Simon didn't plan on being late that morning.
The sky was gray, low clouds pressing down on the city like it was holding its breath. Isabella hadn't come to school. No text. No explanation. Just silence.
That bothered him more than he wanted to admit.
He reached his car and unlocked it, tossing his bag into the passenger seat. The parking lot was mostly empty now—first period had already started. He rubbed the back of his neck, debating whether to drive off or sit there a minute longer.
That's when he heard it.
"Yo."
Simon looked up.
The guy leaning against the car two spaces away didn't belong here. He was tall—taller than Simon by a good few inches. Blonde hair cut clean but not neat. Blue eyes sharp enough to feel like they were measuring him. A small tattoo sat near his eye, subtle but intentional.
The kind of guy who didn't need to raise his voice to command attention.
Simon straightened. "Yeah?"
The guy pushed off the car and walked closer, hands in his pockets, casual like this was just another conversation on a regular day.
"So," the guy said, studying him openly, "you Simon?"
Simon frowned. "Depends who's asking."
A faint smile tugged at the guy's mouth. Not friendly. Not threatening. Something in between.
"Relax," he said. "I'm not here to start anything. Name's Lincoln."
The name didn't ring a bell. But the way he said it—like Simon should recognize it—made his stomach tighten.
"Okay," Simon replied carefully. "And?"
Lincoln tilted his head slightly. "I heard you're close with Isabella."
That did it.
Simon's posture changed. Subtle. Defensive. "Who told you that?"
Lincoln laughed softly. "Didn't answer my question."
Simon exhaled through his nose. "No. I'm not dating her. If that's what you're getting at."
Lincoln blinked once. Then chuckled. "Dating?" He shook his head. "Nah. Didn't say that."
Simon stiffened. He'd walked right into that.
Lincoln continued, voice calm. "But you're around her. A lot. People talk."
Simon crossed his arms. "People always talk."
"True," Lincoln said. Then, almost casually, "You seem protective though."
Simon didn't respond.
The silence stretched.
Lincoln watched him closely now. "Let me guess. You think I'm some random guy fishing for info."
Simon met his eyes. "Aren't you?"
Lincoln smiled wider this time. "Fair."
He stepped closer—not invading space, but near enough that Simon could feel the weight of his presence.
"I'm Isabella's brother."
The words hit harder than expected.
Simon's brows knit together. "She never mentioned—"
"I know," Lincoln cut in smoothly. "She wouldn't."
That alone told Simon more than he wanted to know.
Lincoln studied his reaction, eyes sharp. "So. Now that you know who I am… I'll ask again."
He paused.
"Do you know where she is?"
Simon hesitated.
Just for a second.
It was enough.
Lincoln noticed.
Simon shook his head. "No."
Lincoln didn't push immediately. He just nodded slowly, like he was filing the answer away.
"You're lying," he said calmly.
Simon's jaw tightened. "I don't know you."
"True," Lincoln replied. "But I know my sister. And I know the kind of people she'd trust when things go bad."
Simon's chest tightened.
"Look," Simon said, voice firmer now, "if you're here to drag her back to whatever mess she got thrown out of, you can stop. I'm not helping."
Lincoln's expression darkened—not with anger, but with something colder.
"Thrown out," he repeated quietly.
Simon realized his mistake too late.
Lincoln took a slow breath. "So it's true."
Simon didn't answer.
Lincoln turned away for a moment, staring out at the street beyond the school gates. When he spoke again, his voice was steady—but something underneath it had shifted.
"They kicked her out?"
Simon swallowed. "That's not my story to tell."
Lincoln looked back at him. The easy confidence was gone now, replaced with something dangerous and focused.
"You protecting her," Lincoln said. "Or protecting yourself?"
Simon didn't flinch. "Both, maybe."
That earned a short laugh. "At least you're honest."
Lincoln stepped back, giving Simon space again. "Let me make something clear."
Simon watched him closely.
"I didn't come here to hurt her," Lincoln said. "And I didn't come here to fight you."
"Then why are you here?" Simon asked.
Lincoln's eyes hardened. "Because someone crossed a line."
Simon thought of Ash. Of courtrooms. Of bruised faces and broken lives.
"And you think that someone's me?" Simon asked.
Lincoln shook his head. "No."
The pause that followed was deliberate.
"I think it's the guy who thought he could ruin her life and walk away clean."
Simon's stomach dropped.
"So," Lincoln continued, "I'm asking you one last time."
He met Simon's eyes fully now.
"Do you know where my sister is?"
Simon held his gaze.
Long.
Steady.
Then he shook his head again.
"No."
Lincoln studied him for several seconds. Searching. Weighing.
Finally, he nodded.
"Good."
Simon frowned. "Good?"
Lincoln smirked faintly. "Means you're not stupid. And you're not selling her out."
He turned away, taking a few steps back.
"Tell her," Lincoln added over his shoulder, "that I'm in town."
Simon's heart pounded. "I'm not your messenger."
Lincoln stopped. Half-turned.
"You will be," he said calmly. "Because you care."
Then he walked away.
Simon stood there long after Lincoln disappeared down the sidewalk, his thoughts racing.
He exhaled slowly, rubbing his face.
Whatever this was—
It wasn't over.
Not even close.
And for the first time since everything began, Simon realized something chilling:
Theo wasn't the only storm coming.