Analie sat at the corner table of the old café near campus, fingers wrapped around a steaming mug of black coffee. Rain tapped gently against the window beside her, casting the world in a blur of gray. The place hadn't changed since her university days with Ethan same cracked leather booths, same scent of ground espresso and burnt toast.
It was where she and Ethan used to meet between classes. It was also where Chris first started inserting himself into their world.
She remembered the three of them laughing here once. A simpler time. Before shadows crept in.
Chris arrived right on time, slipping in with the kind of easy charm that once would've made her heart flutter. But today, Analie studied him the way a hunter watches prey with careful patience.
"You always get here before me," Chris said with a lopsided grin, shrugging out of his jacket. "Should've known you'd be early."
"I guess some habits never change." Analie smiled back, her voice light.
Chris settled across from her, running a hand through his damp hair. "You look… good. Brighter, somehow."
Her smile didn't falter. "I've been remembering things. Seeing things more clearly."
Chris paused, fingers tightening slightly on the coffee cup the waiter brought over.
"Oh?" he said, his tone casual.
Analie leaned in slightly. "Ethan used to talk about you a lot. You were like a brother to him."
Chris looked away briefly, the mask slipping just for a second. "Yeah. We were… close."
"But something changed," she said softly. "Between you. Do you remember why?"
He hesitated. "I think we just… grew apart."
Lie.
Analie's fingers slid into her coat pocket. The lighter was still there. She could feel its weight.
"What if I told you I found something?" she said carefully. "Something that belonged to
Ethan. Or maybe, to both of you."
Chris went still. "What do you mean?"
"A gift. With your initials." She tilted her head. "Something hidden away."
He leaned back, eyes narrowing. "Why bring this up now?"
"Because I want to understand." She met his gaze. "I want to know what really happened."
Chris exhaled, smiling thinly. "Sometimes… not knowing is safer."
"And sometimes," she said, voice firm, "not knowing lets guilt rot your soul."
That hit a nerve. His smile faltered.
Before he could answer, her phone buzzed. A message from Aunt Claire.
Found something. Ethan's journal. Come now.
Analie rose, grabbing her coat. "I have to go. Rain check?"
Chris stood too, but didn't move to follow. "Be careful, Analie. Digging into the past doesn't always lead to healing."
She paused at the door, giving him one last look. "Sometimes it leads to justice."
Then she left.
—
The journal was worn, edges curled and pages slightly faded. Aunt Claire held it like something sacred, her expression unreadable.
"I found it in that old chest in the attic," she said. "It was hidden beneath a loose board. As if he didn't want anyone to find it but still hoped someone would."
Analie sat down and opened the book with trembling fingers. Ethan's handwriting greeted her—sharp, neat, and deeply familiar.
March 17
Chris has been strange lately. Distant. Like he's watching me from behind a mask I can't quite name. I want to trust him I do. But there's something in his eyes that makes my skin crawl.
April 4
He came to the greenhouse today. Said I didn't deserve you. Said I took everything from
him. I tried to laugh it off, but it didn't feel like a joke.
April 10
If anything happens to me, Analie… I hope you know I loved you with everything I had. And I hope the truth finds you even if I can't.
Analie stared at the page, the words blurring behind tears.
He knew.
He knew Chris had turned on him.
Aunt Claire squeezed her shoulder gently. "This is what you needed, isn't it?"
"It's more than that," Analie whispered. "It's proof."
But as she closed the journal, the air shifted. A cold presence swept across the room, brushing her skin like a breath.
Selene appeared in the mirror by the door, her face solemn.
"He knows you're getting close," she said. "The shadow is stirring."
Analie rose to her feet, journal clutched to her chest. "Then let it come. I'm not running."
Because now, the truth wasn't just a theory.
It had a voice.
And it was crying out to be heard.