Chapter 47

Chapter 47
Lina's POV

The wind outside the window had quieted. The air conditioner's hum was steady and monotonous.

I closed my eyes and told myself: seventy-two hours.

During these seventy-two hours, the most important thing was not to let Cecelia sense anything unusual.

She still needed to continue her act, and I needed to continue mine.

Not only that, I also needed to maintain normal interactions with Luca. Although I knew this would be difficult, I would try.

After tossing and turning in bed countless times, I finally felt sleepiness wash over my brain like a tide.

In the last moment before my consciousness blurred, a scene flashed through my mind—under the oak tree, when I had Cecelia pressed against the trunk, in those amber eyes besides the crazy laughter, there was something else.

Not anger, not fear. It was relief.

Like an actor finally exposed by the audience, no longer having to recite those lines learned by heart, no longer having to fabricate a non-existent self every day.

The next morning, I was woken by the alarm clock.

Being woken by an alarm clock two days in a row meant my body was gradually shedding that iron shell Raven had welded to my nerves.

I didn't know if this was good or bad for me, but at least I didn't dislike it.

I reached out to turn off the alarm and sat up, rubbing my eyes.

The silver rose lay quietly on the nightstand. After a moment's hesitation, I picked it up and pinned it inside my chest.

After straightening my school uniform, I opened my room door.

On the floor at the doorway sat a paper bag, bearing the familiar bakery logo.

I picked up the paper bag. The warmth of the hot chocolate transferred through the cup wall into my palm—not scalding, just warm enough to reach my fingertips.

Luca hadn't waited in the hallway today. He had only left breakfast at my door, then left.

I picked up my backpack and walked toward the elevator. Cecelia's bedroom door was closed. Only my footsteps knocked out a monotonous rhythm on the floor—one, two, three.

Today was a clear morning. Sunshine made the entire street bright.

When I reached the school gate, Maggie was already waiting for me at the usual spot.

She wore a beige cardigan today, her hair pinned behind her ears with clips, and as usual held two sandwiches in her hands.

When she saw me, she raised her entire arm over her head and waved vigorously, her movements like a small sapling bent by the wind.

"Lina, over here!"

"Huh? Mr. Luca didn't bring you today?"

"He had something to do today," I said, reaching out to take the sandwich Maggie handed me. Bacon and egg, the same as always.

Maggie never got my taste wrong—bacon fried slightly crispy, eggs fully cooked not runny. This detail made my heart soften a bit.

I had never specifically mentioned these details to her myself. I didn't know when she had memorized them.

From being bullied and picked on all day every day with no one willing to be friends, to now having a friend who punctually brought you sandwiches every morning and remembered your preferences—this change was so dramatic even I found it unreal.

"Where's Cecelia? Does she have a headache again?"

"She said she'd come to school by herself today," I said, taking a bite of the sandwich.

"She's had headaches two days in a row. Should she see a doctor?" Maggie stood on her tiptoes and scanned around the school gate area. Not seeing Cecelia's figure, she turned back to look into my eyes and lowered her voice. "Lina, tell me honestly, did something happen?"

"Your complexion doesn't look right," Maggie added. "Don't try to brush me off with the 'didn't sleep well' excuse. You know every time you try to deflect and change topics, your left eyebrow moves."

I raised my hand to press on my left eyebrow and took a deep breath.

"Maggie," I turned to face her directly, trying to make my tone sound steady. "Cecelia isn't what you think. Her approaching us wasn't coincidental. I can't tell you more right now, not because I don't want to, but because telling you would put you in danger. You just need to know one thing: no matter what happens, don't go anywhere alone with her. Don't eat anything she gives you. Don't believe anything she says."

Maggie slowly lowered the hand holding the sandwich. She looked at me, those brown eyes containing not fear, but only worry.

"What about you?" she asked.

Not "why would she do this," not "what exactly did she do," not "what do we do from now on," but "what about you."

After learning she had befriended a fake friend, the first question that burst from her was "what about you."

I opened my mouth, for the first time not knowing how to answer Maggie's question.

"I'm fine," I said. "I still have Luca."

Maggie stared quietly at my face, then nodded once. She didn't press further about what Luca and I would do, didn't ask who Cecelia really was. She just pointed at the sandwich in my hand and said, "Eat quickly. The bacon gets hard when it's cold."

Then she linked her arm through mine, the movement as natural as ever.

She pulled me through the school gate. Morning sunlight filtered through the trees lining the path, casting dappled light on the walkway. Bird songs came from overhead. In the distance, someone was jogging on the field. The wind gently swayed the daisies in the flower beds.

As we entered the academic building, several groups of people had already gathered in the hallway.

Posters for the weekend ball covered the bulletin board. Student council officers were going classroom to classroom distributing tickets.

A girl wearing a golden balloon hat held a "Dance Partner Sign-up Board" and wandered around. Several names had already been signed on the board, the handwriting crooked. Some were written in highlighter with hearts drawn beside them.

Maggie pulled me through the crowd, chattering as she walked about the pink dress she saw online yesterday, saying the skirt had three layers of tulle and would puff up like a parachute when you twirled.

As she said this, her hands traced a huge circle in the air, nearly hitting the back of a boy's head next to her.

Passing the bulletin board, I glanced at the ball poster.

Gold lettering read "St. Herman Academy Autumn Ball, This Saturday 7 PM, School Auditorium." Below the poster was a handwritten notice: "Dance partner sign-up at Student Council office, see Fred."

Seeing this name, Maggie leaned her mouth close to my ear and lowered her voice. "Fred is that senior who always gives me an extra scoop of lasagna in the cafeteria. I heard he hasn't found a dance partner yet this year. Do you think he'll come invite me?"

"Very likely," I said.

She bounced twice more, then dragged me to line up for tickets.

The queue stretched from the bulletin board all the way to the staircase. The girls in front were discussing what color nail polish to wear for the ball. One said light pink was versatile, another insisted burgundy had more presence.

Maggie immediately joined the discussion, pulling out her phone from her backpack to show them nail art pictures she'd saved.

I stood beside her, my fingers unconsciously touching the outline of the silver rose inside my chest.

Dmitri definitely knew about this ball. I guessed he would certainly make his move at this ball.

Had he already planted other people in the school? Besides Cecelia and Verona's informants, were there a third, a fourth?

These people were very likely in the hallway right now, brushing past me, their faces showing the same excited expressions as all the other students.

Just as these thoughts were circling for the third time, I saw Cecelia in the crowd.