Ace was in the parking lot when we got there.
He wasn't leaning against a car or playing the part of the relaxed, golden-boy observer. He was actually pacing. A tight, frantic back-and-forth that made my stomach drop three floors in a single second.
Ace Monroe didn't pace. He was the person who functioned as the world's emotional ballast, the one who made everyone else feel like the ceiling wasn't about to collapse. Seeing him this frayed felt like watching a crack form in a dam.
"How," Zane said. No greeting, no preamble. Just the cold, hard syllable of a man who already knew the answer was going to be ugly.
"Kira," Ace spat, stopping mid-stride. "She was in the south corridor when you two were talking. She heard you mention the staff printer and the AV guy. She didn't even wait for the final bell before she bolted."
"Kira." Zane's voice was a low, dangerous growl.
"She's been feeding Sienna information all year," Ace said, his voice thick with frustration. "I only just put the pieces together today, which is my own damn fault for not looking closer at who was lingering in the background—"
"It's not your fault," Zane interrupted. His tone was flat and final, the kind of command that didn't leave room for self-flagellation.
"Zane—"
"It's not. What has Sienna told Bianca?"
Ace ran a hand through his hair, looking older than seventeen. "Everything. That you have the CCTV of her at the printer. That you've been running some kind of counter-op since last week. And that Mila is right in the center of it with you."
"I am in it with him," I said, stepping forward. I wasn't going to be discussed like a piece of collateral damage.
"I know that," Ace said, glancing at me with a look that was half-apology, half-terror.
"Bianca is... she's angry in a way I haven't seen since the breakup. She isn't being cold or calculated anymore. She's actually, visibly livid. She's stopped being careful, Zane. She's burning the script."
"When people stop being careful, they make mistakes," I said. I felt a strange, icy calm settle over me, the kind that comes when you realize the floor has already fallen out.
Both of them turned to look at me.
"That's actually a good thing," I continued, my mind racing through the tactical shifts. "If she's angry, she's going to move too fast. If she moves fast, she'll leave a trail. Mr.Osei is already investigating the scholarship document so if she lunges now, she might hand him exactly what he needs to bury her."
"Unless she moves on something that causes total structural damage before Osei even gets his shoes on," Ace countered.
"Like what?"
The silence that followed was heavy. Ace and Zane looked at each other; that long, wordless communication between two people who had shared a childhood and a thousand secrets. It lasted only two seconds, but it felt like a confession.
"What?" I demanded. "What am I missing?"
"She has something," Zane said, his eyes fixed on me. "She's been holding it in reserve. I don't know the specifics, but I know the pattern."
"How do you know she has something?"
"Because that's her signature," Zane said, his voice dropping an octave. "She never moves without a contingency. The scholarship document was the opening volley, it was meant to test your defenses. The thing she's been holding back is the actual kill-shot. It's what she planned to use once you were already weakened."
I stood in the fading light of the parking lot, the shadows of the school buildings stretching out like long, dark fingers.
I mentally replayed every month of my life since arriving at Crestwood. Every conversation, every whispered secret, every ghost I'd tried to leave behind.
"I need to know what she could have," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "Think. What has she had access to? Who does she know?"
Ace was quiet, his eyes scanning the horizon. Then, his face went pale. "She knows someone at Southvale. One of her older contacts; someone who moved in the same circles as her cousins. They know people there. People who like to talk."
The air left my lungs in a single, painful rush.
Southvale.
There was something at Southvale. An ugly piece of my history that I hadn't told a soul at Crestwood. Not the fiercely loyal Tessa. Not the sharp-eyed Remi. Not even Ace or Zane.
I had buried it deep, thinking the distance and the new blazer would be enough to keep the dirt over the grave.
The thought of Bianca Harlow holding that secret, of her standing in the middle of the courtyard and unravelling my life with it made something cold and suffocating close around my throat.
"What happened at Southvale, Mila?" Zane asked. His voice was quiet, devoid of judgment, but it demanded the truth.
I looked at him, then at Ace. I could see the concern in their eyes, the genuine desire to stand in front of the storm for me. But this wasn't a storm they could fight with CCTV footage or lunchroom displays of solidarity.
"I'll tell you," I said, my voice steadying. "But not here. Not like this."
They both waited, the tension in the parking lot thick enough to taste.
"Tomorrow," I said. "Come to school early. Meet me in the music block. I'll tell you both everything. But I need tonight. I need to breathe first."
Neither of them argued. Zane gave a single, somber nod. Ace looked like he wanted to reach out, to say something that would make it better, but he eventually just let his hand drop.
I picked up my bag and started walking toward the road, the gravel crunching under my feet. I needed to call my mom. Because whatever version of Southvale Bianca had dug up, it was almost certainly the wrong one. And if that lie made it into the hallways before I had a chance to tell the truth, I wouldn't just lose my scholarship. I'd lose myself.
I pulled out my phone as I reached the sidewalk.
A message from the second unknown number was already waiting.
"I told you to be careful. Now it's too late to be careful. You can only be honest."
I read it three times, the words searing into my brain.
Be honest.
Whoever this person was, they knew. They'd known what Bianca found before she even found it. They weren't just watching; they were guiding me toward the cliff.
I shoved the phone into my pocket and kept walking, the cold night air biting at my skin.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow, I was going to have to say the words out loud.
Tomorrow, the girl everyone thought was a hero was going to have to explain why she was actually a survivor.
Tomorrow, everything changed...