The Lockbox and the Liar

*— Elara Voss's POV —*

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By morning, the message was gone.

The paper? Missing from her pocket. The figure in the hoodie? Nowhere in the CCTV footage.

It was as if **someone was scrubbing her story clean.**

Again.

Elara stood in the library's restricted archives — not because she was curious.

She was hunting.

She didn't need proof. She needed **leverage.**

And she found it.

Tucked inside a rusted lockbox beneath the floorboards, wedged between outdated school files and redacted reports.

A file stamped with a name she hadn't dared say aloud in years:

> **Principal Adrian Routh.**

Her killer.

Or at least the one who ordered it.

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**Flashback – Last Life, 9 Days Before Her Death**

She'd overheard him in the office.

"You think she knows about the grant transfer? About the coverup? Her silence can be bought."

A pause.

"No? Then we'll find another way."

She hadn't understood then.

But she does now.

He silenced her for a **scandal**. For money. For power.

This time?

**She would silence him.**

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Elara stuffed the file into her bag, but before she could stand—

"Looking for someone's dirty laundry?"

Her heart froze.

Rowan stood in the doorway. Jaw tight. Eyes shadowed.

He was holding the *note* she left him.

"I read it," he said. "Every word. And I followed you."

Elara didn't move. "Then you should know to keep your mouth shut."

He stepped forward. "I should. But I won't."

"Why?"

"Because if you're walking into fire again—I'm not letting you burn alone."

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She stared at him. Long. Quiet.

Then tossed him the file.

"Read it," she said. "Then tell me if I'm still the villain."

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**Later That Night – School Auditorium, Empty**

Elara walked into the exact place where her life had ended in the last timeline.

The stage.

The curtain.

The trapdoor she never saw coming.

This time, she was ready.

She placed the file on the stage under the spotlight.

And waited.

And when Principal Routh entered the auditorium — called there by an anonymous message...

He found her standing center stage, arms crossed, eyes cold.

"Miss Voss," he said, fake smile polished. "School hours are over."

She smiled — but it didn't reach her eyes.

"So are your secrets."

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