chapter 13 The warning
516 Words
Vanessa didn’t confront Olivia.
She didn’t have to.
Her influence seeped through Westbridge like ink in water—slow, subtle, impossible to ignore. It was there in the way conversations hushed when Olivia approached, in the sideways looks from girls who once borrowed her notes, in the forced politeness that replaced warmth almost overnight.
Even the classroom felt different.
When Olivia raised her hand, professors paused longer than necessary before calling on her. When she spoke, their eyes drifted elsewhere, as if they were already bracing for disagreement. It wasn’t open hostility—it was something worse.
Doubt.
By midweek, Olivia stopped eating in the cafeteria. She took her meals to the quiet corners of campus, where the noise couldn’t follow her. Mia noticed, of course.
“This isn’t random,” Mia said one afternoon, sitting beside her on a bench near the art building. “Someone’s steering the narrative.”
Olivia swallowed. “I know who.”
She didn’t say Vanessa’s name. She didn’t need to.
What hurt more—what cut deeper—was Ethan’s silence.
He passed her in hallways like she was a stranger. When their eyes met, he looked away first. Once, she thought he might stop, might say something—but then Vanessa’s laughter echoed nearby, and the moment collapsed.
By Friday, Olivia’s patience had thinned to a fragile edge.
Ethan caught up to her outside the humanities building just as the afternoon sun dipped low, casting long shadows across the stone steps.
“Olivia,” he called. “Wait.”
She stopped—but didn’t turn.
“We need to talk.”
She faced him slowly. “Do we?”
The steadiness in her voice surprised even her.
Ethan exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Things are… complicated.”
“Everything is complicated,” Olivia said flatly. “That’s not an excuse. It’s a choice.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it again.
She saw it then—the hesitation. Not confusion. Not fear.
Indecision.
And that was worse.
Before he could speak again, a familiar presence slipped into the space beside him. Vanessa didn’t rush. She never did. She moved like she belonged wherever she stood.
“I hope I’m not interrupting,” Vanessa said lightly, her gaze flicking toward Olivia with polite curiosity.
Ethan didn’t look at Olivia when he answered.
“You’re not.”
The words landed like a door closing.
Olivia nodded once, more to herself than to them. She didn’t argue. She didn’t ask questions that wouldn’t be answered honestly anyway.
She walked away.
Each step felt heavier than the last, but she didn’t stop until she reached her dorm. Inside her room, the silence was thick, pressing against her chest.
She sat on her bed and stared at her phone.
Ethan’s name glowed on the screen.
Once, deleting his contact would have felt dramatic. Final.
Now, it felt necessary.
She pressed delete.
No message. No explanation. No last chance.
Just a clean line drawn in the quiet.
And for the first time since Westbridge began testing her, Olivia chose herself.
- Writer
