~~~~~ Emery’s Pov ~~~~~
My mother noticed the sudden change in my expression almost instantly, the way she noticed everything.
The keys still jingled faintly in my hand as I stared down at my phone.
“Is something wrong, Emery?”
I looked up immediately and forced a smile, sliding my phone into my pocket before she could catch a glimpse of the screen still glowing faintly through the fabric.
“No, Mom.”
“So why is your face like that?”
“I just remembered I have an essay to finish.” The lie came out smoother than it had any right to, given how hard my heart was currently hammering against my ribs.
“It’s due tomorrow.
I completely forgot about it.”
My mother stared at me, clearly unconvinced, her eyes narrowing slightly in that particular way that always made me feel like she could see straight through whatever careful expression I was trying to hold together.
She’d looked at me like that a hundred times before.
Over a bad grade I’d tried to hide.
Over a breakup in high school I’d insisted I was fine about.
It never once failed to make me feel exactly as transparent as I actually was.
But she was still tired, still recovering from a night that had already asked enough of her, and after a moment she simply nodded, deciding, apparently, that whatever I wasn’t telling her could wait until morning.
“Okay.
If you say so.”
I opened the door for her, and she stepped inside first, heading toward the kitchen out of habit even though it was well past the hour either of us should still have been awake.
I stayed on the threshold for a second longer, staring down at my phone one more time, the two messages still glowing accusingly against the dark screen.
*Stay away from Calloway Marchetti.*
*This is your only warning.*
A chill crept slowly down my spine despite the warmth of the apartment spilling into the hallway.
I slipped the phone back into my pocket and quietly shut the door behind me.
I made my way straight toward my room, moving faster than I probably needed to, but I could feel my mother’s eyes following me the whole way down the hall, watching with that familiar, quiet concern she never quite managed to hide, even when she was trying to give me space.
I didn’t turn around.
I didn’t trust my face to hold steady if I did.
I closed my bedroom door behind me and dropped face-first onto the bed, the mattress sinking beneath my weight with a soft sigh.
My whole body suddenly felt exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with the late hour and everything to do with the sheer volume of things that had happened in a single day.
The rink.
The tears.
The library.
Calloway’s couch.
My mother sitting pale in that diner booth.
And now this.
Two short messages from a number I didn’t recognize, sitting in my inbox like a small, cold stone dropped into water that had only just become still.
I lay there for a long moment with my face buried in the pillow, breathing in the familiar scent of clean laundry and lavender fabric softener, forcing each breath to come slower than the one before.
Eventually, I pushed myself upright and pulled my phone back out.
My thumb hovered over Calloway’s name first.
Some instinct told me she needed to know immediately.
That whatever this was, it involved her whether the sender had meant it to or not.
But something held me back.
Not fear of telling her.
Just a stubborn, protective instinct that didn’t want to hand her one more thing to worry about after everything she’d already carried today.
She had spent the afternoon chasing after me.
Spent the evening driving me to the diner.
Met my mother.
And she still had Wednesday’s game hanging over her.
I didn’t want to add one more burden tonight.
Instead, I opened the group chat.
**Priya, Jordan, Emery**
I forwarded the screenshot without much explanation, just the two messages sitting stark against the white background of my screen, followed by a single line.
*Emery: I just got this.
From an unknown number.
I don’t know who it’s from.*
I set the phone face-up on my comforter and stared at the ceiling, waiting.
The room was so quiet I could hear the steady ticking of the old wall clock above my desk.
It took less than a minute for the first reply to arrive.
*Priya: WHAT*
*Priya: WHAT THE HELL*
send that again i want to make sure i’m reading that right*
I forwarded the screenshot again.
It wasn’t necessary.
Somehow, though, doing it made everything feel a little less unreal.
*Jordan: okay yeah.
that’s what i thought it said.
Emery this is genuinely unsettling*
*Priya: does Calloway know??*
*Emery: Not yet.
I didn’t want to worry her tonight.
Today was already a lot for both of us.*
*Priya: Emery.
You have to tell her.
This isn’t a “wait until it’s convenient” situation.
This is a “someone might actually be watching you” situation.*
I read that message twice.
The words *watching you* settled heavily in my stomach.
I hadn’t let myself think that far ahead.
I’d been too busy trying to process the messages themselves to consider what they actually implied.
Whoever had sent them knew I’d been with Calloway tonight.
Close enough to know.
Close enough to send the warning the very same evening.
*Jordan: could it be that girl?
Novera?
Maybe she’s not over it and this is some unhinged jealousy thing*
I hadn’t considered that.
The second I did, something cold settled low in my stomach.
Novera had shown up unannounced at the rink.
She’d kissed Calloway in front of everyone.
She’d made it painfully clear she still felt entitled to whatever history they had shared.
It wasn’t impossible.
It might even be likely.
*Emery: Maybe.
I don’t know.
It came from an unknown number.
No name.
Nothing that tells me who sent it.*
*Priya: Block the number.
But screenshot everything first in case you need it later.
And PLEASE tell Calloway.
Tonight, not tomorrow.*
*Jordan: seconding that.
this feels like the kind of thing that gets worse the longer it sits unaddressed*
I stared at their replies for a long moment, my thumb hovering uselessly above the keyboard.
I was exhausted.
Completely exhausted.
But beneath that exhaustion, an uneasy certainty had begun to settle inside me.
Whoever this was…
Whatever they wanted…
This wasn’t the kind of thing that became smaller by pretending it wasn’t happening.
I opened my conversation with Calloway instead.
Her last message—
*Always.*
It glowed softly on my screen, somehow managing to feel like a small anchor in the middle of everything else.
I typed, deleted it and typed again.
Trying to find words that wouldn’t frighten her more than necessary while still being honest.
*Emery: Hey.
But something happened after you dropped us off, and I think you should see it.*
I attached the screenshot before I could second-guess myself and pressed send.
The message was delivered almost instantly.
A second later, the three little dots appeared.
*Calloway: what*
*Calloway: Emery what is this*
*Calloway: are you okay?
did anything else happen?
do you want me to come back over*
The rapid stream of messages was so unlike her usual calm, measured way of texting that it eased something tight inside my chest.
Despite everything…
I was glad I hadn’t waited until morning.
*Emery: I’m okay.
Just shaken.
I didn’t want to worry you tonight, but Priya made a good point.
I shouldn’t keep something like this to myself.*
*Calloway: Priya’s right.
Don’t ever sit on something like this to protect me, okay?
I’d rather know immediately.*
Another message appeared almost at once.
*Calloway: I have some idea who this might be.
I’ll explain tomorrow.
Please lock your door tonight.
I know that probably sounds dramatic, but please do it.*
I stared at that message longer than the others.
A fresh thread of unease slowly tightened in my chest.
*I have some idea who this might be.*
Not Novera’s name.
Not a careless guess.
Something certain enough that she hadn’t needed to ask a single question first.
*Emery: Who do you think it is?*
The three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Then appeared again.
Like she was writing and deleting several different answers before finally settling on one.
*Calloway: Not over text.
Tomorrow.
I promise I’ll tell you everything I know.
Just please be careful tonight.*
I set my phone on the nightstand and let the screen go dark.
The room fell quiet again.
Only the faint hum of the heater and the ticking clock broke the silence.
I lay back against my pillow and stared up at the ceiling.
The exhaustion.
The fear for my mother.
Making up with Calloway.
And now this.
One more thread tightening across a day that had already asked far more of me than any single day should have.
Whoever had sent those messages…
Whatever Calloway already suspected but wasn’t ready to say out loud…
I had the distinct, uneasy feeling that Wednesday’s game against Wrenfield was about to become the least complicated part of the week ahead.
I turned onto my side and pulled the blanket up over my shoulder.
The room was dark except for the narrow strip of pale streetlight slipping through the gap in my curtains, stretching across the wall beside my bed.
Sleep felt impossibly far away.
No matter how tightly I closed my eyes…
All I could see were those two messages.
**Stay away from Calloway Marchetti.**
**This is your only warning.**