Chapter 4

The school hallways always smelled like sweat, floor polish, and too many bodies crammed into one space. Clara hated it. She shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her hoodie, head down, weaving through the crowd like a ghost.

“Move, freak.” Someone’s shoulder slammed into hers. She staggered but didn’t look up.

“Watch it, dumbass,” she muttered, but her voice was swallowed by laughter.

She kept walking. No point starting a fight. Not here, not when the teachers pretended not to notice.

Lana’s voice cut through the noise. “Clara!”

Clara’s head snapped up. There she was, bounding down the stairs like sunlight wrapped in a skirt and sneakers. She waved too big, smiled too wide. The same mask Clara had seen slip last night at the cliff.

“Hey,” Clara said as Lana hooked her arm through hers.

“You look like hell,” Lana teased.

“Thanks. You smell like cafeteria meatloaf, so we’re even.”

Lana laughed, loud and careless, and for a moment the shadows disappeared. Clara felt lighter, the weight of stares and whispers fading as long as Lana was there.

But then she noticed the bruises. Small, faint, just under Lana’s sleeve when it slipped back. Yellow blooming into purple. Clara’s chest tightened.

“What the fuck is that?” she hissed, grabbing Lana’s wrist before she could pull away.

Lana froze. Her smile faltered for a fraction of a second, then returned like nothing. “Basketball. Fell during practice.”

“You don’t even play basketball.”

“Okay, volleyball, whatever.” Lana yanked her hand back, eyes darting. “Don’t make a scene.”

Clara’s jaw clenched. “Bullshit.”

“Drop it,” Lana whispered, and her voice had that sharp edge, the one that cut deeper than yelling.

Clara wanted to push, to demand answers, but something in Lana’s eyes stopped her. A silent plea. A wall she wasn’t ready to break through.

“Fine,” Clara muttered, heat boiling in her stomach. “But you better not be lying to me.”

Lana’s smile returned, brittle but practiced. “Relax. You worry too much.”

That evening, Clara sat on the front steps of her house, hoodie pulled tight, waiting. She’d texted Lana three times. No reply. Normally Lana would have sent at least a dozen emojis back by now, stupid hearts and laughing faces that made Clara secretly smile when no one was watching.

The streetlights flickered on. A car passed. Still nothing.

Finally, Clara saw her. Lana walking down the street, bag hanging low, steps slower than usual. And beside her—him.

Dominic. Her stepfather.

Clara had seen him before, driving Lana home, talking too close. But something about tonight felt different. The way his hand lingered a little too long on Lana’s shoulder, the way she stiffened but kept her smile plastered on like glue.

Clara’s fists curled inside her pockets. “Fucking creep,” she muttered.

When Dominic’s eyes swept across the street and landed on her, Clara felt ice crawl down her spine. He smirked. Not at her—through her, like he knew she was powerless.

Lana noticed. She waved quickly, almost desperately. “Clara! Hey!”

Clara forced a nod, glaring at Dominic until her vision blurred. She wanted to run over, drag Lana away, spit every curse she knew into that bastard’s face. But her legs wouldn’t move. Her throat locked.

Dominic’s hand slid from Lana’s shoulder to the small of her back as he guided her toward their house. She laughed at something he said, but Clara could hear the crack in it, the wrongness.

Clara dug her nails into her palms so hard they stung. “Fuck this,” she whispered.

The streetlight above her buzzed, casting shadows that stretched too long, too dark.

That night Clara lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling. Every time she blinked, she saw Lana’s forced smile, Dominic’s smirk.

She thought about the bruises. About the cliff. About Lana asking her to promise.

Her chest ached with something ugly and restless. She wanted to smash something, scream, tear the world apart until someone finally noticed what was happening right in front of them.

But she did nothing. Just lay there, fists clenched, whispering into the dark.

“Don’t you dare fucking leave me, Lana.”

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