The moment the exam bell tolled, a shiver shot up Lottie's spine, sharp and electric. The hush that followed was almost sacred—pens clicking, papers rustling, a breathless anticipation thickening the air. She felt Evelyn before she saw her, the subtle tightening of space beside her, the quiet aura of control. The faint scent of Evelyn's jasmine-perfumed hair drifted in the air, a sickly-sweet reminder that the battle had begun.
Lottie's hand hovered over her paper, but her heart wasn't with the questions—it was pounding to a new rhythm. Because this was it. The moment when theory met reality.
A faint prickling stirred at the edge of Lottie's awareness. She drew in a breath, slow and measured, her fingers flexing unconsciously around the pen. The room seemed to close in, details sharpening—the gleam of polished floors, the soft draft of air vents lifting the corners of test sheets, the faintest squeak of a shoe on tile.
She chanced a glance to her left. Evelyn sat, pristine as ever, a picture of calm brilliance. The sunlight caught in the golden strands of her hair, casting a delicate halo that belied the steel beneath. Evelyn's fingers rested lightly against her paper, poised yet relaxed, lips curved into a faint, serene smile.
For a second, the air around her shimmered—or maybe it was Lottie's imagination—but the sensation brushed across Lottie's mind like a whisper she couldn't quite understand. Her chest tightened, breath catching in her throat.
And then, instinct flared.
It wasn't thought. It wasn't even panic. It was something lower, deeper—coiling in her gut and shooting upward, slipping beneath skin and bone. Before she realized, her pen moved—switching the order of her answers, scattering the carefully memorized pattern she'd planned the night before.
The ripple broke.
Across the room, Evelyn's fingers twitched, the tiniest crease forming between her brows—a blink-and-you-miss-it fracture in the flawless mask.
Lottie's pulse surged, her breath catching.
Did I…?
Her mind flashed back—just briefly—to Evelyn's last words, murmured with a razor smile the night Lottie fell:
"You could live a hundred lives, little sister. My Foresight Flash would still leave you in the dark."
But this time—this life—something stirred awake in Lottie.
Not foresight. Not precision.
Something looser.
Something that bent the pattern just enough to slip a thread into Evelyn's weave.
Her palm was damp against the desk. She forced herself to roll her shoulders back, steady her breath, fingers clenching once, then relaxing. She felt the scrape of her nails against her palm, the faint tremor still buzzing under her skin.
The room had never felt so alive. Every cough, every scrape of pencil against paper, every faint sigh from a classmate—it all crackled in her ears, louder, sharper, as if the world itself held its breath.
Her eyes flicked back to the test sheet. Black ink, neat margins, the faint shadow of the next page bleeding through. She could feel the sweat bead at her temple, sliding down in a slow, ticklish path behind her ear. The fabric of her uniform clung at the small of her back, damp and prickling.
The Mislead Pulse hummed at the edge of her mind, no longer a vague flicker but a subtle current, threading through her veins. The pen in her hand felt light, almost weightless, as if her fingers were no longer entirely her own.
She shifted again, deliberately skipping a question, then circling back.
The snap was immediate. Like a rubber band stretched too tight. Like a silent gasp in the fabric of possibility.
Evelyn stiffened. Just a flicker, just a breath, but Lottie saw it. A tiny tremor at the corner of her mouth, a fraction of a second where her fingers tightened too hard on her pen.
Got you.
Lottie's pulse thundered in her ears, so loud she almost missed the scrape of paper brushing against her desk. She froze.
Carefully, she shifted her elbow, glancing down without moving her head.
"Stay sharp." The words were scrawled in sharp, slanted letters. Leo's.
Her heart lurched—not with fear, but fierce, unexpected thrill. She folded the note into her palm, fingers curling tight as if it were a lifeline. The crinkle of the paper was deafening, sharp as a gunshot in the taut silence.
Beside her, Evelyn's stillness was no longer serene; it was brittle, coiled like a wire about to snap.
For the first time, Lottie wasn't the one scrambling in the dark.
The overhead lights felt too bright, the air smelled faintly of old paper and floor wax. A bead of sweat slid down her neck. She didn't move to wipe it away. Her breath came shallow, thin, sharp-edged, but her hand moved with calm precision.
She could sense Evelyn unraveling. The slight hitch in her breathing. The flick of her lashes. The shallow press of her thumb against the paper, smoothing, smoothing, smoothing.
Lottie's lips curved—the barest ghost of a smile. Her fingers trembled around the pen, but she forced them steady, the fine shake masked by the controlled movement of writing.
A chair creaked. Across the room, Leo leaned back slightly, the flicker of a grin ghosting at the corner of his mouth. Lottie caught the glance, the spark of mischief in his dark eyes. She bit the inside of her cheek, fighting the swell of laughter that bubbled unbidden to her lips.
The proctor's heels clicked sharply across the floor, slicing through the silence like a blade. Evelyn's head snapped up—too fast. Her fingers jerked at the paper, a sharp, ragged motion.
You're slipping, big sister.
The minutes crawled forward, a sluggish tide dragging them toward the inevitable end. Lottie worked in a daze of sharp focus, the pulse under her skin humming brighter, louder, sharper. Her hands ached, her shoulders burned, but she pressed forward, each mark on the paper a small rebellion, a crack hammered deeper into Evelyn's flawless world.
Her eyes stung. She blinked hard, felt the rough drag of her lashes against skin. Her heartbeat was a drumbeat, constant, insistent, like waves crashing inside her chest. She shifted in her seat, the faintest groan of the chair's metal legs reaching her ears, blending with the faint coughs, the sighs, the minute shifting of bodies locked in the same tense moment.
She caught the flash of Evelyn's eyes—sharp, cutting—but beneath it, a flicker of something raw, something frantic. The serene mask was peeling, delicate layer by delicate layer.
The final page. The questions blurred for a second, the words swimming. Lottie closed her eyes, breathed in through her nose, out through parted lips. Focus. A faint tremble rippled down her spine. She let it anchor her, root her to the moment.
Her pen swept across the page, the ink a whispering thread stitching her defiance into the test itself.
And then—the final bell.
The metallic clang shattered the tension like glass. Pens dropped, chairs scraped, breathless murmurs rippled through the room.
Lottie set her pen down with slow, deliberate care. She flexed her cramped fingers, feeling the dull ache radiate through her joints. The cool touch of the desk grounded her as she drew in a deep, steadying breath.
Evelyn rose too quickly. The scrape of her chair was too sharp, her smile too fixed, her hands trembling just slightly around her papers.
Lottie rose more slowly, her legs tingling with the rush of adrenaline, her skin damp with sweat. She caught Evelyn's glance, the flicker of something raw and unguarded flashing in her sister's eyes before the mask snapped back into place.
They shuffled forward, a loose knot of students flowing toward the exit. The brush of bodies, the scrape of backpacks, the rustle of papers—all of it felt amplified, each sound a burst of color against the fading gray of tension.
Leo fell into step beside her, his voice low and amused. "Didn't know you were such a gambler."
Lottie's breath caught, a breathless laugh bubbling up. "I'm not," she murmured. "I just play to win."
Leo's grin sparked, swift and sharp. "Remind me never to bet against you."
Ahead, Evelyn walked stiffly, her laughter a shade too bright, her posture too rigid as she greeted friends. But Lottie saw it now—the slight quiver in her smile, the flick of her fingers against her skirt, the tension crawling through her spine.
Because now Lottie knew—the Mislead Pulse wasn't just survival.
It was her weapon.
Outside, the autumn air hit her face, cool and sharp, clearing her head with a rush of relief. Her skin prickled, goosebumps rising along her arms as the scent of damp leaves and cold stone curled into her senses. The sunlight fractured through the clouds, slanting in pale gold beams that set the pavement alight.
Evelyn's voice drifted back, sweet and sharp: "Congrats, everyone! I'm sure we all did our best."
Lottie brushed past her, close enough to catch the tiny intake of breath, the minuscule flinch. She caught the faint, almost imperceptible tremor in Evelyn's fingers as they smoothed the edge of her sleeve, the stiff set of her shoulders as she forced her laughter into brightness.
She didn't look back.
But the smile curving her lips cut sharper than any blade.
As they crossed the courtyard, a sudden gust of wind tugged at Lottie's hair, lifting it in feathery strands around her face. The cold nipped at her skin, threading through the lingering heat of adrenaline, leaving her shivering and alive. She could still feel the thrum of the Mislead Pulse, echoing faintly in her veins like a half-remembered melody.
Beside her, Leo shot her a sideways glance. "You're dangerous, you know that?"
Lottie arched a brow, the ghost of a grin touching her lips. "Takes one to know one."
Their footsteps echoed across the cobblestones, soft against the distant murmur of the crowd. Somewhere, a bell tower tolled the hour, the chimes spilling like silver across the sky.
For the first time in a long time, Lottie's chest felt light. Not safe, not entirely, but light. As if the weight pressing on her ribs had eased, just slightly.
They reached the edge of the square where the others clustered, laughter weaving through the cool autumn air like threads of gold. Evelyn's laughter rang out, too loud, too brittle. Lottie's eyes flicked over, catching the subtle tension in her sister's frame—the stiffness in her shoulders, the faint tightness around her mouth.
Leo leaned closer, his voice a murmur in her ear. "She's not invincible."
Lottie's heart skipped, then steadied. "No," she whispered. "She's not."
The breeze tugged at their sleeves, scattering dry leaves across the stones. Lottie closed her eyes for a breath, the cool air brushing her skin, the sound of footsteps and laughter and distant bells folding around her like a cloak.
The game had changed. And this time, she was no longer just a piece on the board.
She was a player.
And she was only just beginning.
Glossary:
Mislead Pulse: Lottie's power to confuse predictions and create false impressions. Foresight Flash: Evelyn's power to glimpse short flashes of the future.