felt myself go pale as I stared down at my phone. The glow from the screen seemed too bright, harsh in the dim, stuffy room. The edges of everything around me blurred, like the world was melting at the corners. My breath caught, and my heart dropped hard in my chest — a sudden, heavy weight pressing down on my ribs, making it hard to breathe. Then, the faintest scent brushed past me, slicing through the fog in my mind. Lavender. Her perfume. It was so vivid, so sharp and unmistakable, that for a second I could’ve sworn she was right there, standing next to me, just behind my shoulder. The smell wrapped itself around me like a ghost, haunting every nerve and synapse.

“Miss Thorne?” one of the officers said, his voice breaking through the haze like a lifeline, pulling me back to reality.

My head started to pound — a dull, rhythmic thudding behind my eyes that grew sharper with every heartbeat. My breath came out shaky, uneven, ragged like I’d been running uphill for miles. The room seemed to sway, and the hard plastic of the chair pressed cold against my skin, grounding me just enough not to fall over.

“Miss Thorne, are you alright?” the other officer asked, his voice softer but no less urgent.

I didn’t answer. My hands were trembling too much to hold the phone steady as I placed it down on the table. The cool surface felt foreign beneath my fingertips, distant. Slowly, I opened the message.

Keep looking. I’m out there. Make sure to sign it. I don’t have time. Don’t stop.

A shiver ran down my spine, sharp and sudden, like a chill wind sneaking through a crack in the window. Sign it? My mind spun in circles, unable to catch a clear thought.

“The permission slip…” I whispered, barely daring to say it out loud.

“What would need to be signed, Miss Thorne?” Officer Williams asked sharply, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

I looked up, voice barely there, cracked and thin. “The permission slip for the museum.”

I felt the weight of their stares like invisible chains as Finn and I stepped out of the interrogation room. The hallway air was colder somehow, heavier, as if it had thickened into something solid—like we’d just been plunged into ice water and left to shiver. Neither of us spoke at first. The silence stretched, a vast empty space between us filled with questions we weren’t ready to ask.

Finally, Finn broke it, voice low and dry. “The cops aren’t exactly breaking any records, are they?”

I glanced at him, trying to keep my tone light, to laugh off the frustration and fear knotting in my stomach. “No, more like moving at the speed of molasses.”

His smirk flickered. “Guess we’re on our own, then.”

I let out a short, bitter laugh that barely sounded like one. “Seems like it. The field trip’s tomorrow. Maybe we should check out the museum ourselves.”

Finn raised an eyebrow, that teasing glint lighting up his hazel eyes. “Oh, so now you want to play detective, Miss Thorne?”

I rolled my eyes, but the corners of my mouth tugged into a smile I didn’t feel entirely fake. “Hey, better than sitting around doing nothing.”

He bumped my shoulder lightly, a gesture half-joking but somehow comforting. “Alright, alright. But if you start talking to the exhibits, I’m out.”

I elbowed him playfully. “You wish.”

Finn’s smirk softened just a bit, like a crack in the armor. “Seriously, though. If Ellie was planning to be there, maybe that permission slip actually means something.”

I nodded, feeling a flicker of hope in the dark. “Yeah. Maybe there’s a clue or something.”

He glanced around like he half-expected someone to be listening. His voice dropped a notch, more serious now. “We’ll check it out tomorrow. Together.”

My heart stuttered—quick, uneven beats—and I forced myself to keep it casual. “Deal.”

Finn grinned, that easy, almost-genuine smile I hadn’t seen in a while. “Looks like we’re partners now.”

“Partners,” I repeated, letting the word settle between us, heavy and strange.

Before we walked away, Finn stopped. “Hey, I’m sorry about the whole thing in science. I feel bad about it.” His voice was nervous, and he fidgeted with the sleeve of his jacket like he couldn’t quite get comfortable in his own skin.

“It’s not fine, but thanks for the apology, I guess.” I replied, shrugging, trying not to let it mean too much.

“Well, catch you later, Zara.” He said, turning to leave.

It wasn’t perfect. Nothing about this was. But maybe, just maybe, it was a start.

September 3

The next morning, I woke up groggy and stiff. My muscles ached, probably from all the pacing and restless tossing I did the night before. My brain felt foggy, as if it hadn’t quite caught up with the rest of me. I lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, the pale light sneaking through my blinds. Thoughts of Finn hovered in my mind—his words, the way he looked when he promised to help. Maybe we could work together. Maybe we’d actually find her.

That thought gave me the tiniest sliver of hope—barely a spark, but enough to push me out of bed.

I got ready for school. The same routine as yesterday. I threw on my baggy jeans, a loose pink top that still fit just right, and my favorite lululemon jacket. I didn’t feel amazing, but I felt better. A little more like myself. Like maybe something could change.

I curled my lashes carefully and dabbed on a bit of lip gloss, leaving the rest of my face bare. No energy for the full makeup routine today.

When I got downstairs, the kitchen was already a mess—not messy with dishes, but emotionally cluttered. My mom, Drew, and Darren were gathered around the table, voices raised but not yelling—just the kind of heated argument that made the air thick and hard to breathe.

“You need to help out, Darren!” Drew’s voice was louder than necessary, sharp and impatient.

“Maybe I could if you guys weren’t breathing down my neck all the time!” Darren snapped back, slamming his fist lightly on the table.

Darren was eighteen. Me and Ellie were seventeen. Unlike literally everyone else in the house, Darren hadn’t gotten a job yet, which apparently had become the family crisis du jour.

Before I could fully eavesdrop, I heard a soft creak behind me and turned to see Luke standing in the doorway, looking small and nervous like a scared rabbit.

“Are they fighting about Darren?” he asked quietly, voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah,” I said gently, my voice soft enough not to stir more tension. “Don’t worry, it’ll pass.”

He nodded and padded back to his room, quiet footsteps muffled by the carpet. I leaned against the wall and kept listening.

“Darren, we’re not making enough money to keep up with everything. Please listen to us,” Mom said, her voice tired and worn like she’d had this same conversation on loop for months.

“I’ll get a job as soon as I can,” Darren said, then stormed out of the kitchen—but he froze when he saw me standing there.

“Hey. It’s okay, Panda. Everything’ll get sorted,” he said, giving me a faint smile before disappearing into his room.

“Panda” was my nickname. When I was three, I’d become obsessed with pandas—full-on panda pajamas, crawling on all fours, refusing to eat anything that wasn’t bamboo-shaped. The name stuck.

I stepped into the kitchen. Mom and Drew were hunched over a pile of bills that looked like they hadn’t moved in days. Mom was rubbing her temples like they might split open from the stress.

When Drew saw me, his whole energy shifted.

“Hey, sweetie! How you doin’?” he said, forcing a smile that didn’t quite hide the stress in his eyes.

“Hey,” I said. “I slept fine.” Another lie, but what else was new?

“Mom, you signed the slip, right?”

“Yes, all signed and ready,” she said without looking up.

“Okay. I’m heading out. Bye, guys.”

I went back upstairs, grabbed my bag, water bottle, keys—the essentials—and left.

School was… well, school. The stares hadn’t gone anywhere. It still felt like every step I took was under a spotlight, a million eyes tracking me like I was some kind of walking headline. I kept my head down, but I could feel the whispers brushing past me like wind.

I spotted Andrea by her locker and made my way over.

“Hey, Andrea. How’s it—”

Then everything slowed.

I caught a whiff of Ellie’s perfume—that floral, vanilla scent she always wore. And just past the crowd, I saw a flash of silver. A bracelet. One that looked exactly like hers.

The world tilted sideways.

My stomach turned, swirling into knots, and my knees started to go soft. I hadn’t really processed how I felt until that moment—it all hit me at once, crashing down like a tidal wave.

“Oh my gosh, Zara!” Andrea grabbed my arm tightly, voice panicked. “You look so pale! Come on, let’s get you to the nurse.”

I didn’t protest. Everything felt distant and slow, like I was walking underwater. My vision swam, colors bleeding at the edges. The hallway started spinning, the world tilting like I was on a boat caught in a storm. My legs gave out.

But before I hit the ground, someone caught me.

I blinked up, breath caught in my throat.

It was Andy. And standing beside him, arms crossed and that familiar smirk forming, was Finn.

“You alright, Detective?” Finn asked, voice teasing but not cruel this time—more like a sarcastic inside joke between two people who shared a secret.

I let out a shaky breath. “Yeah… I’m alright.”

But even as I said it, I wasn’t so sure.

Andrea and Andy helped me to the nurse’s office, Finn trailing behind like a grumpy detective, notebook in hand, scribbling like he was decoding ancient scrolls.

As we stepped into the office, Nurse Callahan greeted us with her usual warm-but-rushed smile. “Hello, darling! What’s going on this early? Nausea? Cramps? Fever? Did someone dump a vending machine on your head?”

“She almost fainted in the hallway,” Andrea said, guiding me to the cot.

I could still feel the dizziness humming behind my eyes, like everything might tilt again. Lena and Andy whispered something nearby, just out of earshot. Finn stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame, still scribbling in his beat-up notebook. He caught me looking and quickly turned back to his notes like I was just another clue on a page.

“You look awfully pale,” Nurse Callahan said softly, setting down the clipboard she’d been holding. Her warm eyes scanned me carefully, as if trying to see beyond the surface and into the storm I was holding inside.

I forced a small, shaky smile. “I’m fine, really.”

She didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t push. Instead, she pulled a cold compress from a cabinet and handed it to me. The ice pack was chilly against my clammy skin, a sharp contrast to the heat rising in my cheeks.

“Try to rest here for a bit,” she suggested gently, her voice like a soft blanket wrapping around me. “If you need anything, just press the call button, alright?”

I nodded, clutching the compress to my forehead. The coolness helped settle the nausea that was clawing at my stomach, the dizziness still teasing the edges of my vision.

Andrea sat next to me, her hand brushing mine in a quick, comforting squeeze. “We’re all here for you, Zara. We’re not going to let anything happen.”

Her words were like a lifeline, a fragile thread pulling me back from the edge of panic. I wanted to believe her.

Finn shifted his weight, finally lowering the notebook and walking closer. His hazel eyes were serious, the usual smirk gone. “If you want, I can show you what I found.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

“What’s in the notebook?” I asked. “What have you figured out?” He leaned back slightly, his smirk returning just a little. “You sure you’re up for it? Might need a real detective to piece this one together.”

“Finn.” My voice cut sharper than I meant.

“Just show me. Don’t waste time.”

That snapped him back into gear. He nodded, resting the notebook on his lap. “Okay,” he said. “

Instead of sulking and feeling sorry for myself, I went around and started asking questions. People talk when you act like you’re not listening.”

“Imagine that,” I muttered. “Finnick Henderson , actually using his brain.” He grinned. “Well, first I asked Castell if I could look at Ellie’s old assignments. She gave me a stack, and I noticed something. On the backs, there were these tiny black letters. Small, neat. Almost like code.”

I blinked. “Like… intentionally hidden?”

“Yeah. And consistent. Same handwriting. Same placement. She knew what she was doing.” He paused, looking at me more seriously now. “And another thing. Nurse Callahan said Ellie fainted. Not once, but more than once. Usually around second period.”

“Yea, weird she didn’t tell anyone,” I replied.

“Exactly,” he said. “And no one else seemed to know. Not her teachers. Not you. Just Callahan. That’s not normal. If you’re passing out in school, someone’s going to notice eventually. Unless… you’re hiding it.”

His eyes met mine. Behind all the sarcasm and the jabs, I saw something raw and honest. Something that almost looked like pain. Stop. Don’t go there. Don’t feel sorry for him. He’s still Finnick. He’s still the guy who made your life hell.

Then he snapped his fingers in front of my face. “Hey! Pay attention Zara.” I blinked. I hadn’t even realized I was zoning out again.

He sighed and flipped a page in his notebook. “Anyway. I talked to Mr. Greaves. He said he had Ellie clean out a random storage closet. When I asked why, he just shrugged. Said she volunteered. But here’s the thing—Ellie doesn’t volunteer for anything. Not even candy-gram deliveries during spirit week.”

I couldn’t help but nod. That sounded right. Ellie hated being anyone’s errand girl.

“I’ve been writing everything down,” he continued, tapping the notebook. “Her class schedule. Her moods. What people said. It’s not just weird—it’s layered. I think she was leaving clues. Like she wanted someone to figure it out eventually, but didn’t trust anyone enough to say it directly.”

He looked up, eyes narrowed slightly. “If she ran away, she left breadcrumbs. If someone took her… they missed a few.”

The room went still. His words hung in the air like smoke—uncertain, impossible to grab, but lingering all the same. I studied him for a second. The old Finn—the one who shoved me into lockers, who hated my hoodie so much in seventh grade he tore it up and shoved it down the toilet, who gave me the nickname ‘Waste of Space’—felt far away.

This Finn was still snarky and sharp, but there was something else now. Something bruised and burning under the surface.

“Why are you doing this, Finn?” I asked finally. He looked confused. “What do you mean?” “I mean…” I hesitated, choosing my words. “You smashed my head into a locker once. And now you’re here, acting like you care?” “I do care,” he said, his voice firm. “I know I’ve been a horrible person. I know I was awful. But I’m trying to change, Zara. I’m sorry. I mean that. I feel horrible.” I scoffed. “Wow. What an amazing idea. Why didn’t I think of it sooner? Just—trust the guy who made my life miserable.”

“Zara.” His tone hardened. “We don’t have to be friends. But if we want to find Ellie—if we actually want answers—we need to work together.” He paused, then muttered under his breath, “Even if it means fighting the urge to shove your head in a toilet.” I almost laughed. Almost.