Brielle’s POV
The first time I saw Savannah back at school, she was smiling.
Not the plastic grin she usually reserved for fundraisers and family photos. No, this smile was soft, disarming—like she’d just been on a peaceful vacation, not plotting someone’s social execution. She floated through the hallways like nothing had happened, like she hadn’t held a knife to my life and twisted.
She wore a pale blue blouse that matched her eyes and a perfect glossy wave in her hair, and when people glanced her way, they smiled back without realizing the danger. That was her greatest trick—convincing the world she was sugar and silk when really, she was arsenic with a pearl choker.
She passed me near the lockers and paused. “Brielle,” she said sweetly. “You look well. I heard you were unwell. So g
