Chapter 32 #4
He glances up, startled for just a second before smiling and turning the book toward me.
“Something strange,” he says. “But interesting.” He taps the page. “Look.”
He turns the book, so it faces me, showing a page with four portraits of beautiful women drawn in charcoal with soft, symmetrical features.
“They’re pretty,” I say.
He nods. “Now watch this.”
He flips the book upside down.
And suddenly, they’re not pretty at all.
Their features, which seemed flawless a moment ago, now appear distorted. Too wide. Too long. Eyes set too far apart. They just look… wrong.
I blink at them, disoriented. “That’s so weird.”
Mason returns just then, wiping his hands on a cloth. Dad calls him over and turns the book toward him. “Tell me what you see.”
Mason raises an eyebrow, leaning in. “Women.”
“Look again,” Dad says, and flips it upside down.
Mason frowns. “That’s… creepy.”
Dad chuckles softly. “Yeah. But why do you think I’m showing you this?”
We both stare at him, waiting for the answer. When Mason says nothing, I sigh and say, “Because what we think we’re seeing isn’t always the truth?”
Dad nods slowly. “Exactly.”
He closes the book with a soft thud. “We think we’re so sure about what’s real. About what’s beautiful. About what’s true. But it only takes a shift in angle to realize how much we’ve gotten wrong.”
I don’t say anything. I don’t have to. The words do enough.
“Perception lies,” he continues, looking between the both of us. “And sometimes, what looks perfect at first glance… isn’t perfect at all.”
He meets my eyes then, and for a second, I feel like he sees me fully.
“Sometimes,” he says, “the truth is upside down.”
Addie
Present day
The school courtyard is dusted with frost, the grass stiff and brittle underfoot. My breath clouds in front of me as we walk, and I shove my gloved hands deeper into my borrowed coat pockets, grateful for the extra warmth.
At least I can walk on my own today. That’s an improvement.
Lilia, beside me, shivers violently before pulling her hat further down over her ears. “Is it just me, or is today especially freezing?”
“It’s not just you,” I murmur, my teeth just shy of chattering.
“Thanks for the coat and boots,” I say hesitantly, glancing down at them—expensive, high-quality, entirely too nice for me to be wearing. It almost feels wrong to be in them, but Lilia shoved them into my hands this morning with zero room for refusal.
“It’s no problem, Addie.” She smiles, the kind that’s entirely genuine, with no expectation attached. “Anything for a friend.”
I keep my face neutral, not wanting her to see the way the words sneak under my skin.
But I look at her for a second longer, trying to remember the last time someone said something like that to me and actually meant it. I don’t know why it hits me the way it does—why something as basic as kindness from her feels like something so special.
Maybe because it’s not forced. Maybe because she says it so easily.
I glance away before I can get weirdly sentimental about it.
Lilia doesn’t seem to notice. Instead, she sighs softly, adjusting her bag. “Hey, do you really think Anderson is the one doing all of this to you?”
I hesitate, kicking at a patch of frozen grass. That’s the question, isn’t it?
I exhale. “Honestly? I don’t know.”
She hums, thoughtful. “Well, we have a class with him next, so I guess we’ll find out.”
I sigh, rubbing at my arm. “Yeah. Maybe.”
There’s a pause, and then Lilia shifts beside me. “Honestly, I kind of had someone else in mind.”
I frown, tilting my head toward her. “Who?”
“Well,” she hedges, “not as a suspect. But someone we can definitely ask.”
I raise a brow, waiting.
She exhales, breath visible in the cold air. “Zia.”
Zia Lin?
Berlin’s friend?
“She’s a tech whiz,” Lilia continues. “Super smart. People literally call her Ace because she’s good at everything.” She pauses. “Which is honestly a little unfair.”
Yeah… she’s in my Maths class. The teacher always picks on her for the hardest questions. It’s great. I can zone out in complete safety.
I’m benefiting from her suffering, and I’m not even sorry.
I nod. “Okay. So we ask her.”
Lilia smiles. “She’s probably in the computer room now. We could try to catch her on the way to class?”
I nod again, and we start toward the corridor. But as we approach, I notice the line forming outside the computer lab. And amongst the students waiting, I spot Paris.
She’s standing near the back, arms folded over her chest, her posture rigid. The second she spots us, her entire expression changes. She pales, her body stiffens, and she looks down so quickly it’s almost unnatural.
I slow slightly, watching the shift in her posture, but Lilia—completely oblivious—smiles and walks right up to her.
“Ready for the showcase?” she asks, all enthusiasm.
Lilia had explained to me a night ago that there would be one. Swan Lake, if I’m remembering correctly. Apparently, it’s tradition for the school to host one every year before winter term.
Paris’s face barely moves. The corners of her lips twitch, forming something that could be a smile, but it’s awkward. She doesn’t even say anything.
Lilia either doesn’t notice or chooses not to. “You’re gonna kill it!” she says instead, her voice light, unbothered.
Paris nods once, briefly, then looks away again, arms still crossed.
I frown slightly, glancing between them, and Lilia turns back to me, catching my confusion.
“She’s in the ballet showcase every year,” she explains, briefly looking back at her. “She’s brilliant,” she continues. “Super talented.”
I follow her gaze as well. She’s still looking down, arms crossed over her chest, shoulders slightly hunched like she’s trying to make herself smaller.
I had wanted to befriend her. Still do.
The feeling of being in someone else’s shadow, of constantly being compared to a sibling who seems to pull all the light into themselves. The feeling of always being the second choice, like being written in pencil in someone else’s life—easily erased and replaced.
It’s a whole different type of sadness, knowing you’re never the first name on anyone’s list, just a placeholder until something better comes along.
I wonder if she feels like she has to be great, because if she isn’t, what’s left?
And the ballet showcase…
Mason used to go to those. Every year.
At the time, I hadn’t thought much of it. Mason had random phases of intense interest—he was the kind of person who would hyperfixate on something completely random and then drop it just as fast. But ballet? That had confused me.
He never talked about it, never brought it up outside of the showcases.
But I remember him watching the programs closely, researching the deeper meaning behind them. I’d even seen him draw a ballerina once. It was strange… and sudden and seemed unnecessary. Out of character. But then again, I’ve been debating ever since his death if I ever truly knew him.
I never asked him about it.
Maybe I should have.
I don’t get to dwell on it, though, because suddenly, Lilia’s hand clamps onto my arm, and she spins me around.
“There she is, look.”
It takes me a second to steady myself—because ow, Lilia—but sure enough, there’s Zia.
She stands a few feet away, attention fixed on her phone, completely indifferent to basically everything around her. Lilia leans in, whispering conspiratorially into my ear. “So, how do we do this?”
I blink. “We just… do it?”
She pulls back, eyeing me. “Just do it?”
I nod.
We both exhale at the same time (a synchronized breath of impending doom) before trudging forward.
The moment we stop in front of Zia, an uncomfortable silence settles between us.
No one says anything.
Zia continues scrolling on her phone, completely uninterested in the very serious, very investigative presence of Lilia and me. I glance at Lilia, who glances at me and gives me a reassuring, yet deeply unconvincing, look.
Finally, Zia glances up, dark eyes flicking between the two of us, unimpressed. “Um… can I help you?” she asks flatly.
Lilia clears her throat. “We were just wondering… If you’ve seen anything—how do I put this—” Lilia falters.
“Strange,” I finish, “in the computer room lately?”
Zia’s eyes narrow, but ours widen. In anticipation. Or fear.
“What’s this about?” she asks, suspicious.
“Have you?” Lilia stares her down with big, pleading eyes.
Zia’s gaze sharpens, and she straightens, tilting her head slightly. “I don’t owe you any answers.”
And with that, she turns on her heel, fully intending to leave.
Which—okay. That’s fair. But also, deeply inconvenient. But before I can fully process what’s happening, Lilia steps directly into her path.
Zia stops. Looks at her. Looks at me. Looks vaguely annoyed at the entire situation.
I sigh, crossing my arms. “So does that mean you have seen something?”
Zia’s gaze locks onto mine, all ice and calculation. “I haven’t seen anything out of the ordinary.”
Lilia hums, unconvinced. “So, what exactly have you seen?”
There’s a brief silence, the kind that stretches just a little too long.
Then, flatly, emotionlessly, Zia says, “Get out of my way.”
Lilia doesn’t move. “No.”
A beat of silence.
Then, finally, Zia tilts her head slightly, eyes flickering between us like she’s reevaluating something.
“You’re asking if I’ve seen anyone in particular,” she says, not a question.
Lilia and I exchange a glance. Debating whether spilling the beans is a wise idea.
I decide to just go for it. “Anderson. Have you seen him around?”
Zia raises an eyebrow. “Staff always go in and out of the computer room.”
I give her a look. “Not what I asked.”
She studies me, gaze flickering between Lilia. My guess? She’s deciding whether this conversation is worth her time.
Then, finally, she exhales. “He’s been there a few times,” she admits. “Mostly to check the security system or review footage.”
I frown. “Footage?”
Zia shrugs. “It’s not unusual. Teachers monitor hallways, look over security logs.”