The art classroom was quiet, save for the faint scratch of charcoal on canvas and the occasional creak of Talia’s chair as she leaned over her work. The large windows let in the soft glow of the late afternoon sun, bathing the room in a golden hue. Hanna and Elordi stepped inside, the air thick with the faint scent of paint and turpentine.
Talia was seated at a large worktable, her focus entirely on the sketch before her. Charcoal smudges streaked her hands, her sleeves, and even a faint mark on her cheek. She didn’t look up as they entered, her concentration unwavering.
“Talia,” Elordi said, his voice breaking the stillness. “Got a minute?”
Talia’s hand paused mid-stroke, and she glanced up, her expression a mixture of mild annoyance and curiosity. “I’m kind of busy, Elordi,” she said, her tone clipped. “What do you want?”
“It’s not for me—it’s Hanna,” Elordi said, gesturing toward her. “She’s got something important to ask.”
Talia’s sharp gaze shifted to Hanna, her brow furrowing as she leaned back in her chair. “Hanna,” she said slowly, the corner of her mouth twitching in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “This should be interesting. What do you need?”
Hanna stepped forward, her hands clasped tightly in front of her to keep them from shaking. Talia’s presence was intimidating in a way Hanna couldn’t quite put her finger on—maybe it was her sharp eyes, or the way she always seemed to know more than she let on.
“I know you were at the party last year,” Hanna began, her voice steady despite the knot in her stomach. “The one where Jacob and Mark had an argument. I need you to tell the truth about what happened.”
Talia’s brow lifted slightly, and she leaned back even further in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. “Why now?” she asked, her tone skeptical. “That was ages ago. Ancient history.”
Hanna took a deep breath, her gaze unwavering. “Because Ciara’s trying to twist it into something it wasn’t,” she explained. “She’s using it to go after Jacob, and if we don’t stop her, she’s going to ruin him.”
Talia tilted her head, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied Hanna. “So this is about Jacob?” she asked, her tone almost teasing. “Or is it about you?”
The question stung, and Hanna felt her cheeks flush. She opened her mouth to respond but hesitated, knowing that denying it outright wouldn’t get her anywhere. Instead, she met Talia’s gaze with quiet determination. “It’s about both of us,” she admitted. “But mostly, it’s about stopping Ciara from hurting more people. She’s already done enough damage.”
For a moment, Talia said nothing, her expression unreadable. Her eyes flicked to Elordi, then back to Hanna, as if weighing her options—or testing their sincerity. Finally, she sighed and leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table.
“Alright,” Talia said, her tone neutral but her words carrying weight. “Here’s the deal: Mark was being an idiot that night. He said some nasty stuff about you—stuff he probably thought was funny but wasn’t. Jacob told him to shut up. Mark kept pushing it, and Jacob shoved him. Mark tripped over a table and made a scene, because that’s what Mark does. End of story. It wasn’t some big, dramatic fight. Just Mark being Mark.”
Hanna’s heart leapt at Talia’s words. It was exactly what she’d hoped for—confirmation that Jacob hadn’t done anything wrong, that Ciara’s narrative was nothing but smoke and mirrors. But relief was quickly replaced by urgency.
“Would you be willing to say that publicly?” Hanna asked, her voice hopeful but careful not to sound too desperate. “If people hear it from you, they’ll believe it.”
Talia hesitated, her eyes narrowing again as she considered the request. “That’s a big ask,” she said slowly. “Mark’s got a lot of friends who wouldn’t be too happy if I went against him. And Ciara? She’s not someone you want as an enemy.”
“I know it’s a risk,” Hanna said earnestly, stepping closer. “But Jacob doesn’t deserve to be dragged through the mud over this. And if we let Ciara get away with it, she’s just going to keep hurting people.”
Elordi, who had been leaning casually against a nearby table, finally spoke up. “You’re not exactly Mark’s biggest fan, Talia,” he pointed out, his tone light but pointed. “And you’ve never been one to shy away from telling the truth, no matter who it pisses off.”
Talia shot him a sharp look, but there was a flicker of amusement in her eyes. “Fair point,” she muttered. She turned back to Hanna, her gaze steady. “Alright. I’ll think about it. But if I do this, you owe me one. Got it?”
“Got it,” Hanna said immediately, relief flooding through her. “Thank you, Talia. This means more than you know.”
Talia shrugged, picking up her charcoal again and turning back to her canvas. “Don’t thank me yet,” she said. “I haven’t done anything.”
But as Hanna and Elordi left the classroom, Hanna couldn’t help but feel a small glimmer of hope. It wasn’t a guarantee, but it was a step in the right direction. And right now, that was enough.