March 25 – St. Ivy High / Evening
The Flirt Who Sees Too Much
Jay was the last one out of class.
Or at least, he thought he was.
He had just finished packing up when a voice behind him purred, "You walk slower when you're thinking."
Jay didn't turn. "I do a lot of thinking lately."
Sofia strolled up beside him, arms crossed, hips slightly tilted like she always posed when bored. Her eyes glinted with that usual tease—but the smile didn't quite reach her voice today.
"You disappeared yesterday during lunch," she said.
"Didn't know I was being tracked."
"You're too pretty not to be."
Jay gave her a dry look. "Do you flirt with everyone, or am I special?"
Sofia leaned in. "You're the only one who pretends not to like it."
He smirked. "So, what's today's mission? Fluster me? Sabotage my homework?"
She tilted her head. "None of those."
He raised an eyebrow.
Sofia stepped in front of him now, her smile fading into something... real.
"You know," she said, "people always expect me to be the loud one. The one who teases, gossips, laughs too hard."
Jay nodded slowly.
"But sometimes I'm just trying to keep people from looking too close."
Jay met her gaze. "At what?"
Sofia shrugged. "At how much I notice."
There was silence for a beat.
Then she said, "You're quieter now. Not in the cool, mysterious way. In the 'I saw something I can't forget' kind of way."
Jay didn't reply.
"Are you scared?" she asked.
"Of what?"
She smiled gently. "Breaking hearts. Or breaking your own."
Jay looked at her for a long time.
"I don't know yet," he said honestly.
Sofia stepped back. "When you figure it out… try not to leave anyone behind."
And then—just like that—she gave him a wink and walked off, her steps lighter than before.
Jay didn't expect to find the Home Economics room still lit after school.
But there it was—soft yellow light glowing through the window, a faint smell of sugar and something cinnamon-sweet in the air.
He knocked lightly and poked his head in.
Amaya stood at the counter, tying up her apron.
She looked up, surprised—but not startled.
"You're still here," he said.
"I stayed late. We were testing new recipes." She held up a small, carefully wrapped paper bundle. "Want to try one?"
Jay stepped in, the door swinging shut behind him. "If it's poisoned, this is a weird way to say goodbye."
Amaya rolled her eyes but smiled. "You'll live."
He sat at one of the stools while she handed him a soft, delicate pastry. Warm. Sweet. Flaky.
Jay took a bite.
It melted in his mouth.
"I forgot you're dangerous," he murmured.
"Dangerous?"
"You could win anyone over with food like this."
Amaya looked away, cheeks a little pink.
Jay watched her for a second. "You, okay?"
She nodded. "Just tired."
He tilted his head. "You're lying."
She glanced over at him. "So are you."
Jay laughed softly. "Fair."
They stayed like that—him sitting, her standing, the fading sunlight stretching across the tile floor.
"I missed this," he said after a while. "You. Us. All of it."
Amaya nodded. "Me too."
Another pause.
Then she asked, voice quieter than before, "When you were gone… did you ever think about home?"
Jay swallowed. "Every day."
Amaya smiled—not bright, not forced. Just… there.
"I'm glad you came back," she said.
He stood up.
And without thinking, without planning—he reached forward and brushed a crumb off her cheek.
Her breath caught.
But she didn't move.
Jay stepped back before the moment could break too loudly.
"I'll walk you out," he said.
The Call
Later That Night
Jay sat on the balcony of his apartment that night, hoodie pulled over his head, a cup of reheated tea balanced on the railing beside him.
The city buzzed below. Cars. Horns. Neon. Life.
He closed his eyes.
His phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
But he knew the rhythm.
He picked it up. "Clara."
A soft laugh crackled through the speaker. "Still good at guessing."
"I assume you're not calling to ask about my grades."
"No," she said, and her voice turned silkier. Colder. "Just checking in. The council's whispering again."
Jay said nothing.
"You made quite the re-entry, you know," she continued. "There's already speculation about why the second son suddenly walked back into civilian life."
"I didn't 'walk back,'" he said. "I never stopped walking."
"Poetic," Clara said, unimpressed. "But the board thinks otherwise."
Jay leaned against the glass. "You sound worried."
"Not worried. Curious."
"About what?"
"About how long you think you can keep both lives intact," she said.
Jay didn't answer.
Clara chuckled. "Don't worry. I'm rooting for you. We all love a good tragedy."
Then the line went dead.
Jay stared at the phone for a long time.
Then he turned it face-down.
And let the cold wind hit his face until the tea beside him went cold.