Calder stands in the narrow shadows outside the gym office, his shirt rumpled, eyes rimmed red and hollow. The school buzzes behind frosted glass, but here—between flickering lights—every step echoes with the threat of what’s coming. His tie is askew, throat bare, hands shaking as he smooths the fabric as if he can press his guilt away. Havyn finds him like this: hair escaping its strict braid, shoulders tensed beneath a grey sweatshirt, jaw clenched so hard it looks painful. She doesn’t say hello; instead, her fingers brush against his knuckles, tracing raw skin with a tenderness that almost breaks him.

“We have to talk,” she whispers, gaze flicking from his mouth to his eyes. There’s a flash of fear in her, masked as authority, but Calder sees through it; he always does. He wants to touch her, wants to be good for her, but doesn’t know what good is anymore.

They walk in silence through the back corridors, bodies always almost touching, words trapped behind their teeth. Havyn’s voice finally breaks the hush, trembling. “They know. The staff, the students. I saw my name on the bathroom wall.” She laughs, humorless, and Calder wants to hold her so tightly the world can’t find her.

He tries to reassure her, placing a hand on her shoulder, heat passing between them. “We’ll figure this out,” he murmurs, and the lie tastes bitter. For a second, she leans into his palm, her walls lowering, eyes softening.

In the drama office, Vesya paces, floral dress swirling above battered sneakers. Her cheeks are flushed, hands twisting a faded lanyard. “They want someone to blame. If I don’t speak, they’ll destroy you both,” she says, voice brittle but brave. Siera lingers at her shoulder, defiant, amber eyes sharp with worry. Kaelun slouches against the door, hands deep in hoodie pockets, watching with a slanted, knowing smile. “Don’t let them choose for you,” he says quietly to Vesya. “Make your own damn ending.”

Havyn’s hand trembles as she squeezes Calder’s, a silent yes to whatever comes next. “If I fall, I want it to be for something I chose,” she breathes into his ear. He presses his lips to her forehead, a shaky kiss: apology and promise.

Night falls. The school feels deserted, except for the gym, where Calder and Havyn collapse together on the wrestling mat. Her sweatshirt pulled over her head, his fingers fumbling at buttons, their bodies hungry—desperate—every caress edged with sorrow and relief. Havyn’s hands map the ridges of his spine, her breath catching on his name; Calder kisses the bruises on her hips, worship in every trembling movement. They move like the world’s ending: chests heaving, sweat-slicked skin, tears mingling with kisses—raw, frantic, wordless. Every sound in the dark is half a plea, half a memory.

Afterward, tangled together, Calder tucks a strand of hair behind Havyn’s ear. “I can’t keep losing you,” he whispers, voice almost broken.

She doesn’t answer—doesn’t have to. The look she gives him is fierce and terrified, a promise she might not be able to keep.

In the auditorium, Vesya stands frozen before the silent student body, a scrap of paper clutched in her fist. Her pulse thrums in her throat as she searches for her voice. Every eye watches her, waiting—for mercy or for blood.

To be continued...