"IT WAS WHAT?" Jax exclaims, his eyes moving from Logan and me, searching for some comfort. "Someone planted corrosive acid on the floor? And it could've seriously injured you?"

I can't believe I'm sitting in Jax's room again, this time with Logan, who seems awfully awestruck by everything around us. I'm so used to it that I didn't spare a thought to how strange this must be for him. The walls are plastered in Jax style—vintage band posters and swimmer aesthetics that cover up the beige of the wall. Logan sits on the arm chair near the closet beside the door and I'm nestled on the edge of Jax's bed. I knew this was going to be a difficult conversation, because Jax is the type to freak out, but I'm starting to think bringing Logan was a bad idea.

"Yeah," Logan says, his jaw tightening as he crosses his arms. "Corrosive acid, right where she would've touched it. Someone knew exactly what to do. It looks like water, but obviously—"

Jax crosses his arms. "How lucky you happened to be there at that exact moment, Logan?"

Logan's eyes narrow at Jax, his stance shifting. "What are you implying?"

"I'm not implying anything," Jax replies. "I'm just saying, it's convenient. You show up right when something happens, like you had some kind of sixth sense."

"I was in the chemistry lab to finish a lab report," Logan snaps. "You don't have to make me out to be the villain here."

"Guys, stop," I interject. "This isn't helping."

But Jax ignores me, his gaze locked on Logan. "It's just... odd, don't you think? You knew exactly where I'd be, where she'd be. And now acid? Whoever did this didn't pick a random spot."

Logan steps closer, his voice simmering with anger. "You think I had something to do with this?"

"I don't know," Jax shoots back, straightening his posture. "But let's not pretend this isn't suspicious. The timing, the placement—hell, even your reaction right now. You seem awfully defensive."

"Enough!" I step between them. "You both need to stop this now. Jax, Logan didn't do this. If it weren't for him, I might have been in the hospital—or worse."

Jax hesitates, his jaw tightening as he looks at me, then back at Logan. "I'm just saying we can't rule anything out until we know who's behind this."

I rub my eyes, trying to ease the mess that is my mind right now. Who would do this? Why target me? And now Jax and Logan are practically at each other's throats.

"Look," I say, moving away from the pair, "I don't have the energy for this back-and-forth. We need to figure out who's doing this, and throwing accusations around isn't getting us anywhere."

Logan exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. "She's right," he says, though his glare at Jax lingers. "This isn't about me. It's about whoever's messing with her."

"And why they're going to such extremes," Jax mutters, finally backing down but not entirely letting go of his suspicion. "Corrosive acid isn't some prank, Avra. Someone went out of their way to hurt you—seriously hurt you."

"I'm not sure if something like this happened to Amelia or Jessica," Logan says, "I mean, Jessica's never been injured during her shifts."

The door swings open, and to my surprise—and apparent horror—Anika steps in. Her hands are full of snacks, and she glances around the room, oblivious to the war that could take place here in the next few minutes.

"Jax, I brought some snacks because you forgot how hospitality works," she says, glaring at Jax before placing the tray on his desk. Her smile falters slightly when she sees all of us frozen in an awkward silence. "Oh, was I interrupting something?"

"For a beat, none of us answer. Then Jax clears his throat, stepping forward a little too quickly. "No, uh, it's fine, Mom."

But of course, she lingers, her eyes scanning each of our faces. "You all look so serious. Is everything alright?"

"Yeah," Jax says ushering her out of his room. "Just, uh, school stuff. You know, projects and group work."

She looks unconvinced, but thankfully, she doesn't press the issue. "Alright, well, don't work too hard. Dinner's at seven, guys."

The door clicks shut behind her, and the room exhales.

Jax clears his throat, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Look, we're not getting anywhere like this. The point is, whoever did this has a motive—and it's probably bigger than just targeting you for kicks, Avra."

"You said you saw Amelia's painting? In the East Wing?" Logan asks, turning to me.

"Yeah," I say, nodding. "It was there but then it wasn't."

I recall the day so vividly. I thought I was going crazy again. But, both the guys in this room believe me. That counts for something. If they dismissed Amelia and Jessica's claims that something was wrong, maybe this is their way of making up for it. By protecting me.

Wait, what?

I watch Logan and Jax, worried looks on their faces as they think around me. I think back to Alephie's anger with Jax—she said not everything was about him. There's something I'm missing, something they're both keeping from me, something that could be key to understanding something.

"Jax?" I ask, "Why did you have a list of the people who were hall monitors? How long have you been looking into it?"

His face pales. I didn't think it was such a touch subject, but clearly, he's not ready to talk about it. He shifts uncomfortably, glancing away. "I—I wasn't looking into it," he says, though his voice shakes. "I was curious, and I found it off. I wanted to tell whoever became Hall Monitor, I just didn't expect it to be you. Just...some stuff happened."

I raise an eyebrow. "Stuff happened? What kind of stuff, Jax?"

He looks at me, his lips pressed into a thin line. "Just... things. Nothing you need to worry about."

"Do you realize I do need to worry about it? Apparently, someone is trying to kill me."

Logan interjects. "Okay, kill is an exaggeration. The worst that could've happened was, maybe, itchy skin and first degree burns."

I turn to Logan, incredulous. "It's corrosive acid, Logan. You're seriously underestimating how dangerous it was."

Logan doesn't back down. "I don't know how much of a scientist you are, but that was diluted acid, it wouldn't be—" He stops, noticing my glare. "I'm just saying, it's not murder. We're not dealing with a serial killer here."

"Just a potential psycho," Jax adds, "How lovely."

"Can we please focus?" I push, my patience running low. "The point is, someone deliberately tried to hurt me. And right now, I don't care if they're some over-the-top prankster or a mad psycho—they're a danger. We need to figure out who's behind this before it escalates.

Jax tries to grab the tray of snacks, moving closer to me than he already is. "I just don't get it. Who would do this? Why target you, of all people? Or Amelia? It just doesn't make sense."

A thin thread of panic stitches its way through my body. I'm trying to hold myself together, to remember that none of this is my fault, but something makes me think there's a reason it's me and not someone else. Things don't just happen for no reason, there has to be a reason why I can feel Amelia and Jessica in the room with me.

Who would do this?

Jax's voice echoes through my thoughts, but it doesn't answer the question. I don't have an answer. The feeling of the acid sitting there, so carefully placed, so close to where I stood, lingers. I can still almost feel the heat radiating from the spot, the way my body froze in that moment, my heart thudding against my ribcage like it wanted to escape.

I pull my knees up to my chest, hugging them tightly, trying to keep my head in one piece. I know they're still talking—Jax and Logan, their voices mixing, getting louder. I hear the words but they don't really make sense. Accusations, defensiveness, who would target you, Avra? It's too much. My mind is still stuck on that moment, replaying it like a broken record, as if I could somehow rewind time and stop myself from walking into that room. I should've known something was wrong. I should've—

"Avra?" Logan's voice brings me back. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine," I say quickly. "Everything's fine."

But, Logan's gaze doesn't leave me.

★★★

"Avra? Could I steal you for a moment, please?" Hastings asks the week after, just as I'm grabbing my things out of my locker. Jax freezes beside me, his eyes tearing Hastings to shreds.

"Yes, Sir," I reply, following him. Jax shoots me a look of concern from behind me, and I nod, reassuring him I'll be alright. Hastings can't just murder me in his office. I hope.

When you look at Principal Hastings, you don't see evil. He seems like just another middle-aged man, slightly balding with a hint of grey in his hair. He wears glasses that sit too low on his nose and a suit that's slightly too tight around his middle, the kind of man you'd expect to find at a PTA meeting discussing bake sales and standardized testing. But now that I've been nearly killed, the idea that he's an axe murderer is the only image materializing in my mind.

"Avra, come on inside," His crooked smile greets me yet again, and I walk in, shutting my nose to the sandalwood scent. It's odd, I've been around this part of the building a few times—like when I was getting my report card analyzed, or when I was recently getting my shift details. The sandalwood only seems to be there when I'm inside his room, and I'm itching to ask him where he bought it, just to confirm my suspicions.

"We need to have a chat about your mother, Avra."

My body stills. I force myself to stay calm, though the shock lances through me. My mother. The mention of her always pulls me into a place of uncertainty, and I hate that I can feel my heart skip a beat just at the thought of her.

"About my mother?" I ask, my voice a little too steady, even though my insides are twisting. I look at Hastings, but his eyes are unreadable behind his glasses, the hint of a smile still lingering on his lips, as if he's waiting for my reaction.

"It has come to my attention that your mother has been absent from your life."

Absent from my life. I want to pretend it's not true, that my life is all sunshine. But the truth is, she has been absent, for years now. Sometimes, it feels like she was never even there.

I don't say anything immediately. I can't. Instead, I focus on breathing, trying to keep my expression neutral, my thoughts from spiraling. The last thing I want is for him to see how much this affects me. I can't let him know the truth.

"Nothing like that, Sir," I explain, "she's just been at the hospital for treatment."

He raises an eyebrow, and pulls out a document covered in red marks. "Then, how do you explain these?"

Simply put, these are all the parent teacher meetings my mother has missed. The excuses I came up with are typed out for me to see my lies. She hadn't signed my report cards, and I thought the school forgot about those.

But, it's the not the marks that catch my eye. It's the photo. My heart drops to my stomach as I recognize my house, taken from a strange angle from across the street. The trees around the house look twisted, shadows stretching unnaturally long, as if they're alive. The house itself is shrouded in mist, like something out of a bad dream.

I don't need to look closely to know—it's my house. But how did he get this? And why does it feel so wrong? My breath catches in my throat, a chill running down my spine. The darkness around my house in the picture feels like it's bleeding into reality.

Hastings watches me, his eyes unreadable. "I have my ways of keeping an eye on students, Avra. I just want to make sure you're okay."

I look up at him sharply, the hairs on the back of my neck standing up. "How—why do you have this?" I stammer. "What is this?"

"A student has brought it to my attention that you seem to be living alone."

I don't respond, instead turning on my heel and rushing out of the office, my mind racing. The photo burns into my thoughts as I make my way down the hall. What does he know that I don't? Why is this happening? And why now?

I don't have answers. But as I step into the cold, empty air outside, I can't shake the feeling that someone is still watching me. And this time, I'm not sure if it's just my imagination.