Amina's POV

I should have never touched it.

That letter.

It sat there between the pages of an old book, waiting. Like it knew I would find it.

The second my fingers brushed the paper, the bookstore—my safe place, my quiet retreat—stopped feeling like home.

It felt like a trap.

The air was thick. Heavy. Almost… watching.

I could still hear the echo of the bell from when Max walked in. But now, it felt different. Not like an entrance. More like a warning.

Too late. Too late now.

The words on the paper burned into my mind, and yet, I couldn’t move.

I couldn’t stop staring at Max.

He was staring at the letter.

No.

Not staring. Recognizing.

His fingers brushed over the edges, slow, deliberate. His posture was different—his usual careless slouch was gone. His hands, usually so animated, so clumsy, were still. Too still.

I shouldn’t have looked at his face.

Because for the first time since I had known Max, he looked like someone else.

Someone I didn’t know.

And then, softly—almost too soft to hear—he whispered,

"This wasn’t meant for you, Amina."

The room tilted.

I gripped the edge of the nearest bookshelf, my knuckles white.

Rayhan shifted beside me, his body tense like he was preparing for a fight.

Sophie didn’t move. She didn’t breathe.

Elias…

Elias was watching Max.

Not the letter. Max.

I knew that look.

The way someone watches a match that’s already been struck, waiting for the fire.

"It was meant for me."

Max’s voice was… wrong.

I had heard him speak a thousand times. Laugh, joke, stumble through sentences without a care.

But this?

This was something else.

Colder. Calm in a way Max had never been.

He wasn’t confused.

He wasn’t surprised.

He was waiting.

And that was what made my blood run cold.

Rayhan took a slow step forward. "Max." His voice was measured, careful. "What do you mean, ‘meant for you’?"

Max didn’t answer.

Not immediately.

He just ran his thumb over the ink, smudging it slightly.

Then, he did something that sent a violent shiver through my spine.

He smiled.

But it wasn’t his smile.

Not the easy, goofy grin we all knew.

This was something else. Something smaller. Sharper.

Like the kind of smile you’d see on someone who had already figured out every move before the game even started.

"Amina…" Max’s voice was gentle. Too gentle.

Like I was something fragile.

I swallowed, but my throat was dry. "What?"

His gaze flickered to Elias. Not Rayhan. Not Sophie.

Elias.

And Elias?

He looked away.

A slow, deliberate movement.

A refusal.

Rayhan saw it. Sophie saw it.

I felt my stomach churn. "Elias?"

Silence.

Not even a twitch of reaction.

Like he knew exactly what this was.

Like he had been preparing for this moment long before I even found that letter.

Max sighed. Then, casually—**so casually it made my skin prickle—**he folded the letter in half, slipping it into his pocket.

Rayhan tensed. "Hey. What the hell are you doing?"

Max finally met his gaze. And I swear to God, the air shifted.

"I’m taking what’s mine."

His.

No.

No, that wasn’t right.

I had found it. I had read it.

But now, standing here, heart pounding, mind racing, I realized—

I was never supposed to.

This letter wasn’t a message to me.

It wasn’t even a warning.

It was a door.

And I had just opened it.

Something slithered into my mind. A whisper, a thought—a realization too big to hold.

"You don’t know who to trust."

The words from the letter scratched against my skull.

And for the first time, I believed them.

Because standing here, looking at Max, looking at Elias, looking at all of them—

I realized something.

None of us knew who we really were.

Not anymore.

Not after this.

And Max?

He wasn’t confused.

He wasn’t scared.

He was waiting for us to figure it out.

Waiting for us to see.

To finally understand what he had known all along.

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