Chapter 18 Enemy in the Mirror

Chapter 18 Enemy in the Mirror


By Monday, Blackridge feels like a cage.

Every hallway is buzzing with the fallout from the raid, every whisper bouncing off the walls, circling back to the same name: Langston. It should be everything I wanted. The mighty family dragged into the mud, their reputation cracked open for everyone to dissect.

But the weight in the air presses too heavy on my shoulders. And every time I catch a glimpse of Jace—stormy-eyed, jaw locked, the world circling him like sharks—I feel that same unwelcome ache in my chest.

I tell myself to keep moving, keep playing the part. Eva Sinclair, transfer nobody. A girl with nothing to hide.

By last period, I almost believe it.

Almost.

The bell rings, and the classroom empties, students pouring out into the September sunlight. I gather my things slowly, waiting for the room to clear. But when I sling my bag over my shoulder and turn, I realize I’m not the last one here.

He is.

Jace.

Leaning against the back wall, arms crossed, eyes fixed on me like a predator waiting for the right second to strike.

My stomach dips. “What?”

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Just watches me until the silence grows unbearable. Then, finally, he pushes off the wall and steps closer.

“You like the view?” he asks softly, mockingly. “Watching me burn?”

I swallow, forcing my voice steady. “You’re imagining things.”

“Am I?” His lips curve, but it’s not a smile. It’s too sharp, too broken. “Funny. Because I keep catching you in the wrong places. Wrong times. Always looking at me like you know something. Like you’re waiting for me to fall.”

He takes another step. And another. Until the desk between us is the only barrier left.

I grip the strap of my bag tighter. “Get out of my way.”

His eyes flash. “No.”

It’s not loud. Not threatening. Just final.

I glance at the door, calculating the distance. But his next words freeze me where I stand.

“If you’re going to stab me,” he says quietly, voice fraying at the edges, “at least look me in the eye when you do it.”

The air leaves my lungs. My pulse stutters, too fast.

“What are you talking about?”

He leans forward, palms flat on the desk, his face inches from mine. “Don’t play dumb. You think I don’t know? The raid. The headlines. The whispers. Someone fed them. Someone who hates me enough to throw gasoline on a fire they don’t understand.”

I force my chin up. “And you think that’s me?”

“I don’t think,” he snaps. Then softer, rougher: “I know.”

My mouth goes dry. I want to laugh, to deny, to throw his suspicion back in his face. But the way he’s looking at me—like he’s already peeled back every layer of my disguise—makes the words catch in my throat.

Instead, I hear myself say, “Why does it matter to you?”

He blinks. For a second, his mask slips, confusion flickering in his eyes. Then the anger surges back. “Because it’s not just my father. It’s my sister. My family. You think you’re fighting for justice, but you’re just dragging everyone down with him.”

The mention of his sister twists in my chest. I picture her face in the cameras’ flashbulbs, wide-eyed and terrified. I didn’t think about her when I pressed send. I should have.

“I didn’t—” I start, but stop. I can’t explain without giving myself away.

He notices. Of course he notices. His voice drops, quieter now. “Who are you, Eva?”

My heart slams against my ribs. He’s too close. Too sharp. One wrong move and the mask slips.

So I laugh. Light, careless, fake. “You’re paranoid.”

His jaw tightens. He straightens slowly, putting space between us, but his eyes never leave mine. “Maybe. Or maybe you’re exactly what I think you are. A liar. A snake. Someone with a knife hidden under the table.”

The words sting more than I want them to. I tell myself it’s because he’s right. Because every lie I’ve told clings to me like smoke.

But then he exhales, running a hand through his hair, and something in his expression cracks.

“You know what the worst part is?” His voice is low, raw. “I don’t even care if you’re the one who did it. I just… I just want you to admit it. To stop pretending.”

The anger drains from his face, leaving something worse. Something broken.

It’s the same look I saw in detention. The same truth hiding beneath his armor.

And for a split second, I want to tell him. Everything. My name. My brother. The reason I’m here.

But the second passes, and the weight of Noah’s memory crushes the impulse.

I grip the desk until my knuckles turn white. “You’re wrong about me.”

He studies me, eyes narrowing like he’s memorizing every flicker, every crack. Then he steps back, the mask sliding into place again.

“Maybe,” he says finally. “But if you are who I think you are… then you’d better be ready for what happens next.”

He turns and walks out, leaving me rooted to the floor, chest heaving.

My reflection in the classroom window stares back at me. Pale. Wide-eyed. A stranger in my own skin.

Enemy in the mirror.

And the worst part?

I can’t tell if he’s my enemy—or if I’m becoming his.