Burning Between Lines

The Ones Watching

The silence in the storeroom was thick, like the walls themselves were holding their breath.

Pearl stared at the photo in Prince’s hands, her heart pounding loud enough she was sure the others could hear it. The rooftop. The exact angle. The exact moment. Someone had been there. Watching them. Watching her.

She reached out and took the photo, flipping it again to stare at the back. The red ink had bled slightly into the glossy paper, but the words were still clear.

You’re not the only ones watching.

Prince looked at Michael. “Do you think someone followed us? Or were they already here?”

Michael’s jaw tightened. “Either way, we’re not safe. Not here.”

“We need to get out,” Pearl whispered. “Now.”

They grabbed the documents they had uncovered and exited the storeroom. The halls were empty, echoing with the sound of their hurried footsteps. Outside, the school grounds were dim under a late-evening sky, the glow from the streetlamps casting long shadows.

They didn’t speak until they reached Prince’s car, a sleek black sedan that always seemed out of place in the rundown parking lot. He unlocked the doors with a sharp beep, and they all climbed in.

Pearl sat in the backseat, staring down at the photo as Prince started the engine. “They knew exactly where we were. They knew exactly what we were doing.”

“It means we’re getting close,” Michael said from the front passenger seat. “Close enough to scare someone.”

Prince’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. “Or close enough to make someone desperate.”

He drove them to a quiet side street near Michael’s apartment. It was a rundown building, but secure. Michael had always been paranoid — his place had reinforced locks, cameras at every entry, and blackout curtains on every window.

Inside, the three of them sat in his cramped living room, lit only by the soft glow of a desk lamp. The walls were covered with newspaper clippings and photos pinned together by red string. A conspiracy web — one that Pearl had once scoffed at, but now looked like a roadmap to her life.

She placed the photo on the coffee table.

“I need answers,” she said quietly. “Real ones. No more guessing.”

Michael nodded. “We start with the people involved. Your mom. Prince’s dad. And the man who delivered that letter to the principal’s office.”

Pearl looked up. “You mean the janitor?”

Michael shook his head. “Not a janitor. I ran his photo through a facial recognition tool. His real name is Ezra Thorne. Former government intelligence. Disappeared in 2006 after a classified scandal involving high-profile families… and off-the-books child transfers.”

Prince sat up straighter. “You’re saying he was involved in whatever happened to Pearl?”

“I’m saying he might’ve been the one to make it happen.”

Pearl’s skin chilled. “So why is he back now?”

“Maybe guilt,” Michael said. “Maybe threat. But if he’s resurfaced, it’s for a reason.”

Prince looked at Pearl. “We need to talk to your mom.”

Pearl hesitated. Her mother had always been an enigma — cold, calculating, and impossibly poised. Growing up, she had been more of a silent figurehead than a nurturer. Pearl had learned to keep secrets early because she’d learned they were expected.

“I’ll talk to her,” she said. “But not yet. Not until I know enough to force the truth out of her.”

Prince’s voice softened. “You don’t have to do it alone.”

Pearl glanced at him — the way his eyes held hers, unwavering. She remembered the kiss in the storeroom, the heat of it, the way it had curled around her like a promise.

“I know,” she said. “That’s the only reason I’m not falling apart.”

Michael cleared his throat. “Okay, enough romance. We need to figure out our next step.”

But Pearl’s eyes were still on Prince.

Later, after Michael had gone into his room to work on decoding the rest of the documents, Pearl found herself standing by the apartment’s tiny balcony window, the cool glass against her forehead.

Prince came to stand beside her.

“You okay?” he asked.

She shook her head slowly. “I don’t think I’ve ever really been okay. Not in the way people mean it.”

He didn’t try to fix it. He just stood with her, their arms brushing, quiet in the dark.

“I don’t know who I am anymore,” she said softly. “Everything’s unraveling. My past, my memories… us.”

“We’re not unraveling,” he said. “We’re… becoming.”

She turned to face him. “That sounds too poetic for a guy who punches lockers.”

He smiled faintly. “I’ve got layers.”

“I’ve noticed,” she whispered.

The air between them shifted.

Prince’s hand came up to touch her cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing over her skin.

“You don’t have to carry this weight alone,” he said. “Whatever this is — the truth, the danger — I’m in it with you.”

She leaned into his touch, eyes fluttering shut for just a moment.

When she opened them, her voice was quieter. “I want to believe that.”

“Then do.”

Their lips met again, slower this time. No rush, no desperation — just heat, steady and rising like a flame catching air. Her hands found his chest, sliding up around his neck. He kissed her like she mattered — like he knew all the broken pieces and wanted every one of them.

When they finally broke apart, breathless, Pearl rested her head against his chest.

“God, you’re so annoying,” she muttered.

He laughed, warm and deep. “You’re welcome.”

They stood there in silence for a while longer.

Then Michael’s voice called out from the hallway. “Guys… you need to see this.”

They followed him into the bedroom. Michael was seated at his laptop, the screen displaying a grainy security feed.

“What is that?” Prince asked.

Michael pointed. “It’s from the school. I hacked into the system. This is from an hour before we found that photo.”

Pearl leaned in.

On the screen, a figure in a dark hoodie slipped into the abandoned storeroom. The camera was angled poorly, but the figure moved like they knew the layout.

The footage fast-forwarded — and there, clear as day, was the moment they slid the envelope under the door.

“Can you zoom in?” Pearl asked.

Michael did — but the person never turned enough to catch a full face.

Still, something nagged at her. A motion. A way of standing.

Then the figure looked up — just a little — and Pearl’s blood ran cold.

A scar.

Just beneath the jawline.

She gasped.

Prince frowned. “What is it?”

“I know him,” she whispered. “He used to work for my mother. As a driver. I haven’t seen him in years.”

Michael’s fingers flew across the keyboard. “Name?”

“Jared. Jared Simmons.”

Michael ran the name. In seconds, files popped up.

Military background. Discharged. Multiple security contracts. Then…

“Oh, hell,” Michael said. “He died in a car explosion in 2016. Officially.”

Pearl took a step back.

“Fake death. Real enough to disappear,” Prince said, eyes narrowing. “Someone’s hiding him.”

Pearl shook her head. “Or using him.”

Just then, Michael’s phone buzzed. He checked the screen.

“It’s an encrypted message,” he muttered. “From a private server I’ve never seen before.”

The message read:

“Stop digging. Some truths aren’t meant to be remembered.”

Attached was a live photo — of Pearl’s house.

From inside.

Pearl’s blood turned to ice.

“They’re already there.”