Casey’s words stick with me long after she leaves—“This doesn’t add up.” She’s right—the emails, the times, it’s off. I sit on Sam’s lumpy bed, staring at the papers she gave me. Her pen marks circle the mismatches, the moments that don’t line up, the signs pointing toward something else.
The shaky evidence feels like a thread of hope. A small, fragile thread, but still, it’s something. I run my fingers over the paper, but it doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t fix everything. The truth is still tangled somewhere, just out of reach.
My head spins, hope flickers, but it feels like I’m barely hanging on. Alex is gone, the town is against me, and I don’t know what to do next.
I shove the papers under my pillow, my movements mechanical, too tired to think straight.
Sleep feels impossible—my thoughts keep circling back to everything that’s wrong. The room’s cold, the house creaking as the night settles in, but somehow, I eventually drift off. My fingers clutch the spark Casey has lit inside me, that tiny flicker of possibility in the dark.
It’s the only thing keeping me tethered.
Morning hits fast, the light creeping through the curtains. I wake up slow, my back sore from the uncomfortable bed. I stretch, trying to shake the sleep from my body, but the tension still lingers, heavy.
My feet shuffle as I make my way to the kitchen. The place is quiet, a familiar silence that used to be comforting but now feels oppressive. Sam’s already gone—probably working his garage job—and it’s just me here, alone. I grab a glass of water, sip it absently, then turn back toward my room.
That’s when I see it—a folded piece of paper slipped under the door. My stomach drops before I even touch it.
I frown, bending down to pick it up. It’s not Sam’s handwriting—he doesn’t leave notes. Never has. I unfold it, and my heart stutters in my chest.
The words are scrawled in black ink, messy but clear: “Did you really think you could win?”
I stare at it, my hands cold, the words cutting into me, sharp like a slap across the face. Who wrote this? How did it get here?
I check the door—locked, no sign of anyone breaking in. I check the window—the same. There’s no sign of anyone entering. My heartbeat picks up speed, pounding loudly in my ears, and I look around, half-expecting someone to jump out from the shadows.
Nothing. Just the empty room, the cracked window, the wind rattling it. I read the note again, slower this time. It feels personal, like a warning. Like whoever wrote it knows me, and worse, they hate me. Riley flashes in my mind—Casey’s been saying it’s her, and now this?
Is it?
I set the note on the bed, hands trembling, trying to steady my breath. It’s just paper, just words, but it’s creeping me out, filling me with dread. I reach for my phone, almost calling Casey, but I hesitate.
She’ll say “I told you,” and I’m not ready for that yet. I don’t want her to be right. Instead, I shove the note into my bag, zipping it tight, and I leave the room, needing to clear my head.
The town’s awake—cars roll by, people walking down the street, carrying on with their lives—but I keep my hood up, my head down. No one talks to me, no one hires me. And now this note—it’s too much. It’s a weight I can’t shake.
I spend the day walking aimlessly, avoiding places I might run into Alex, avoiding the bookstore, the coffee shop, anywhere that might remind me of him. I don’t want to face anyone. I don’t want to think.
By afternoon, I’m back at Sam’s, tired, my feet aching, and the cold starting to seep into my bones.
I unlock the door, step inside, and freeze. Another note. This time, it’s right there on the kitchen table, placed neatly, almost as if it’s been waiting for me. My breath catches in my chest, my body stiffens. I shut the door quickly, lock it behind me, and pick up the note.
My hands are shaking as I unfold it. “Alex is mine now.”
The words hit me harder than the first note. The cold, harsh finality of them makes my knees go weak. I sink into a chair, staring at the note, my mind reeling.
Alex. Her saying his name—it’s Riley. It has to be. She’s obsessed with him. Casey’s been right all along.
My chest tightens, nausea rising in my throat. Riley’s gloating. She’s rubbing it in, telling me that I’ve lost him for good.
The words feel like a punch, and I can almost picture her—smirking as she writes it, slipping in here somehow, through the window maybe, or when Sam’s not looking. It’s wrong. All of it. The notes, the way she’s taunting me.
The way she framed me, turning Alex against me, expelling me from the town, leaving me with nothing. And now she’s leaving these notes, as if it’s a game to her, a sick way of showing she’s won.
I drop the note on the table, hands slick with sweat, and rush to the window.
It’s shut, locked tight. No sign of anyone. How is she doing this? How is she getting in?
I grab both notes and hold them side by side. “Did you really think you could win?” “Alex is mine now.” The words dig into me, deeper than before.
My mind races—Riley has my notebook, I’m sure of it. She’s taunting me, showing off, letting me know that she’s won. Alex kicked me out. The town is done with me. Everyone believes I’m guilty. And now she’s making sure I know it, making sure I can’t escape it.
But it’s more than just that. It’s like she’s unhinged. She’s not just happy about her victory—she’s obsessed with it, with me, with breaking me. Who sneaks around leaving messages like this? My stomach twists, the fear creeping in like a cold fog.
She’s not just winning. She’s watching, waiting, and I’m not safe.
I sit there, the house eerily silent, the notes lying on the table like a curse. Casey’s proof—the emails, the times—seems so small now. So insignificant compared to the madness I’m facing.
Riley’s out there, playing with my mind, messing with my head, and I don’t know how to stop her. I want to tell Sam, want to tell Casey, but I can’t move. My legs feel like they’re made of stone, stuck to the floor.
Who else knows? That’s what hits me the hardest, chilling my blood. If Riley’s doing this—leaving the notes, framing me, playing these games—who else is in on it? Morgan? Someone else helping her sneak around, making sure no one knows the truth?
My breath catches in my throat as I realize that the danger is bigger than I thought. It’s not just Riley anymore. There are others, I’m sure of it. She’s not alone in this.
And as the realization sinks in, the fear grows. She’s not just winning—she’s setting me up. And I don’t know how much longer I can keep running.