EPISODE SIX: A LINE CROSSED
995 Words
His lips were still on mine.
Firm. Slow. Intentional.
This wasn’t a performance. It wasn’t protection.
It was something else. Something that scared me more than any threat ever could.
Because I kissed him back.
And I didn’t regret it.
When we finally broke apart, the air between us felt charged. Like something had been rewired in both of us and neither of us knew what to do with it.
Rowan didn’t say anything at first. His eyes searched mine, unreadable. I took a step back, pulse still thudding in my ears.
“I should go,” I said quietly.
He didn’t try to stop me.
Didn’t say goodbye.
Didn’t explain what that kiss meant.
I walked off the field, feeling like I’d just crossed a line I couldn’t uncross.
But the worst part?
I wasn’t sure I wanted to.
The next morning, I avoided the mirror.
If I looked too closely, I’d see it the flush in my cheeks, the softness in my expression, the trace of last night still lingering on my skin. I hated it.
I pulled on my hoodie, tied my boots tight, and slammed my locker harder than necessary.
I didn’t need Rowan King. Not his smirk. Not his protection.
And definitely not the way he made me feel.
By second period, I’d almost convinced myself that nothing had changed.
Until he walked in late.
No apology. No excuse. Just strolled in like the class only started when he arrived.
He didn’t look at me. Not once.
But his fingers tapped the edge of my desk three times. Like a code. Like he was reminding me: I see you.
“Page 67,” the teacher called. “Rowan, partner up with Eden again.”
Of course.
He slid into the seat beside me. Too calm. Too close. I kept my eyes on my book.
“So,” he said, under his breath. “Are we pretending last night didn’t happen?”
I didn’t look at him. “What do you want me to say?”
He leaned in, voice low and smooth. “I want you to admit it wasn’t fake.”
I snapped my head toward him. “You kissed me in the middle of a crisis, King. It’s not exactly a fair test of feelings.”
He grinned. “Still thinking about it though.”
I rolled my eyes. “Focus on the lab.”
He chuckled, satisfied.
At lunch, I sat with a girl named Lina. Quiet. Sweet. Safe.
Rowan sat across the room with his crew. Loud. Reckless. Watching me.
Zayn walked past my table and slowed. “Hey, Eden.”
Lina blinked. “Zayn’s talking to you?”
I glanced up. “Hey.”
“You good?”
I nodded.
He hesitated. “Careful who you trust.”
The message was clear and it wasn’t about me.
He was warning me. About Rowan.
But he didn’t know the half of it.
By the time I made it to my locker after school, there was a folded paper inside.
No name.
Just one sentence:
“You’re next.”
I crumpled it in my fist and looked up.
Across the hall, Rowan was already moving. Toward me. Fast.
I met him halfway. “Someone’s messing with me.”
He held out his hand. “Show me.”
I hesitated, then gave him the note.
He read it. His expression darkened.
“I’ll find out who did this,” he said.
I crossed my arms. “And do what? Fight them? Threaten them? That always your answer?”
His jaw tightened. “No. But keeping you safe is.”
I stepped closer, eyes locked on his. “You keep acting like I’m weak.”
His gaze dropped to my mouth, then back up. “You’re the fiercest person I know.”
“Then let me fight this. My way.”
He looked torn. “You sure?”
I nodded. “I didn’t transfer here to run. Not again.”
Something shifted in his expression respect, maybe.
Then he said, “Fine. But we do it together.”
Later that night, I couldn’t sleep.
I pulled out my journal the one I never let anyone see and wrote down the names. People I’d met. People who stared too long. People who knew.
There were patterns here. I just had to find them.
I thought of the note.
I thought of Rowan’s sister.
And then something hit me.
The handwriting.
It was neat. Precise. Familiar.
I pulled out a page from my transfer forms the counselor’s copy. The note was written by someone who worked in the school.
Someone close.
Someone watching.
The next day, I walked into the main office and smiled politely.
The secretary barely glanced at me. “Need something?”
“Yeah. I lost my schedule. Mind printing another?”
“Sure.” She typed. Printed. Handed it over.
As I reached for the paper, my eyes scanned the counter.
Pens. Sticky notes. Paperclips.
And a planner. Open.
My breath caught.
The handwriting matched.
Exactly.
“Thank you,” I said sweetly.
Then I walked out, heart racing.
That night, I called Rowan.
“Meet me. Front gate. Now.”
No questions. No attitude. He was there in five.
“What’s going on?”
I handed him a photo of the note beside a page from the planner. “Same handwriting.”
He frowned. “That’s the secretary?”
I nodded. “We need to know why she’s tracking me.”
Rowan’s eyes narrowed. “We?”
I looked up at him. “You said we’re in this together, right?”
He smiled slowly. “Now you’re talking like a Queen.”
I smirked. “You don’t even know what I’m capable of.”
His grin turned dangerous. “Try me.”
And for the first time since arriving at Crestwood High, I wasn’t scared.
I was ready to burn it all down.
To be continued…
- Writer
