Chapter 92. Confrontation

Chapter 92. Confrontation
“I have to fix this.” My voice came out ragged.
“No more plans,” Anna pleaded. “Talk to her. Tell the truth. All of it.”
I nodded, though the nod felt like dragging concrete. “Clean the locker,” I told Boris. “Dump the hoodies at the incinerator barrel by the river. Masks, too.” I turned to Alex. “Delete the burner numbers from your phone. Factory-reset and toss the SIM.” He nodded, swallowing hard.
Jane’s eyes softened, but only a fraction. “And you?”
“I go after Emma,” I murmured. “If she never wants to see me again, that’s her right. But she deserves the truth from me, not hallway rumor.”
I shoved open the shed door; daylight pummeled my retinas. The hallway buzzed with students lining for lunch, oblivious to the storm that had just cracked open. Emma was nowhere in sight.
I jogged past the auditorium, ears pricking for the flirty lilt of her laugh or the rustle of a pink hoodie. Nothing. Library—too quiet for my pounding heart. Nurse’s office—crowded with fakers, but not Emma. My lungs burned; my thoughts kept looping: Cruelty. Violence.
Near the front doors, Officer Ramirez spoke with two juniors; if Emma had gone straight to her— No. She wouldn’t rat without hearing me. Would she?
I turned down the math wing and nearly collided with Lara Voss exiting the stairwell, clipboard in hand. She raised a brow. “Oi, lost your puppy, Kelly?”
The neutrality of her tone held a challenge.
“Have you seen her?” Breath sawed my chest.
“She bolted toward the courtyard five minutes ago.” Lara’s eyes—cool, assessing—flicked over my anxious stance. “Maybe you should slow down and consider why she ran.”
No time for moral puzzles. I muttered thanks and sprinted.
The December air slapped my skin as I burst outside. Students clustered near picnic tables; a few glanced up, startled. Beyond them, toward the apple trees by the fence, I saw a flash of pink hair.
“Emma!” I called.
She didn’t turn. I caught up half a dozen steps later, grabbing the air near her elbow but not daring contact. “Please—listen.”
She halted, arms folded tight across her chest, eyes red but fiercely dry now. “Why did you do it?” The question rasped like wind through dead leaves. “Do you know what it’s like to really fear you’ll never get home?”
My words jammed together. “She kept hurting you. I thought—scaring her—”
“Irene, she got kidnapped. Fucking kidnapped. This is just pure cruelty.” She blinked hard. “You became exactly what you said you’d protect me from.”
“I never wanted you in the blast radius.”
“But I am,” she whispered. “Because everything you do reflects on me too.” Tears slipped free, silver tracks across her cheeks. “You said you’d show up, stay present, ask me what I needed. You never asked if I needed that.”
Guilt scraped raw. “Emma, I never wanted you involved in all this. I just wanted to protect you.”
She hugged herself tighter, shivering though the sun shone. “I can’t feel safe if the danger is the person I… care about.”
The stumble in her sentence wrecked something in me. I stepped closer, slowly, palms open. “If it feels right for you, then I’ll go to Ramirez today and tell her everything.”
She shook her head. “I don’t want you arrested. I want you to stop choosing violence first.”
My breath hitched. “I… I’m working on it. I’ll do anything for you to feel safe.”
“Try honesty first,” she said, voice faint but unflinching. “You could have told me about it. But you decided to keep it from me. Do I not deserve truth?”
“I could not let you see this part of me. But I promise for you to never meet with it again.” The phrase felt brittle, but honest.
A long silence. Students drifted back inside as the bell approached. Finally, Emma swiped a sleeve across her eyes. “I need space. Just healthy space. Time to figure out what safety looks like.”
The ache in my chest felt deserved. “I can give you that. I’ll wait as long as it takes.”
She stared at me, searching, as if trying to see the future in my features. “Then start by going back in there and undoing what you set in motion.”
“I will.”
She exhaled, shoulders lowering a fraction. “Good.” Then, almost softly: “Goodbye, Irene.”
She turned toward the north doors, hugging her binder like a shield. I watched her walk away—no sprint this time, just steady steps—until the door closed behind her. My hands trembled; for once, I let them. I had cleanup ahead—cops, friends, Finch’s crew, myself—but first I let the shock settle.
Chaos clears fastest after admitting you created it.