Mason's POV
Silver Lake felt… different.
The skies were pale and heavy. Clouds hung low, drenching everything in a chilled silence that felt wrong.
Maybe it was just the jet lag or lack of sleep, but something about coming back didn't feel right.
The school gates stood open ahead of me, the same as always, but they looked emptier now. Even the air felt thinner — like something was missing from it.
I don't believe in omens or gut feelings, but as I walked into the campus, that strange emptiness in my chest kept growing, tugging me toward her office.
Luke had texted earlier:
"Meet me on the rooftop when you get here."
But before that, I needed to see her. I didn't know why — maybe I just wanted to surprise her, or maybe I needed her smile to prove this uneasiness wrong.
I reached for the handle and twisted.
Locked.
"Huh?" I frowned and tried again. Still locked.
Curious, I leaned forward and peeked through the small window in the center of the door. For a moment, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me.
Inside, the room was empty. Completely stripped bare.
No papers. No piles of folders on the desk. No coffee cup beside the keyboard — or the printer I'd set up months ago.
Everything was gone.
"Elise?" I called softly, even though I knew she wouldn't answer.
Still I tried the handle again, harder this time, like force would somehow bring everything back. It rattled in vain.
That's when a student walking by slowed near me, holding a folder of prints. "Are you looking for Ms. Morgan?"
I turned, my heartbeat suddenly too fast. "Yeah—where is she? Did she change offices or something?"
The student blinked and shook her head. "You didn't know? She left yesterday. Everyone said it was because her practicum ended."
She smiled faintly, unaware that her words were piercing through me one by one. "It's a shame, though. You two seemed close. People were saying she cared about you a lot."
I forced a nod, my throat closing. "Right. Thanks."
"Oh—good news though," the student added cheerfully, oblivious. "Ms. Anderson is back! She recovered and starts next week."
But I didn't respond. I was already walking away.
My pulse pounded so loudly I could barely hear my own footsteps echo down the hall.
She was gone.
No goodbye. No message. Nothing.
I didn't remember climbing the stairs to the rooftop. All I knew was that when I got there, Luke was already waiting — leaning against the railing with his hands in his pockets.
He turned when he heard me. His eyes said everything before I even spoke.
"You knew," I said, my voice breaking.
"Mason—"
I didn't let him finish. I crossed the rooftop and swung. My fist connected with his jaw before I could even think, the sound cracking through the cold air. He stumbled, catching himself against the railing.
He didn't fight back. Not a single word came from him. Just a long exhale.
I grabbed him by the collar, shaking with fury. "Did you know she was leaving?"
He lifted his head and met my eyes. "Yes."
Something snapped again. I hit him once more, knuckles burning this time. He didn't resist—just wiped the blood from his lip, breathing slowly.
"You lied to me!" I shouted. "All this time—you lied! You made me look like an idiot!"
Luke laughed weakly, more out of exhaustion than humor. "No, Mason. I did what I had to."
"Had to?! What the hell does that mean?"
He sighed, the sound weary. "Elise begged me not to tell you."
"Of course she did," I spat bitterly. "Because she didn't care—because she wanted to disappear—"
"You don't get it." His tone turned sharp, cutting through my anger for the first time. He grabbed my wrist, forcing me to look at him. "She asked me to hide it because she was scared you'd hurt yourself. But I didn't tell you because I was scared you'd hurt her."
Those words froze me.
I let go of his collar, stumbling back.
"What?" I whispered.
Luke stared at me hard, his voice shaking now—not with fear, but with something like pity. "You think I didn't see how you were, Mason? The way you acted when she tried to pull away? You were a storm waiting to destroy anything that made you feel small."
"That's not true—"
"Isn't it?" he snapped, cutting me off. "Do you remember what you told her? About Allie cheating on you?"
I went still. My hands clenched, but no words came.
Luke laughed bitterly, holding his swelling jaw. "Yeah. I knew that story was made up. You told everyone the same lie so many times you started believing it yourself."
"Shut up."
He didn't. "She didn't cheat on you, Mason. You were the one she cheated with. She had a boyfriend. You were the other guy."
I stared at him, chest burning, the world wobbling beneath me.
"Allie didn't betray you," he continued quietly, "You twisted that guilt into a story you could live with. And then you used it to make Elise feel like she owed you guilt of her own."
"Stop," I muttered, tears stinging my eyes.
"Do you know why she left?" Luke asked softly now, voice breaking. "Because she saw through it. Because she knew loving you would destroy you both—and she still wanted to protect you from that."
I pressed the heel of my palm against my face, struggling to breathe.
"She wasn't like Allie. She didn't get bored and run away. She stayed as long as she could. She cared, Mason. And she left to save you."
The rooftop went quiet again except for the wind.
Luke reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out an envelope, the same one I'd given him weeks ago to deliver to Elise. Only my name was on it now — in her handwriting.
"She left this," he said gently. "Her goodbye. Her apology."
I couldn't take it at first. My hands wouldn't move. But eventually, he placed it in my palm anyway.
"I hope you grow up enough to understand what she did," Luke said softly. "She broke her own heart trying to keep yours from breaking worse."
And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving me standing there—alone, wind whipping across the roof, the letter trembling in my hand.
I didn't open it right away. I just stared at the familiar handwriting, the curves of her pen strokes that somehow looked softer than I remembered.
The weight of it in my hand felt heavier than anything I'd ever held.
And for the first time, guilt—not anger—was all I could feel.