“Leave her alone,” he said, his voice low and firm.
Ciara’s gaze slid to him, and something flickered in her face. Her smile wavered, just for a moment, her lips pressing into a thin line. The glimmer in her eyes turned cold, sharp like a shard of broken glass. It was so quick that if you blinked, you might have missed it, but Hanna saw it clearly. Her stomach knotted, her pulse thudding in her ears.
“Oh, don’t worry, Finn,” Ciara said, her voice sweet again, like syrup poured too thickly. She tilted her head slightly, her gaze drifting back to Hanna, lingering like a shadow. “I’m not here to cause trouble.” Her smile sharpened, curling at the edges like a blade. “At least, not yet.”
She turned then, her boots tapping against the tiled floor with a deliberate rhythm. The sound cut through the hushed cafeteria like the tick of a clock, each step slow and steady, commanding attention. Conversations quieted further as heads turned to follow her. Students leaned closer to one another, their whispers blending into a hum of curiosity and unease. Eyes darted toward Hanna’s table, lingering too long, as if drawn by the tension in the air.
Hanna’s chest tightened, a heavy weight pressing down on her as she watched Ciara’s figure disappear through the cafeteria doors. Even after Ciara was gone, the unease she brought stayed behind, clinging to Hanna like a cold mist. Her fingers gripped the edge of the table, knuckles pale and strained. Every word Ciara had spoken replayed in her mind, slow and deliberate, each one wrapping tighter around her like a coil. The way Ciara spoke—casual, almost playful—was more chilling than any shouted threat.
Finn settled back into his chair beside her, the wooden legs scraping softly against the floor. Under the table, his hand found hers, warm and steady, a quiet reassurance. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low and careful, but solid, like a rock anchoring her.
“I… I don’t know,” Hanna whispered. The words felt strange, like they weren’t hers. Her thoughts spun, caught in the memory of Ciara’s smirk, the coldness in her gaze. “She’s planning something. I know it.”
Jacob leaned forward, resting his elbows heavily on the table. His jaw was set, his lips pulled into a tight line. “She always is,” he muttered, the words weighted with frustration. “But we’ve stopped her before. We’ll do it again.”
Emily’s hands flattened against the table, her fingers splayed as if to ground herself. Her eyes were sharp, scanning the room like she was piecing together a puzzle only she could see. “This time, we need to be ahead of her,” she said firmly. “We can’t wait for her to make the first move.”
Hanna’s eyes darted around the cafeteria, catching snippets of glances thrown her way. Students’ faces turned quickly when they met hers, but she saw the whispers behind cupped hands, the not-so-subtle nudges and pointing fingers. It was the same suffocating feeling she had fought to escape, the spotlight burning down on her again. Her skin prickled, and she fought the urge to shrink back, to make herself small and invisible.
“Whatever she’s up to,” Finn said, his hand tightening around hers just enough to steady her, “she’s not going to win. Not this time.”
Hanna looked at him, his presence a small light in the storm raging inside her. The warmth of his hand reminded her she wasn’t alone, though the storm didn’t quiet. “I just… I don’t want to go through all of this again,” she said, her voice trembling, cracking like thin ice.
Finn’s expression softened, and he reached up, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. His touch was gentle but sure, like he was trying to hold her together. “You won’t have to,” he said, his tone steady but filled with quiet conviction. “This time, we’ll face her together.”
Hanna nodded, her lips pressing into a thin line. She wanted to believe him, to trust the strength of her friends, but the memory of Ciara’s smirk clung to her thoughts like a shadow that wouldn’t leave. The cold, calculating gleam in Ciara’s eyes and the quiet weight of her parting words, “not yet,” sent a chill through Hanna that she couldn’t shake.
This wasn’t over. It had only just begun.