19:42 — Southwest Boy's Housing, Level C
Later that evening, after the chaos had drained into silence, Alia stood outside her brother's room. She hadn't scanned her pass 'cause it was taken. Just stood there, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, heart pacing like it wasn't sure whether to fight or flight.
She finally knocked. Twice. For the first time ever.
"Come in," Ajax called, voice low and tired.
She opened the door and stepped in. The lights were low, golden and warm, casting long shadows across his room. He was on the couch, boots off, elbows on knees, scrolling through something on his tablet—logs, most likely. Probably surveillance. Always surveillance.
Alia shut the door gently behind her.
"You're not still mad at me, right?" she asked, half-teasing.
Ajax didn't look up. "What do you want, Alia?"
She walked over and stood in front of him. "I wanted to ask what happened today. Like… really happened."
Ajax's brows twitched. "You're not supposed to know about that."
"And yet." She crossed her arms. "Here I am."
He let out a breath. "It's classified, Alia."
She sat on the edge of the table in front of him. "Do you not trust me? I won't tell anyone. I swear. I just… I saw you earlier. Before the alarms. You looked—freaked."
He finally looked at her. Eyes shadowed, unreadable.
After a pause, he set the tablet down.
"There've been breaches," he said quietly. "Since the beginning of term. Small ones at first—data leaks, corridor scans, minor security delays. We patched them as they came. No one outside the Table knew."
Alia stayed silent.
"We didn't know who was behind it. Until today. But I've always had a gut feeling," he went on. "That's as far as I'm willing to go."
Alia hesitated. She opened her mouth to ask more—but she stopped herself. Instead, she fiddled with the hem of her hoodie and stared down.
"I'm sorry," she said finally. "About stealing your pass."
Ajax arched a brow. "Yeah. That."
"I shouldn't have broken into the Vault." Her voice dropped. "I was selfish. I didn't think it through. I guess I've just been so used to you always fixing things, always covering for me. I thought… I could get away with it."
His expression softened, just barely. He let out a tired sigh and leaned back against the couch.
Alia chewed her lip, then sat beside him.
He glanced sideways. "Did you find what you were looking for?"
She shook her head slowly. "Not even close."
A flicker of something passed her face. Not frustration—something pinker. Warmer.
Her ears burned.
Ajax caught it. Not the blush, but the shift. He watched her quietly. He didn't press.
But he was relieved—more than he'd admit—that Cade hadn't hurt her.
He nudged her shoulder. "You always pull this dramatic spy stuff. Just ask next time."
"I did ask," she muttered. "You replied me with 'hm.'"
"Then try asking better."
"You're the worst."
"You're the worst…sister."
"Touché."
And just like that, the air between them lightened. The banter slipped back into place like it had never left. It was the kind of exchange only siblings could have—woven in loyalty, stitched in years of shared chaos.
Ajax looked over at her again. "You're dangerous, you know that?"
She grinned. "Learned from the best."
He rolled his eyes.
And for a moment, they both sat there in that peace. That sweet, suspended moment before the world tilted again.
---
20:37 — Northwest Girls' Housing, Room 314
Alia's back in her dorm. Zuri's half-asleep with a bonnet on and Tessa's doing a clay mask while humming off-key to something on her playlist. It's domestic. Chill. Cozy. But Alia can't shake what Ajax said.
That there were breaches—multiple. Since the start of the term. And the fact that Cade was nowhere to be found still sits in her stomach like spoiled wine.
She's about to let it go—try to sleep—when her tab lights up.
Carmen:
Are you up?
Alia stares at it. It's simple. Too simple.
But her fingers move anyway.
Alia:
Barely. You okay?
No answer.
Ten minutes pass.
Just as she starts to wonder if she imagined the message, her tab buzzes again.
A second message:
Back stairwell.
Alia blinks. What does Carmen want to tell her?
She glances at her girls. Tessa's passed out. Zuri's snoring into a stuffed pillow. Quietly, Alia throws on socks and slides out the door.
Again.
---
20:58 — Northwest Girls' Housing, Back stairwell
It's colder here. The stairwell smells like steel and echoes with every footstep. Carmen's sitting on the steps, back against the wall, legs long and relaxed—but her posture's too still. Too calculated.
"You came," she says.
"You called." Alia leans against the rail.
They sit in silence for a beat.
Alia lets out a breath.
Then Carmen drops the bomb
"He's not in the system anymore."
"What?" Alia straightens.
"His ID. His bio print. His student pass. Gone. Erased like he was never here."
Alia's heart pounds. "How?"
"I don't know," Carmen says flatly. "But someone definitely covered up his tracks. And they were fast."
Alia stares at her. "So he was a plant?"
"Seems like it."
They sit in silence. Wind hisses through the cracks in the old tower. The air is thick.
Carmen finally looks at her.
And for the second time in the story, Carmen leans in too close, studying her face like she's trying to read something that isn't in plain ink.
"We'll figure it out," she says. "But you have to stop snooping around."
Alia smirks, despite the nerves in her gut. "You offering backup?"
Carmen doesn't smile. "I'm not letting you get caught in this mess."
Pause. A flicker. And then—
"Do you remember that we kissed, Carmen?" Alia asks suddenly.
Carmen exhaled.
"I do," Carmen whispers.
Alia watches her. Expression unreadable.
Then—
"You kissed me back." Alia bites her bottom lip.
Silence again.
Until Carmen says—very, very quietly:
"Don't make me regret it."
Alia looked away, flushed and biting her bottom lip.
The silence lingered like mist. Not awkward—but electric. Alia's face was half-turned, trying to hide the heat blooming on her cheeks. Carmen remained still, eyes trained on the skyline beyond the rooftop rail.
Then Alia dared to speak.
"You know…" Her voice was soft, mischievous. "For someone who doesn't want to talk about it… you're very good at kissing."
Carmen turned her head slowly. Her expression was deadpan. "You're very good at running your mouth."
Alia smiled, smug and sweet. "You didn't seem to mind my mouth yesterday."
Carmen's brow twitched. But her lips? They tilted—barely. "You're incorrigible."
Alia leaned back on her elbows, kicking one leg lazily. "I'll take that as a compliment."
"It's not."
"But you said you remembered it," Alia pressed, eyes glinting. "And you kissed me back. I'm just making sure we're keeping the record straight."
Carmen looked away again, exhaling slowly through her nose. "You're exhausting."
Alia gave a little laugh. "Admit it, you like talking to me."
A pause.
Then Carmen, dryly: "I like silence."
Alia tsked, inching closer, her voice dipping flirtier. "Liar. You're always listening when I talk."
"You're loud," Carmen muttered. "Hard not to."
"Now that," Alia said with a mock gasp, "did sound like a compliment."
"You hear what you want to hear."
Alia bumped Carmen's shoulder gently. "Only when it's from you."
Carmen didn't respond. She just glanced down at Alia's fingers—barely brushing hers now on the concrete between them. Alia didn't move them. Neither did she.
"So… what happens now?" Alia asked, voice barely above the wind.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean…" She looked down, then back at Carmen with something more honest. "Did I cross a line you didn't want me to?"
Carmen turned to face her fully now. Her eyes searched hers. Quiet. Focused.
"No," she said finally. "But you might make things complicated."
Alia grinned. "I was born to complicate things."
Carmen let out a breath that was almost a laugh.
"Don't make me regret it," she repeated, this time softer. Like a truth brushing the edge of a secret.
"I won't," Alia said, tilting her head. "Unless you like a little regret."
Carmen shot her a glare so sharp it could shatter glass.
Alia just smiled wider.
Carmen shifted, gaze narrowing slightly like she was weighing something—Alia's proximity, her tone, her eyes that didn't know how to quit.
"Why do you always do this?" she asked softly.
Alia blinked. "Do what?"
"This." Carmen gestured vaguely. "Poke at things. At me."
Alia shrugged, fingers brushing imaginary lint off Carmen's sleeve. "Maybe I like what happens when I do."
Carmen looked down at the spot Alia touched, then back at her face. "And what exactly happens?"
Alia grinned, that same dangerous one that made Carmen's thoughts slow. "You look at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you want to kiss me again, but you're too stubborn to admit it."
Carmen didn't answer at first. Her jaw clenched the slightest bit. "You're imagining things."
"Am I?" Alia leaned in, voice lowered. "Then why haven't you moved away?"
That made Carmen freeze for just a heartbeat. Her breath hitched—but she recovered fast.
"Because," she said, voice quieter than ever, "I haven't decided yet if letting you this close is a mistake."
Alia's smirk faltered.Just a little.
"You'd regret it if you didn't."
There it was—truth, naked and bare in her voice. Carmen heard it. Felt it.
And maybe that's why she didn't snap back. Maybe that's why she looked away instead and said:
"You're not what I expected."
Alia blinked. "That a good thing or a bad thing?"
"I don't know yet." Carmen looked at her again. "But it's messing with my head."
Alia laughed softly.