MY ROOM FELT SMALLER than usual with all of us inside. It was me, Dwight, Harriet, and little Morgan. My curtains were drawn halfway, letting in a ribbon of late afternoon light that painted the floorboards in pale gold. Dust drifted lazily through the beam, stirring when someone shifted. The briefcase sat between us on the rug like a wound neither of us wanted to touch, but the more I looked at it, the more it beckoned me to unlock its latch.
Morgan sat cross-legged on the corner of my bed. I had given him a carved wooden toy from my desk to keep his hands busy — a small horse, chipped and faded — and he was running it back and forth in little circles, lost in his own quiet world. I smoothed a hand over his hair every so often, as much to steady myself as to comfort him. His face was soft and blank, but his shoulders trembled ever so slightly. His hair was warm under my palm, and for a heartbeat I focused on that simple human contact to quiet the noise in my head.
Across from me, Dwight crouched low with his elbows braced on his knees. His eyes fixed on the papers as though he could force them to make sense by staring hard enough. Harriet sat opposite him, one leg crossed neatly over the other. She was silent, but her eyes flicked over each document with a precision that made me feel like she was weighing everything she saw against something unspoken.
The papers were spread out like broken wings across the rug. Most of the pages inside were covered in symbols and broken phrases. Lines of ink darted and curved like constellations on a star map. My eyes tried to follow them, but they slipped out of focus, like reading a language just at the edge of memory. Symbols and fragmented phrases crowded the pages—jagged, alien marks, none of them lining up with any language I knew. Some of the ink had bled from rainwater, which left faint halos around the shapes. Even so, there was something in them—a rhythm—that tugged at the edge of my understanding.
Dwight exhaled sharply, breaking the quiet. "We need to bring this to Ryan," he said. "This isn't something we can handle on our own. We broke enough rules as it is."
I looked up at him. "Are you out of your mind?" I said simply. My voice surprised me with its steadiness.
His brows drew together. "Alice—"
"No," I repeated. I brushed a thumb across Morgan's cheek without thinking, feeling his small body lean instinctively toward the touch. "If we bring this to Ryan, he'll know what we did. We'll lose everything we've worked for—and these papers will disappear into some locked drawer where no one will ever see them again."
Dwight's jaw tightened. "And you think keeping them makes us safer?"
"I think," I said carefully, "that we're already in danger. At least this way we're not blind."
He fell quiet, though the muscle in his cheek jumped. Harriet glanced at me once, a flicker of interest in her otherwise cool expression, but she said nothing.
I lowered my gaze back to the papers. The symbols swam a little as my eyes adjusted, the lines dancing in patterns that were almost familiar. There was a pulse to them—not literal, but some echo of intention buried in the script, like the rhythm of a heartbeat. The longer I looked, the more the chaos began to settle. Snatches of meaning flickered at the edges of my mind. These weren't sentences. They were coordinates. Not places in words, but places in space.
"Wait," I murmured.
Dwight leaned closer. "What?"
I traced a fingertip along one page, following the jagged notations like a path. "This isn't just code," I said slowly. "It's like a pattern. See here—these clusters repeat. They're like markers."
Harriet leaned in now, her dark hair slipping over her shoulder. "Markers for what?"
"I think—" My throat felt dry. "Locations. This could be a map."
Dwight blinked. "A map of what?"
"Not what." I looked up at him, feeling a strange chill bloom under my skin. "Who. Look at these symbols here—they line up with the names in this other file. These aren't random coordinates. They're most likely tracking gifted individuals."
The words hung heavy in the room. Even Morgan paused in his play, his small fingers stilling on the toy.
Dwight swore under his breath. "You're sure?"
"Yeah," I said. "But the pattern's too deliberate. This isn't surveillance of places. It's surveillance of people."
I sat back on my heels, pressing a hand to my mouth. My heart was pounding. All those names, all those numbers—like a net stretching over the world, pulling in everyone like us one by one.
Dwight ran a hand over his face. "We're sitting on a time bomb," he muttered.
I caught a flicker of motion out of the corner of my eye and saw Harriet shift, not away but closer. For a moment she looked almost pale, though her voice when it came was steady. "You're right not to tell Ryan," she said quietly.
Both Dwight and I turned to her. She met my gaze evenly, her expression unreadable but her words like a small stone dropped into a still pond.
"You agree with me?" I asked before I could stop myself.
"I agree," Harriet said, "that this—" she gestured to the papers "—is too dangerous to disappear into bureaucracy. If the Others know where gifted children live…" Her eyes flicked briefly to Morgan. "It's already too late for some."
Morgan, oblivious to the weight of her words, hummed softly as he moved his toy across the blanket. I smoothed his hair again, my stomach twisting.
Dwight shook his head slowly. "I can't believe this. All this time, under our noses…"
I didn't answer. My mind was already turning, tracing the lines of the coded map in my head, following its invisible threads out into the world. The feeling that had been growing in me for weeks—the sense of being on the edge of something vast and terrible—had just found its shape.
I caught Harriet watching me. There was no mockery in her gaze now, no edge of superiority—just a kind of grim respect. I looked away first, focusing on Morgan, on the toy, on anything but the weight pressing in around us.
In the back of my mind, a thought whispered, unwelcome but persistent: Where is Riven now?
Out in the woods, maybe. Alone with the scraps he'd salvaged, waiting for news that might never come. The image of him crouched by a small fire under the willow tree drifted up, and I had to force myself to blink it away.
Dwight's voice cut through my thoughts. "Hey."
I looked up.
"What are we going to do?" he asked.
It wasn't a challenge this time. It was a question.
I swallowed, feeling the weight of all their eyes on me—the soldier's, the prodigy's, the child's.
"We keep it hidden for now," I said finally. "We learn what we can. And when we're ready…" My voice dropped to almost a whisper. "We stop them."
No one spoke after that. Only the sound of the soft rain at the window.
Morgan sat cross-legged at the foot of my bed, his small hands clutching the wooden toy I'd given him. The steady scrape of it across the quilt was the only sound that anchored the room as the four of us huddled around the briefcase. I crouched beside the briefcase with one palm resting absently on Morgan's head as my eyes scanned the pages scattered across the blanket.
"You know, these files aren't even written in understandable words," Dwight muttered. His fingers hovered over one page but didn't touch. "What kind of lunatic writes like this?"
Harriet sat at my desk chair, one leg crossed over the other, her posture straight but her eyes drawn to the papers. "Not lunatics," she said. "Coders. Whoever put this together wanted to make sure only someone who understands their pattern can read it."
I shifted the papers, my thumb brushing over one margin. There—again—three identical marks, spaced evenly. And on the next page, the same marks but shifted diagonally. My pulse quickened.
"It's a pattern."
Dwight looked at me. "A pattern?"
I nodded, leaning in closer. "These aren't symbols you're supposed to read. They're symbols you're supposed to follow." I slid two sheets side by side. "Here and here—the same clusters repeat, but in a spiral. It's almost like coordinates."
His brows furrowed as he bent over the page. For a long second he just stared, then his mouth parted slightly. "Yeah."
I felt the corner of my mouth lift despite the weight sitting on my chest. "It's a sequence," I said. "Each page isn't a separate message—it's a fragment of one."
"I noticed the repetition. It just clicked."
He let out a low whistle. "Alice, that's—sharp thinking. Seriously. I wouldn't have caught that if I stared at it all night."
The praise startled me more than it should have. Dwight had always been the one other people praised—the star athlete, the one who never had to try as hard as the rest of us. Hearing him say it about me made something flicker deep inside, like an old memory trying to surface.
I gave him a small, careful smile. "Thanks," I said quietly, eyes lowering back to the page before he could see too much.
Morgan tapped my arm, tugging me back to the present. "Are these bad people?" he asked softly, pointing to one of the sheets as though the symbols themselves might bite him.
"They're…" I faltered, glancing at Dwight and Harriet. "They're people who hurt gifted like us. We're trying to understand them so we can stop them."
Morgan nodded solemnly, gripping his toy a little tighter. I smoothed his hair with my free hand. "You're safe here," I said, more for him than myself.
Across from me, Harriet's eyes flicked to the pattern I'd drawn with my fingertip on the blanket. "If you're right," she said, her voice measured, "this could show us where they're taking the gifted. Or who they're targeting next."
"That's why we can't give it to Ryan yet," I replied, a little sharper than intended. "If we do, we'll get punished for breaking the house's rules. And these papers will disappear into some drawer, and we'll never see them again. And we can't investigate more."
Dwight straightened, crossing his arms. "But at the end of the day, Alice, he's the Headmaster. If anyone can do something—"
"I know, but why haven't they stopped?" I cut in. "Why do kids keep showing up here with scars and nightmares?"
My voice had risen without meaning to. Morgan's shoulders tensed, and I immediately softened, touching his hair again. "Sorry," I murmured.
Dwight rubbed a hand over his jaw, looking at me with something between frustration and worry. "You're risking everything sneaking out like this," he said. "If Ryan finds out…"
"You've told me that a couple of times already. I know what's at stake," I said quietly. "But sitting and doing nothing while people get taken—that's worse. That's not living."
Silence stretched for a moment.
Finally, Dwight exhaled, shaking his head. "You're impossible." But there was no heat in his voice now, only something softer. "And you're still the girl who'd find a pattern where no one else sees it."
I looked up at him. His eyes weren't mocking. They were… proud.
Before I could answer, Harriet pushed her chair back, her hand braced against the desk as she rose. But halfway to standing, she swayed, her knuckles whitening on the wood.
"Harriet?" Dwight was at her side before I could even move. "Hey, sit—sit back down."
She blinked, startled, then allowed him to guide her back into the chair. "I'm fine," she murmured, but her complexion had gone pale.
I watched them, my hand stilling on Morgan's hair. The way Dwight crouched in front of her, steadying her elbow; the way she didn't flinch from his touch. Something flickered between them. It flickered back into my mind without warning—the way Dwight's face had changed when Harriet also swayed on her feet days ago, how his voice had dipped, all edges gone, as he reached to steady her. He'd barely blinked at me when I'd gotten hurt before, but with her, he moved like she was glass about to break. I'd told myself it was just his sense of duty, the same protective streak he'd always had. But now, sitting alone, I wasn't so sure. The softness in his eyes hadn't been duty. Could he…? The thought snagged sharp inside me.
Was Dwight in love with her?
I looked away, focusing on the symbols again. It wasn't my business, after all.
"You should rest," Dwight said softly to Harriet.
She nodded faintly. "It was just a dizzy spell."
I gathered the papers back into the briefcase, sliding them neatly together. "We're done for today anyway," I said. "We've got more than enough to think about."
Dwight glanced at me. "By the way…"
"Yeah?"
"Where's your friend staying?"
"Who?"
"The soldier."
I met his eyes, hesitating. Riven?
"The one I met yesterday."
"Oh," I said. "He's camping out in the woods, making do with whatever supplies he salvaged."
Dwight's expression shifted, his jaw tightening, but he only nodded. "Right."
I thought of Riven then. Was he sitting by a fire now? Was Hunter curled at his feet? The thought tugged at me with an ache I couldn't quite name.
Sliding the briefcase beneath my bed, I rose and brushed my hands off on my skirt. "We'll figure out the rest tomorrow," I said.
As Dwight helped Harriet stand, I reached out and caught her hand. She looked at me, surprised.
"Thank you," I said quietly. "For saving me. And Riven."
I hesitated, then added, "And… I'm sorry for thinking you were just someone living in my shadow."
For a heartbeat Harriet said nothing. Then, slowly, she gave me a small, soft smile. It wasn't her usual polite mask. It was real. And it said more than any words could.
I squeezed her hand once, then let go.
Morgan yawned, his toy drooping in his grip. Dwight touched his shoulder gently, and together they moved toward the door.
I stood there a moment longer, the briefcase hidden under my bed like a heartbeat.
***
Later that day, I decided to leave the house after finishing all my chores for the day. After my usual ten-minute hike, the willow tree's long, trailing branches moved like curtains in the breeze. The late afternoon light was dimming to gold, filtering through the canopy in fractured beams that danced over the ground. This was the one place where the world usually felt still, secret — but as I stepped into its shade, my heart was already beating too fast.
Of course, Riven was there, sitting with his back against the trunk with Hunter at his side. When he heard me, he rose almost immediately. No smirk, no teasing comment — just a look of quiet relief that softened the edges of his face. Before I could speak, he crossed the space between us and pulled me into an embrace. His arms went around me like he wasn't sure I'd let him, like he needed to hold me just to believe I was real.
I froze — just for a heartbeat — stunned. The smell of rain and campfire stuck to him; his tank top was still creased from travel. And then, almost against my own instincts, I let myself lean into him, my forehead brushing his shoulder.
"I was worried you wouldn't come back, Whit," he murmured, his voice low, rough at the edges. "After what happened. After the kid saw us."
The words made something tug inside me. He wasn't angry, just scared.
I tilted my head back to look at him. "I told you I would," I said softly. "And I meant it."
His eyes searched mine, as though he was testing the truth of my promise. I held his gaze.
"The boy's name is Morgan," I went on. "He's not a threat. He's a resident like me."
Riven exhaled, a sound halfway between relief and exhaustion. He let his hands fall away from my arms but didn't step back right away. "Morgan," he repeated quietly. "He looked so innocent, like he has no idea any of this stuff was going on."
"He is." I glanced down at Hunter, who had padded closer, pressing his head against my knee like he somehow understood our conversation.
Riven finally eased back, running a hand through his hair. It was longer than I'd noticed before, dark strands falling into his eyes. "I kept picturing your Headmaster finding out," he said. "Or those Others tracking us here because of what we did. I thought—"
He cut himself off, jaw tightening.
I reached out before I could second-guess myself and touched his sleeve lightly. "You don't have to say it," I told him. "I get it. But I'm here. And I'm not going anywhere."
For a moment we just stood there, the sound of the wind through the willow branches filling the silence between us. My chest felt strange — a pressure I didn't quite know how to name, like something was expanding where I'd been keeping it tightly locked away.
I'd promised myself not to get attached. Not after everything. But standing under that tree with Riven, I could feel my resolve bending like the willow's branches themselves. He sank back down to sit at the base of the tree, patting the spot next to him. "Come on," he said quietly. "Sit."
I did, smoothing my skirt beneath me. The ground was cool and soft, the smell of damp earth rising around us. Hunter circled once, then lay down with his head on his paws, watching the two of us with solemn eyes.
"You don't have to keep doing this alone," I said after a moment. "Camping out there. Scavenging whatever you can find. You could come back with me."
Riven gave a short, almost bitter laugh. "And be locked up?"
"That's not what it is," I said quickly. But even as the words left my mouth, doubt crept in. Wasn't it?
He looked at me sideways. "I'm used to surviving on my own. Been doing it a long time."
There was something in his tone — not pride exactly, but a hard-earned acceptance. It made my chest ache again.
"You don't have to be used to it," I said softly.
For a moment he didn't answer. He just picked up a twig and turned it between his fingers. Finally he asked, "Why'd you tell me about the boy? About all of this?"
"Because you deserve to know what you're walking into," I said. "Because you've helped me — helped all of us — more than you realize."
His jaw flexed slightly, but he didn't look at me. "You trust me that much?"
"I do," I said without hesitation. It surprised me how easily the words came.
That earned me a small, fleeting smile. "You shouldn't," he muttered, but there was no real protest in his voice.
I rested my hands on my knees, staring at the patchwork of sunlight and shadow on the ground. "I know what Ryan would say," I murmured. "That this is reckless. That I'm risking everyone. And maybe I am. But if we don't do something…"
The sentence trailed off.
Riven's voice was quiet when he spoke. "You sound like me, you know."
I blinked at him. "How?"
"That same tone. Like you're already halfway to the edge but you're still talking yourself into jumping."
I let out a soft laugh, though it came out thinner than I intended. "You make it sound like a bad thing."
He shrugged, looking out through the curtain of willow leaves. "Sometimes it's the only thing."
We fell into silence again. The branches swayed overhead, and the air smelled faintly of rain — the kind of smell that promises a storm but hasn't yet delivered. Hunter's tail thumped once, a dull sound against the roots.
In my chest, that strange feeling grew — not fear, not exactly. Something warmer, heavier. I didn't dare name it.
I glanced sideways at Riven. The angle of his jaw, the faint hollows under his eyes from too many nights sleeping rough — all of it drew me in even as my better sense warned me back.
"I meant it, Blackcap," I said finally.
He looked at me. "Meant what?"
"That I'll always come back."
His expression shifted — softened in a way I'd only seen glimpses of before. For a second I thought he might reach for me again, but he only nodded, like he was memorizing the promise rather than testing it.
"Good," he said quietly. "Because I don't know what I'd do if you didn't."
The words landed in me like a stone dropped into water, ripples spreading outward. I stared at the ground, unsure what to say, feeling that pressure in my chest rise like a tide.
I didn't know where any of this was heading — the Others, the codes, the risks we were taking — but sitting under that tree with Riven, I knew one thing: I wasn't alone anymore.
And maybe, just maybe, that was enough to keep going.