ASH'S POV
The pencil snaps in my hand.
I'm watching Nora through the library stacks—third floor, poetry section, exactly where I knew she'd go—and I can't stop seeing it. Evan's hands on her face. Evan's mouth on hers. Evan stealing the one thing I've wanted for two years.
My brother. My twin. My hero.
My enemy.
"Careful, Ash. You'll hurt yourself again."
I spin around. Madison Pierce leans against the bookshelf, examining her perfect nails. How long has she been watching me watch Nora?
"What do you want, Madison?"
"Just wondering why you're hiding up here instead of talking to your dream girl." She smiles, sharp as knives. "Oh wait. That's right. Evan kissed her first. Again. Poor Ash, always second place."
My jaw clenches. "Leave."
"Did you see his face when he kissed her? He looked happy. Really happy. First time in years, actually." She tilts her head. "Makes you wonder if perfect Evan finally found something worth fighting for. And it's not me."
She walks away, heels clicking on the hardwood floor.
I turn back to Nora. She's opening her locker now, pulling out the poetry book I left her. My heart hammers as she reads the note.
Does she know it's from me? Does she care?
Or is she thinking about Evan's kiss?
I've been leaving gifts all semester. A pressed flower in her favorite study book. A sketch of the campus fountain where she eats lunch. Little notes with poetry quotes. Building up courage to finally talk to her.
But every time I get close, I remember.
Seven years ago. Pills scattered on bathroom tile. Evan's panicked voice calling 911. The hospital lights burning my eyes. Everyone crying, saying they almost lost me.
"Why would you do this?" Evan sobbed, gripping my hand. "Why didn't you tell me you were hurting?"
Because I was tired of being the broken twin. The anxious one. The one everyone worried about. I wanted to disappear, to stop being a burden.
But Evan saved me. And I've been living in his shadow ever since.
He gets hockey stardom. I get art therapy.
He gets confidence. I get panic attacks.
He gets everything. I get whatever he doesn't want.
Except now he wants Nora.
And that changes everything.
My phone buzzes. Evan's name flashes on screen.
EVAN: Stay away from her. I'm handling it.
Handling what? Handling breaking her heart? I saw what he did at the coffee shop—everyone's talking about it. How he humiliated her, called her desperate, made her quit.
That's not protecting her. That's destroying her.
I text back: You kissed her. You don't get to decide.
EVAN: You don't understand. Someone's threatening her. Threatening both of us. I need to keep her away until I figure out who.
EVAN: Trust me, Ash. Please. I'm doing this for you.
For me. He's always doing things "for me." Saving me. Protecting me. Controlling me.
Like I'm still that suicidal kid who can't make his own choices.
I look back at Nora. She's reading something—her face goes pale. She spins around like she heard something.
The lights flicker.
Something's wrong.
I move toward the stairs, but my phone buzzes again. Not Evan this time.
UNKNOWN: Did you enjoy watching Evan kiss your girl? Don't worry. You'll get your turn soon. Everyone gets what they deserve. Check your sketchbook. Page 47.
My blood runs cold.
I yank my sketchbook from my bag, flipping to page forty-seven with shaking hands.
It's a drawing I did weeks ago—Nora sitting in the library, reading. One of dozens of sketches I've made of her.
But someone's added to it. Red ink bleeding across the page like blood.
They've drawn a second figure behind Nora in my sketch. A shadowy person reaching for her throat.
And written underneath in that same red ink:
"She's beautiful when she's scared. You should see her face right now. Basement. Locker 247. Tick tock, Ash. Your brother's too busy playing hero to notice she's in real danger."
My heart stops.
I'm running before I can think—down the stairs, past shocked students, taking steps three at a time. The basement is one floor down. If someone's threatening Nora, if she's in danger—
My phone rings. Evan.
"Don't go down there!" He's breathing hard, running too. "Ash, it's a trap! Someone's setting us up—"
I hang up and keep running.
The basement door is heavy. I shove it open, and it slams against the wall.
"Nora!"
The lights are out. Emergency exit signs cast everything in red.
"Nora, where are you?"
A whimper. There—by the lockers.
I run toward the sound, my eyes adjusting to the darkness. Nora's pressed against her locker, clutching my poetry book, eyes wide with terror.
"Ash?" Her voice shakes. "Is that you?"
"It's me. You're okay. I'm here—"
Something crashes behind me. The basement door slamming shut.
We're locked in.
Nora grabs my arm. "Someone was here. In the dark. They were right behind me—"
"I know. I got a message. Someone's—"
The emergency lights flicker out.
Total darkness.
Nora's fingernails dig into my arm. I can hear her panicked breathing, feel her trembling.
"I've got you," I whisper. "I won't let anything—"
My phone lights up. A text. The glow illuminates both our faces.
UNKNOWN: Perfect. Both twins in one place. This will be easier than I thought.
Another message:
UNKNOWN: Tell me, Ash. When Evan saved your life seven years ago, did you thank him? Or did you hate him for it? For making you owe him forever? For turning you into his pet project?
How do they know about that? Nobody knows about my suicide attempt except family and doctors.
A third message, and this time there's a video attachment.
I don't want to open it. Every instinct screams not to.
But Nora's watching, her face ghostly in the phone's glow.
I tap the video.
It's security footage. Grainy. Black and white. The coffee shop this morning.
Evan's there, talking to Nora. But this angle shows what I couldn't see from outside—Evan's face when he's not looking at her. When his teammates aren't watching.
He looks destroyed. Guilty. His hand shakes when he reaches for his coffee.
Then the footage cuts to later. Outside the shop. Evan watching Nora walk away, his expression broken. He starts to follow her, pulls out his phone.
The video zooms in on his screen. Shows the message he types:
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. It didn't mean anything."
But he never sent it.
The video ends. A new message appears:
UNKNOWN: Plot twist—Evan's in love with her too. Both twins want the same girl. Both twins are lying to each other. Both twins are keeping secrets. But here's the real question: which twin does Nora choose when she finds out you've both been playing games with her heart?
Nora's staring at me in the darkness, the phone's glow reflecting in her eyes.
"You knew," she whispers. "You knew Evan kissed me, and you still sent the poetry book. You're both—you're both playing with me."
"No, Nora, it's not—"
"Which one of you is real?" Her voice cracks. "Which one of you actually cares? Or am I just some game you're both playing?"
Before I can answer, my phone dies.
Complete darkness again.
And in that darkness, we hear it.
Footsteps. Coming down the stairs. Slow. Deliberate.
Someone else is here.
Nora's hand finds mine in the dark, gripping so tight it hurts.
A voice echoes through the basement—distorted, electronic, impossible to identify:
"Two twins. One girl. One of you is the hero. One of you is the villain. But here's the fun part—even you don't know which is which anymore. Time to find out who Nora really belongs with. Let the games begin."
The footsteps stop.
Right in front of us.
Someone's standing there in the darkness.
So close I can hear them breathing.