I found Luca's notebook again because he had apparently forgotten that leaving secrets open on a library table made them much easier to discover. It was Thursday afternoon, two days after the anonymous message, and I was supposed to be finishing a practice paper while Luca waited for football training to start. He had disappeared downstairs to buy something from the vending machine after complaining that studying made him hungry, even though he wasn't the one studying. His football bag was under the table, his jacket was hanging over the chair beside me, and the black notebook sat between my history textbook and his phone charger. I recognised it immediately. The bent corner was still there, and so was the faint white mark across the cover where he'd once tried to scrape off an old sticker
