharp, collective intake of breath shivered through the crowd, and even from the stage, Lottie could feel the shift: the brittle edge of doubt snapping under the weight of confirmation.
Evelyn shot to her feet. "This is a smear campaign!" she barked, her voice sharp as glass. But the microphones caught it, and the audience's reaction was swift—gasps, a few scattered laughs, phones rising higher to catch her meltdown. Her breath hitched in her throat, fingers clawing at the back of the chair in front of her, knuckles white and trembling.
Leo grinned like a fox, murmuring into the headset, "Oh, keep talking, princess," as he amplified the audio feed, the sound crisp and damning.
Lottie's pulse thundered, but her voice stayed level. "You're welcome to respond, Evelyn. We all deserve to hear your side." Her fingers brushed against the small mic clipped to her collar, grounding herself in the cool metal, the faint vibration of her own voice.
For a heartbeat, Evelyn froze, eyes wide, the weight of a thousand watching stares pinning her in place. Her throat worked, a dry swallow, then her gaze darted toward the exit, the fight in her flickering like a candle in a storm. Then, like a puppet with its strings abruptly cut, she spun and pushed through the crowd, heels striking the floor in furious staccato, the doors slamming behind her with a sharp, echoing crack that left the room breathless.
A stunned hush fell over the room, the kind of silence that rang in the ears.
Lottie exhaled, her shoulders easing by a fraction. Mason appeared at her side, one hand resting lightly on her arm, fingers warm and steady through the thin fabric of her sleeve. "You didn't just win the battle, Hayes," he murmured with a crooked smile, his breath brushing the shell of her ear. "You rewrote the whole script."
Behind the curtain, Amy darted forward, eyes bright with nervous energy. "Lottie, the media's exploding. You're trending on three platforms." Her voice cracked slightly, the edge of disbelief sharpening it. "They're calling you the quiet storm." Her cheeks were flushed, breath coming in shallow bursts as she clutched her phone like a lifeline.
Lottie managed a faint smile, the adrenaline still singing in her veins. Her hands trembled as she lifted the water bottle Amy thrust toward her, the cool plastic grounding her for a brief, flickering moment. "Let's not celebrate just yet."
Adrian's voice, smooth and low, cut through the buzz. "She's right. Evelyn's down, but not gone." He approached, his gaze steady on Lottie. Up close, there was a faint tension in his jaw, a flicker of protectiveness that hadn't been there before. "The real fight starts now."
Leo's console lit up with fresh alerts, his grin slipping into a look of sharp concentration. His fingers flew over the controls, eyes flicking between screens. "We've got incoming. Reporters are swarming the gates. Faculty's scrambling. And Evelyn—" he tapped a camera feed "—just slipped into a black car out back."
Lottie's heart gave a sharp twist, a flicker of unease darting through her chest. "She's running."
"No," Mason corrected softly, his eyes glinting with something cold and knowing. "She's regrouping." His hand squeezed her arm once, brief but anchoring, before he stepped back, scanning the room with the detached precision of a general surveying a battlefield.
A heavy silence settled over them, the distant murmur of the crowd swelling like the ocean before a storm.
Then, Lottie squared her shoulders, lifting her chin as the crowd's chatter surged back to life. Her hands curled briefly into fists, nails biting into her palms, before she forced them to relax. "Let them come," she murmured, voice low but sure. "We've only just begun."
As the spotlight dimmed and the curtain swept closed, Lottie caught one last glimpse—Evelyn's retreating figure, framed in the auditorium's side exit, shoulders tense, head bowed not in defeat but in calculation.
A chill slid down Lottie's spine, a prickle of cold that ran from her neck to the small of her back. Her breath hitched once, sharp in her throat, before she exhaled, steadying herself.
She turned to her team, her voice a thread of steel beneath the exhaustion. "We hold position. And we stay ready."
Because the shadow slipping away wasn't surrendering.
It was circling.