Alister

  The murder of the guy who sold the gems to the antique seller.

  According to the news, he was found with a bullet in his chest. Hours after he had made the transaction at the gas station, which, of course, wasn't mentioned in the news. He was killed. Probably by the person who was chasing him in the footage. Maybe he was after the gems too, and when he didn't find them on the man, he killed him.

  This theory makes sense.

  Which only means when we confront him, it's going to be nothing short of dangerous, and weapons will need to be involved.

  "You really have no idea what happened before the gems got activated?" I ask Helena, who materializes beside me.

  I've decided to believe she is a ghost. It's far easier and better than admitting I'm going insane.

  I went to a shaman to confirm it. While they did say they feel a strong presence of something inside me, they also said the same thing to a guy before me with a similar issue.

  "Like I said a thousand times, No."

  I walk up to Clara, weaving through the scatter of students and half-hearted conversations about a band playing in the campus garden.

  After a day of her burning holes into the back of my head, only to snap her gaze away when I looked, I knew she was itching to speak. Her silence was too forced. And for once, Zach hadn't received even a flicker of her interest. That alone said everything.

  She sat slouched over. Her usual confidence was nowhere to be seen. Even when she spoke to her friends, her voice lacked that usual edge. She'd turned down their invitation to hang out like she couldn't even pretend to care.

  "We need to talk."

  Her fingers froze mid-tap, but she didn't look up. She lets out a long sigh before turning her head to the side like that would somehow make me vanish. "I don't want to."

  Liar.

  I lean in slightly, lowering my voice just enough for her ears only. "Shall I throw you over my shoulder and carry you out? Imagine what others will think. What Zach would think."

  That does something. Her blue eyes flicker toward me warily, like weighing whether I was bluffing or about to make a scene. With an annoyed huff, she stands up and walks out of the class. I follow after her.

  Once alone in a class, I shut the door and turn to face her. "Did you ask someone to get the location?"

  She stares at me, blank. Disappointment settling across her face. Her brows twitch slightly, and the corners of her lips falter, as if she'd clung to some small, fragile expectation.

  ...that I was going to apologize.

  "...Yes." A frown carves its way across her features, but she doesn't look at me again.

  I press on. "When can we get it?"

  "Tonight maybe, or tomorrow at the earliest." She replies dryly.

  "She's so insufferable," Helena voices her unwanted opinion from across the room, sitting on top of the table. "I get why you can't stand her."

  An awkward silence follows. Maybe it's just me, standing there, waiting for her to explode like she did on the phone. Or to finally spit out whatever she's clearly bottling up behind that scowl. But she doesn't.

  "If that's all, I'll be leaving." she says, heels tapping sharply against the floor as she heads for the door.

  This is better. The distance. The professionalism. Despite the misunderstanding, I prefer things to be direct and simple between us. Only to interact when we need to discuss important matters. No unnecessary words. No emotional clutter. No yelling to disturb the mental quiet I've built for myself. No need for useless ramblings or distractions.

  And no need for smiles.

  She snaps her head back toward me in confusion as she glances down at my hand suddenly gripping her arm.

  I'm honestly as perplexed as she is. Just what am I doing?

  "If you're worried, I haven't told anyone about it." She reassures loosening my grip.

  Her words filled with hate echoe in my mind. Voice cracking from hurt and betrayal.

  If it happened again, I would have done the same.

  I thought we could be friends.

  "That's not-" My vision suddenly blurs as something changes before my very eyes. Light snow begins to fall around me.

  I'm in a ditch. One that I'm very familiar with. One that makes me hate winter.

  Beside me is a schoolbag with its contents spilling onto the damp and dirty ground. Looking around, I realize that the ditch seems deeper than I remember. The walls seem to be closing in on me.

  "We spent hours here, didn't we? Throat was so sour after crying for help."

  I spin around, heart pounding, as I see the little boy standing behind me, staring at the cloudy skies. I close my eyes once again, telling myself to snap out of it. That it's just a hallucination.

  "Yet no one came. And after several tries, we finally managed to drag ourselves up using the vines. No one ever comes to us, huh?" He continues.

  "Why are you here?" I whisper.

  He turns to me and smiles. "What do you mean? I've always been here."

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  I step towards him. "No. You're dead. I killed you."

  "You can never kill me."

  I feel a sudden jolt as someone pulls my arm. The motion breaks the spell that had held me transfixed, and I blink rapidly as my surroundings shift.

  I'm back in the empty room, with the afternoon light pouring through the windows. I look down to see Clara's concerned face gazing up at me. Her hand wrapped around my arm. Her grip relaxes now that she has my attention.

  "Is it happening again?" she asks.

  I sigh and run a hand over my face. "Weren't you mad at me?"

  She frowns and looks away. "I still am."

  She opens her bag and pulls out a black rubber band. "I don't know if this would work, but how about snapping this on your wrist everytime you start to hallucinate? It might divert your attention away from what you see and make your body focus on physical pain."

  I doubt that it would work, but...I suppose it's worth a try if she insists. It's a small insignificant thing, but the fact that she cared enough to think of it makes me very uncomfortable. I want to tell her it's pointless. That it won't change anything. But words seem to stick in my throat like sandpaper.

  I look up at her, expecting her usual sharp edge, but there's a softness in her eyes now as she stares back. Neither of us looking away.

  "CLARA!"

  The door slams open, making us jump. A gasping Zach, dressed in a ridiculous green shirt that says 'I love Nature', looks at us through the doorway.

  "You're not busy, are you? You said you wanted to see the band?" He asks awkwardly, eyes shifting between us as if he interrupted something very important.

  Clara straightens immediately, her usual mask snapping back into place. A practiced smile tugs at the corners of her lips, bright and innocent.

  "Oh...Right! Let's go." She perks up and skips over to him.

  I pinch the rubber band, snap it, and flinch at the sting.

  As I step out of the room, I watch them walk away. My eyes follow her, and for a brief moment, she glances over at me before turning back and resuming her conversation with Zach.

  I force myself to look away. Focus. There are more important things to worry about.

  "You know what you look like?"

  I spot Steph leaning against the wall, smirk tugging at her lips, and a half-eaten pastry in hand. The puzzle clicks into place. Now I understand why Zach showed up.

  "What?" I ask as I begin to walk to the exit.

  "Like my dog, Frodo. When I have to leave home, he would just stare at me with those big eyes and be all sad." She says, biting into her treat as she follows.

  "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "Look, as far as I know, it's one-sided. You might still have a chance if you play your cards right."

  My eyes narrow at her. "Keep me out of your nonsense. There is nothing like that going on."

  "Really?" She muses and leans in to whisper. "I'd assume that was the reason, seeing as how she's still alive."

  I exhale sharply. This is the conversation I've been meaning to avoid for a while. It makes sense that she'd bring it up now. I must be boring her. That's always when she starts to interfere.

  Why hasn't this university suspended her yet for brutally beating up a guy who called her a national reject?

  A nickname no one says unless they have a death wish.

  Everyone knows Stephanie didn't make it to preliminaries not because she lacked skill. But because her aggressive fencing style. She's blacklisted. Anyone who's ever dared to throw that name at her usually ends up in the ER, nursing broken bones.

  I look around, making sure there's no one in the hallway. "So you sending that photo to her parents and having Zach interfere was just to confirm your useless suspicions?"

  She licks the cream off her fingers. "So? You know all too well if she tattles, you won’t be the only one dragged down. I'm your accomplice. Did you really think I'd sit back and let you avoid this conversation?"

  I click my tongue and look ahead. "She won't. I guarantee it. And even she does, I won't drag you to prison with me."

  Her smile tilts as she leans forward. "Because we're friends?"

  "Because you’d have to burn cash and pull strings to get me out , or I start talking about your involvement." I smirk as we step outside. From the garden stage a discordant mix of drums, electric guitar and a raspy singer unfurls, layered over the students’ murmur.

  Above, Dark clouds coil heavy and oppressive. A storm is approaching. Convenient. Rain always washes things away-mud, footprints, stains... blood. It makes cleanup easier.

  "Can't have you sit back and relax in a plush chair while I lie down on the cold floor." I continue scanning the crowd.

  I'm not interested in friendship or any other relationship you might have in mind. I only care about how useful you are to me and how you can help me with what I want to do.

  Those were my words to her when she approached me, and we've stuck by them ever since. But that doesn't mean I trust her at all. I've gathered enough evidence that she wouldn't be able to weasel her way out of it. Enough to bury her if she ever turns on me.

  Her eyes sparkle, and she lifts her fork towards me. "Oh? Are you trying to pick a fight?"

  Not this again. Her obsession with fighting.

  "Don’t start that again." I say, brushing off the challenge like a stray leaf. Something fluffy rubs against my leg. I glance down to see green eyes gleam from a veil of black fur. I carefully scoop up the cat and stroke it.

  "What?" She drawls. "I just yearn for the day I get to raise my sword against your knives. You know what they, say-iron sharpens iron. Let's see how sharp you've gotten since last time."

  I scratch behind the cat’s ear. "I’m not in the mood for your battle kinks." I say, making her laugh until she chokes on her meal.

  My eyes drift past her to the crowd near the stage. Students sway, dance, and wave their phones. "I had to get an earful from her because of you. She's pretty upset about it."

  Steph raises a brow. "I thought you found her cute when she's angry."

  I turn to her sharply. "When have I ever said that?"

  She ignores and pokes at the cake. "I don't think the photo was that big of a deal. She got scolded, and now she's dumping that frustration on you. Let it go."

  The distant sounds of music and laughter carried through the air, growing louder by every second.

  "Her mom burned her with a cigarette."

  Steph freezes mid-bite and stares at me with wide eyes. "Seriously?"

  I nod once.

  "Geez," she mutters, slowly setting the fork down. "No wonder she's so jumpy today." Then, with a scoff, she looks at me. "And I'm guessing you insulted her or brushed it off instead of apologizing like a normal person? Since she thinks it's you who did it."

  I say nothing, and that seems to give her the answer, as she starts laughing.

  "Typical."

  Kindness is wasted on people like you.

  I'm fine with it. Her hating me. I welcome it. Let her hate me for the rest of her life. Let her despise me so completely that the idea of ever being kind to me makes her sick. Let her remember me only as the person who make things worse.

  I want her anger. Her distrust. Her disgust. I don't want her kindness. Not her warmth. They'd only serve to make one want more of it. To need it.

  Let her try to burn every bridge between us. I'll hand her the match.

  A memory I hadn't touched in years appears before my eyes.

  A boy being embraced tightly by a woman with white hair kneeling in front of him while feeling the warm pool of blood reach his toes from the side.

  "Always remember this. No one will ever love you like I do. Not even your parents. No one will ever care, cry or miss you like I do. No one in the world will understand you like I do. Only I can see your strength and potential. There is no one, except me, who will do everything for you. Promise me you will never forget."

  "Hello? Alister?" Steph calls out, making me blink. " I said I have some information from the guy I was with at your performance."

  I shake my head. "I've got some real troublesome stuff to deal with these days."

  She shrugs and says nothing then.

  I look at her from the corner of my eye. "How is he, by the way? You certainly looked like you were having fun."

  "Oh please," She rolls her eyes and tilts her head back. Her black ponytail shifts as she looks at the sky. "It was for the mission. There's nothing in the world I hate more than romance. It's a sickness that turns your brain into mush and makes you, a foolish person."

  I smile and look ahead.

  I couldn't agree more.