▸ Where Shadows Dwell: Chapter 20

The tutor room was a cacophony of adolescent energy, a microcosm of the larger school contained within its four walls. Conversations, like loosely strung beads, scattered and collected around the room. The atmosphere was saturated with a medley of scents: the overpowering sweetness of bargain-bin perfume clashed with the crisp, clean smell of newly printed worksheets, heralding the start of a new school day. Beneath the surface of the cheerful noise, a subtle tension thrummed, a silent competition for social dominance played out by the room's inhabitants. 

Violet sat ramrod straight at her assigned desk, a tiny island of unease in the bustling sea of teenaged camaraderie. Her hands lay clasped on the smooth, simulated wood, as if anchoring her to the spot. She focused intently on the grain of the desk, the faint, repeating pattern a small point of stability against the anxious flutter that threatened to take flight in her chest. Starting a new school had been harder than she anticipated, the nuances of already established social hierarchies proving a difficult code to crack. 

Across from her, Chelsea and Tara reigned supreme, their confidence palpable. They moved through the social landscape with the ease of seasoned explorers, charting paths of gossip and speculation. Their voices, slightly sharper than the general murmur, cut through the room, demanding attention. They were a well-oiled machine, feeding off each other's energy, their banter a perfectly synchronized performance. 

"Did you catch wind of Jade and Louis?" Chelsea leaned conspiratorially closer to Tara, her carefully mascaraed eyes sparkling with intrigue, a glint of mischief dancing within their depths. Her voice dropped to a stage whisper, loud enough for everyone in their immediate vicinity to hear, but low enough to suggest a privileged confidence. "Word is, he was spotted sneaking out of Jade's place last weekend. Bright and early, might I add." She punctuated her statement with a knowing smirk, clearly relishing the opportunity to disseminate scandalous information. 

Tara let out a dismissive scoff, resting her chin on her hand, the gesture radiating an air of bored sophistication. Her gaze swept across the room, momentarily settling on a group huddled near the window before snapping back to Chelsea. "That's practically ancient history, darling. Jade's already moved on to some Year 10 rugby player, apparently. I heard he's got abs to die for. Looks like Louis wasn't all that… special." The word dripped with sarcasm, a subtle put-down masked as casual commentary. 

Violet nodded along, a nervous habit born from a desire to blend in. She felt a sharp pang of exclusion, a sense of being hopelessly out of the loop. She hadn't the faintest clue who Jade or Louis were, their drama unfolding in a separate universe entirely. Despite her ignorance, she sensed the unspoken expectation to engage, to offer some contribution to their ongoing narrative. Every so often, one of them would flick a question her way, a brief, almost perfunctory attempt to draw her into their whirlwind of gossip. 

Chelsea and Tara dissolved into a fit of barely-contained giggles, exchanging knowing glances. It was hardly a shock that Tara was already clued in on all the recent hullabaloo. Honestly, Tara lived for this stuff. She was practically a walking, talking newsfeed, or maybe more accurately, a rumour mill. Year 11 had pretty much crowned her Queen of Gossip, and whether the stories she peddled were fact or fiction didn't seem to matter much to her. Chelsea, of course, acted surprised. She was the picture of innocence, batting her eyelashes and pretending to be utterly fascinated by Tara's re-telling of the drama. But Chelsea wasn't exactly a saint either. It wasn't that she actively sought out to spread rumours, but if a little "misinformation" could grease the wheels and push things in her favour, well, who was she to argue? 

"So, Violet," Chelsea drawled, tilting her head with an air of innocent curiosity. "What about you? Ever braved the treacherous waters of boyfriend-dom?" 

Violet's polite smile tightened just a hair. "Oh, um—no, not really," she mumbled, as if admitting to a minor crime. 

"No way! With those looks? You're practically robbing the dating pool blind being single," Chelsea teased, nudging Violet's arm with a playful jab. 

Violet's cheeks flushed a delicate shade of pink, caught somewhere between flattery and fluster. She was clearly fishing for an exit strategy, but before she could conjure one, a gentle but insistent poke nudged her back. 

She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes locking with Mia's. Mia sat behind her, radiating an aura of calm seriousness that Violet couldn't quite decipher. Without a word, Mia made a subtle gesture towards her own palm, silently requesting that Violet hold hers out. Hesitantly, feeling a bit like she was participating in a secret spy mission, Violet complied. In a flash, a small, crumpled piece of paper was deposited into her hand. 

Mia leaned forward, her lips barely moving, her voice a mere breath against Violet's ear. "Open it later," she whispered, the words laced with an urgency that made Violet's heart flutter in her chest. 

Violet barely had time to process the clandestine exchange, to wonder what secrets that tiny scrap of paper held, before Chelsea's voice cut through her thoughts. "Violet! Hello? Earth to Violet! Were you even listening to us?" 

"Oh! Sorry, what was the question?" Violet fumbled, quickly folding the paper into a tiny square and slipping it into the relative safety of her sleeve. She hoped Chelsea hadn't noticed her little rendezvous. She wasn't sure why, but something about the whole thing felt important, like a piece of a puzzle she had to solve. 

Chelsea huffed, a little puff of annoyance escaping her lips. Before she could launch into another tirade about… well, whatever had set her off this time, the blessed bell chimed, its shrill ring slicing through the air like a referee's whistle. Tutor period: officially over. A collective sigh of relief, barely audible but definitely palpable, swept through the room as students began to pack up. 

Violet swiftly replicated the action, hurriedly stowing her gear into her bag. Nevertheless, her primary concern was ensuring that the folded note was safely tucked away in the inner pocket of her blazer. What did it say? she wondered, her mind already racing with possibilities, mostly of the ridiculous sort. Still, a secret note was a secret note, and that made it fascinating. She followed the herd towards the door, trying to subtly smooth out any wrinkles her frantic shoving might have caused. 

The corridor outside was the usual chaotic symphony of teenage energy – a jostling, laughing, complaining mass of bodies all vying for space. It was like navigating a particularly aggressive school of fish, except these fish were armed with backpacks and a desperate need to get to class on time (or at least, appear to be heading that way). Violet skilfully navigated the bustling crowd, the overpowering aroma of cheap cologne and hairspray lingering thickly around her. 

Violet maneuverer through the bustling staircase, skilfully avoiding the jostling elbows of fellow commuters. As she reached the ground floor, she paused, her eyes instantly locking onto a recognizable silhouette leaning against the wall. It was Ivy, patiently waiting, her presence a calming oasis in the sea of teenage frenzy. The moment Violet laid eyes on her, the calm depth in her gaze and the gentle arch of her lips sparked a delightful flutter of joy within her. Without thinking, Violet's own lips formed a faint, almost imperceptible smile. 

The fleeting, silent bond they shared evaporated in an instant. Reality crashed in, embodied by a firm hand clutching her forearm, pulling her sharply back to the here and now. Before Violet could even register what was happening, she found herself face-to-face with Chelsea, whose grip, while surprisingly strong, was more enthusiastic than threatening. "Violet! Hey! What's your first class?" she asked, her face lit up with an almost blindingly bright smile. Chelsea's energy was... a lot. Like a hyperactive puppy that had just discovered caffeine. 

Violet chuckled, a little surprised by the sudden interruption. "Maths," she replied, figuring it was easier to just answer than try to wriggle free. 

"No way! Me too!" Chelsea practically squealed, her eyes widening in what seemed like genuine excitement. "We should totally walk together! It's, like, fate!" 

Violet hesitated, her gaze momentarily flicking towards Ivy at the bottom of the stairs. A flicker of a warm feeling blooming in her chest. "Oh, well, maybe Ivy can –" 

The warmth fizzled out as quickly as it had appeared. 

Chelsea's expression shifted, a micro-movement so subtle it was almost undetectable. Her eyes flickered towards Ivy, a quick, assessing glance, and though her smile remained in place, it seemed… strained, almost unnatural. A tightness had settled around her mouth, and there was a definite shadow lurking in her eyes; something sharp, something that hinted at a side of Chelsea that Violet hadn't quite seen before. "I'd love to bring Ivy along," she said, the words practically dripping with artificial sweetness. "But, you know... because of... her status," she emphasized, glancing at Ivy again, "it wouldn't exactly look good to the others. You don't have to worry, though! Ivy's used to being alone. It's kind of her thing." 

Violet's expression darkened, her enthusiasm fading. "That's not—" she began, eager to defend Ivy, but before she could continue, an unexpected force intervened. 

Tara, all sunshine and over-enthusiasm, had linked arms with her from the other side, effectively trapping her. "Come on, newbie! Math waits for no one, especially not when Mr. Henderson's got a pop quiz brewing! We don't wanna be late!" Tara's voice was loud, her grip surprisingly strong. 

And just like that, Violet was being ushered away, swept along by the current of chattering students flooding the hallway. Her protests died in her throat, lost in the noise and the pressure of Tara's grip. She risked one last glance back at Ivy, a silent apology etched on her face, but Ivy's expression was unreadable, a mask of serene indifference. 

⋯

Ivy watched the scene unfold, her dark eyes narrowing as a smirk, tinged with bitterness, appeared on her lips. "Charming," she whispered, shaking her head with wry humour before striding away toward the English corridor. Chelsea's disdain was no surprise, but the blatant attempt to drive a wedge between her and Violet was almost amusing. Ivy scoffed quietly, adjusted her bag's strap, and headed down the hallway, fully aware she'd likely arrive late—but it didn't matter to her. 

She barely got three full steps in when the unmistakable feeling of someone's gaze pierced the back of her head. It was a weighty, unsettling stare, and Ivy couldn't shake the dreadful suspicion of who was behind it. Then, just like that, she heard it—the all-too-familiar, irritating voice she had wished to bury deep in her mind for good. 

"Well, well, look who it is," the voice dripped with sarcastic amusement. 

Ivy stopped dead, her fingers instinctively clenching into fists. She took a slow, deliberate breath before turning around, steeling herself for whatever fresh hell was about to be unleashed. And there he was. Jake. Or at least, what remained of him. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed in a way that was likely intended to appear relaxed, but instead, he seemed unsettlingly out of place. 

The transformation was almost shocking. The once-smug, self-assured bully, the king of the hallway who swaggered with an almost tangible aura of privilege, now looked like a walking, talking cautionary tale. Like a before-and-after picture in a drug awareness pamphlet. His skin, which had once held the healthy, almost tanned pallor of someone who meticulously cultivated their appearance, was now sickly and pale, slick with a sheen of nervous sweat. Dark circles, the kind that whispered of sleepless nights hung beneath his bloodshot eyes, deep enough that they looked like bruised hollows. His hair, which had always been meticulously styled and slicked back with an obscene amount of gel, was now a frizzy, unkempt mess, stray strands sticking up in odd places, as if he'd been yanking at them in frustration. His uniform shirt was wrinkled, untucked, and bore a faint, suspicious stain near the collar, possibly from coffee. He looked dishevelled, defeated, miserable – haunted, even. Like he was carrying the weight of the world, and it was slowly crushing him from the inside out. 

Ivy took one long, appraising look at him, taking in the full extent of his…decline. The schadenfreude was almost too much to contain. She let out a sharp, genuinely amused snicker, the sound echoing slightly in the otherwise silent hallway. It was a cruel, almost unfeeling laugh, but she didn't care. He deserved it. 

Jake's eye twitched, a muscle spasming just below his temple. "You think this is funny?" His voice was rough, strained, lacking its usual confident edge. 

She shrugged, the movement almost nonchalant. "A little." And honestly, she really did. Maybe it was wrong, maybe it was petty, but seeing Jake—the Jake—like this? It was… liberating. 

Jake's lips twisted into a fierce snarl, exposing too much gum, resembling a rabid chihuahua facing a Great Dane. Instead of charging, he snapped his fingers dismissively, like a wannabe Bond villain. The two boys beside him, now alert to the brewing trouble, lumbered forward upon his command. 

"Get her," he ordered, his voice hoarse and cracking at the edges. 

Ivy hardly acknowledged the goons, viewing them as nothing more than interchangeable henchmen, generic thug #1 and thug #2. Her gaze shifted to the one face she recognized among them – Robby, Jake's ever-frustrated best friend. Standing a step behind Jake, his arms hung loosely crossed, and the usual playful smirk that often lit up his face was replaced by a look of weary acceptance. It was as if he was already lamenting every decision that had brought him to this moment. 

Ivy sighed, shifting her weight to one foot. "Really? You sure you wanna do this?" Her voice was calm, almost bored. "I mean, judging by your whole"—she gestured vaguely at Jake—"situation, I'd say things haven't been going great for you since our last little… interaction."

Jake's eye twitched harder, a rapid, uncontrolled spasm that made him look even more unhinged. "Shut up! Christ, just grab her already!" He was practically vibrating with rage, and Ivy had to admit, part of her was genuinely concerned he might spontaneously combust. 

The two goons, spurred into action by Jake's increasingly frantic yelling, finally shuffled forward. One was a broad-shouldered guy with a buzz cut, the other lanky with a permanent scowl. Neither looked particularly intelligent, and Ivy seriously doubted they had any real idea why they were doing this, aside from following orders from their clearly unstable leader. The moment their sweaty hands gripped her arms, Ivy tensed. She absolutely hated being restrained. But she wasn't about to waste energy struggling – not yet. Instead, she took a slow, deliberate breath. 

"I'd seriously rethink this, Jake. For your own sake."

Jake sneered, the expression grotesque and totally unconvincing. "Like hell I will. You think you're so tough, huh? Well, we'll see about that."

Ivy sighed, the sound heavy with exasperation. "Alright then. Don't say I didn't warn you."

And then she moved. It was almost too fast to follow. One moment she was seemingly trapped between the two goons, the next she was a blur of motion. First, a sharp, precise twist yanked her free from their clumsy grip. Buzz Cut, the larger of the two, didn't even have time to register what was happening before Ivy's knee connected with his gut. The air whooshed out of him in a pathetic, wheezing gasp, and he doubled over like a wilting flower. Before Lanky even had a chance to process his buddy's misfortune, Ivy spun on him. An elbow, sharp and surprisingly powerful, slammed into his ribs. He reacted with a surprised "oof" and a desperate attempt to regain his balance, but it was too late. A swift kick to the back of his knees sent his legs flying out from under him, and he crashed to the floor with a groan that echoed in the otherwise silent hallway.

Ivy smoothly adjusted the strap of her messenger bag, the movement casual and almost dismissive. She rolled her shoulders, loosening any tension that might have accumulated. "That was pathetic," she said, her tone flat and unimpressed, as if she'd just swatted a couple of particularly annoying flies. 

She pivoted to face Jake, her features carefully composed, betraying no emotion. Yet her eyes told a different story. They blazed with an otherworldly intensity, that peculiar, vivid emerald green re-emerging, so bright it appeared to pulse with its own light. It was disconcerting, almost supernatural, transforming her from an ordinary teenager into something far more enigmatic. The flickering fluorescent lights in the corridor heightened the surreal atmosphere, casting ghostly reflections on the polished tiles below, as if the ground itself was echoing the strange energy that surrounded her.

Jake, who had been radiating arrogance just moments before, visibly deflated. A nervous hitch caught in his breath, and he took an involuntary step back, the tough-guy façade crumbling. He shifted sideways, instinctively using Robby as a shield, like a little kid hiding behind a parent's legs. Suddenly, he looked much younger, much more vulnerable, and definitely not as eager for a confrontation. The green glow in Ivy's eyes seemed to have stolen all the bravado right out of him.

Robby, to his credit, seemed to be the only one capable of rational thought. He swallowed hard but managed to keep his voice steady as he turned to Jake. "We should back off, man. Just—just take them to the nurse and leave it for now."

Jake's hands clenched into fists at his sides. His face burned with humiliation, his pride warring with the very real fear in his eyes. But after a few beats of silence, he exhaled sharply through his nose and jerked his chin toward his fallen goons.

"Fine," he spat out, the word dripping with venom. "But this isn't over, alright? You think you can just get away with this? Think again. You're done. You hear me? Done." It sounded more like a threat he was trying to convince himself of than an actual promise.

She merely scoffed, a single, flawlessly delivered scoff. Then, she stepped closer to Jake. As expected, he flinched. It was a small, nearly unnoticeable flinch, but a flinch all the same.

With a slow, oh-so-deliberate, taunting smirk playing on her lips, she leaned in just slightly, bringing her face close enough that he could probably feel her breath. Her voice was low, a husky murmur, "Bring it on."

Then, without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel and shoved past them, adjusting her bag as she strode down the hallway. She was already late for class—probably looking at a detention for this. But somehow, she doubted that would be the worst part of her day.

Jake wasn't done with her.

But he had no idea what he was getting himself into.