When the movie ended, they'd also been forced—like collateral damage—to overhear half a performance of someone else's "intimate scene."
The moment they stepped out of the theater, that enthusiastic, unabashed couple brushed past them again, still clinging to each other as if the world belonged to them.
Jayna and Ginevra froze for half a beat, then looked at each other—and, in the same breath, laughed in awkward, helpless embarrassment.
Jayna's gaze flicked to Ginevra's face.
Ginevra's pale cheek was still faintly pink where Jayna had pinched her earlier, more out of petty revenge than anything. The redness made Jayna feel a pang of guilt, sharp and immediate—like she'd left a mark on something precious without meaning to.
She leaned closer, voice softening into something coaxing.
"Later I'll take you somewhere fun," she said. She had already decided—she wanted to take Ginevra to an aquarium, to see the pufferfish. To make it a joke again. To make it light.
Ginevra checked the time.
Four p.m.
Jayna watched the faint hesitation cross Ginevra's expression and immediately narrowed her eyes, half teasing, half accusing.
"Hey." She tipped her head. "You didn't seriously think the 'reward' was just watching one movie and that's it, right?"
Ginevra's silence answered her.
Jayna sighed dramatically, dragging out her words like a delinquent trying to corrupt a model student. "It's Saturday. We're already out. We should play a little more."
Ginevra didn't know what to do next. She genuinely hadn't planned anything beyond the movie—simple, clean, done.
But while they'd been in the theater, she'd received a message from Mrs. Volkova: Come to the shop later and help. Your dad has to go handle something. Chloe and I can't manage alone.
Ginevra's responsibility snapped back around her like a collar.
Jayna caught the conflict in her face and, for once, didn't push.
Maybe Ginevra really had her own plans. Maybe Jayna was being selfish.
Jayna forced a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Okay," she said lightly, as if she hadn't just wanted more. "Then just walk me to the bus. I'll go home. I'll study. Otherwise you'll say I got a good grade and immediately got full of myself."
Ginevra frowned. "Can you ride alone?"
Jayna rolled her eyes, laughter coming out a little too sharp. "Do I need you to worry? Who would dare mess with me?"
Ginevra didn't answer. She only walked beside Jayna, quiet, watchful—like she was memorizing the shape of Jayna's back as if it mattered.
At the bus stop, a bus pulled in with a hiss of brakes.
Jayna leaned in to read the route map and brightened. "Oh—Route 50 goes to my place too!"
As the doors opened, she stepped aside and let the older passengers board first, polite without thinking. Then she glanced at Ginevra again, a small ache sitting behind her smile.
So this was really it.
Just one movie.
Ginevra moved closer, urgency slipping into her voice for the first time that afternoon.
"Jayna." She stood directly in front of her. "I'm not trying to leave you. My mom messaged me—she needs me at the shop. My dad had to go out."
Jayna blinked, then exhaled, relief loosening her chest in one long breath.
"Thank God you said that," she said, and her smile this time was real. She reached up and patted Ginevra's shoulder. "If you didn't, I'd honestly think you just didn't want to be with me at all. Okay—now I'm fine."
Because Ginevra wasn't good at explaining.
Because Ginevra could go silent and let misunderstandings rot inside the space between them.
And Jayna—Jayna's heart was the kind that filled that silence with the worst possibilities.
Ginevra watched Jayna step onto the bus. She didn't move until the doors closed. She stayed there, eyes following the window, following Jayna's outline until the bus pulled away.
Only then did she turn and leave.
And her chest felt… unsettled.
Because she knew what Jayna had wanted.Because she'd seen Jayna trying to smile around disappointment.Because it felt like she'd failed something, even though she couldn't name what.
By the time Ginevra arrived at the shop, her body was there but her mind kept drifting—back to Jayna's face, back to the bus doors closing, back to Jayna's hand leaving her shoulder.
Chloe—Mrs. Volkova's niece—had been counting inventory in the storage room all afternoon. When she noticed Ginevra standing at the entrance, staring into nothing, she frowned and walked over.
"What's wrong, Ginny?" Chloe asked gently. "Something on your mind?"
Ginevra pressed her lips together and shook her head, then forced herself back to the shelves to sort stock by category.
Chloe watched her for a moment, then sighed. "You always bottle everything up."
Then she added, matter-of-fact and sharp, "Do you know you messed up the inventory numbers—like, multiple entries?"
Ginevra's head snapped up.
She checked the log, checked the stock list, checked again.
Two lines—wrong.
Her stomach dropped.
She never made mistakes like that.
"I'll redo it," she said immediately.
Chloe snatched the calculator from her with a dismissive wave. "Let me. Your heart isn't here. If your mom sees you like this, she'll lecture you."
Ginevra went quiet.
Chloe was right.
Ginevra hadn't been able to focus because—because Jayna hadn't messaged.
Ginevra had told Jayna: Text me when you get home.
Route 50 went straight to Gardencrest Residences. Ginevra had even checked. It should've been simple. A short walk after getting off.
So why was there no message?
Was Jayna careless? Did she forget?
Or—
A cold prickling crept under Ginevra's skin.
"Maybe I'm overthinking," she told herself, but the words didn't stick.
Finally, she spoke, voice low, like admitting something shameful.
"I went out with a classmate today. I had to come back to help at the shop, so I let her go home alone." Her fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the shelf. "But she hasn't texted me that she got home."
Chloe studied her—really studied her—and the tenderness in her expression sharpened into something knowing.
"You're worried about her," Chloe said.
"Yes," Ginevra admitted, simply.
Chloe sighed. "Then call her. Ask directly if she's home. If she doesn't answer… we'll figure out how to confirm."
Ginevra took her phone and stepped outside.
The number was already carved into her memory. Her thumb hovered for half a second—then pressed.
No answer.
Her chest tightened.
She called again.
Still nothing.
Ginevra's breath turned shallow.
She didn't go back inside.
Instead, she turned on her heel, voice tight with urgency. "Chloe. I'm leaving for a bit. Cover for me." Then, already moving, "I'm borrowing your scooter."
Chloe's eyes widened. "Ginny—wait—"
Ginevra was already swinging onto the small electric scooter.
Chloe shouted after her, helpless and furious all at once. "Are you trying to die?! Put your helmet on!"
Ginevra barely heard her.
The wind tore at her eyes as she rode, the world blurring at the edges.
And then her phone rang with an automated voice.
(Sorry, the number you dialed is powered off.)
Ginevra's blood ran cold.
Powered off.
Not "no answer."
Not "busy."
Off.
A kind of panic she had never permitted herself before began spreading through her body like spilled ink, dark and unstoppable.
Her eyes stung from wind and something else—something close to tears.
She rode straight to the entrance of Gardencrest Residences.
Abandoned the scooter.
Ran.
The security gate stood closed, clean and indifferent, the kind of gate meant to keep danger out—except it also kept her out.
"I've said it many times, miss," a middle-aged guard told her, weary but firm. "No access without a resident card, or a phone call from the homeowner."
"I can't reach her," Ginevra said, voice steady only because she forced it. "Her phone is off."
Inside the security booth, three men sat. One of them—a thin man with glasses and a hard, sour expression—kept staring at Ginevra with an unpleasant, shadowed interest.
He muttered in an accent Ginevra didn't recognize, "You believe some little girl's story?"
Another guard scoffed. "Why are you so stubborn? If we can't verify you, we can't let you in."
Ginevra's eyes cooled. "If she's in danger and these minutes matter, will you take responsibility?"
The middle-aged guard hesitated. He looked at her more carefully this time: sweat beading on her forehead, her eyes still reddened from the wind, her breathing controlled but strained.
This wasn't a prank.
He stood, exchanged a quick word with the others, then asked, "What's your friend's name?"
"Jaynara Stevens," Ginevra said, crisp. "Summit Ridge High School. Grade 11. Class One."
The guard's brows jumped slightly. "Mr. Stevens' family?"
He flipped through the directory and dialed the house phone listed.
No answer.
No connection.
The guard's expression shifted.
"That's strange," he muttered. "At this hour, someone should be home."
He didn't check the cameras—didn't have time. He grabbed his radio, told the others to stay alert, and stepped out.
"I'll go with you," he decided.
"Okay," Ginevra said at once.
But the thin, rigid guard stepped forward, displeased. "Sir, that's against protocol. If we let anyone in because they claim they can't reach someone, the residents will think our security is useless."
He moved close enough that Ginevra caught the stale stink of cheap cigarettes on his breath, and her mouth tightened.
She met his eyes without flinching.
"If I'm lying," she said evenly, "report me to Summit Ridge High School. I'm giving you my ID. Please—just this once—don't make it harder. I don't want my friend to get hurt."
She handed over her identification card.
For a moment, the booth went quiet. Even the skeptical guards couldn't easily push back against the weight in her voice—the way she looked like she'd already decided she would break herself to get inside if she had to.
After a tense pause, Captain Thor spoke.
"That's enough," he said firmly. "We're not going to bully a kid over procedure. We'll check the situation first."
Night came quickly.
Streetlights flicked on one after another, washing the tree-lined roads in pale gold. The shadows of leaves trembled on the ground, like something restless watching.
Ginevra walked fast.
Captain Thor kept pace, radio clenched in his hand, his jaw tight with the fear of any incident inside this high-end estate.
They passed the artificial lake.
Rounded a bend.
And reached a large three-story villa.
Usually, at this hour, Mrs. Rose would be outside tidying the courtyard, moving through the garden with quiet routines.
But tonight—
The gate was shut.
The yard was messy, small items left scattered as if someone had been interrupted mid-task.
And inside the house—
Not a single light was on.
Captain Thor frowned. "Weird. Someone should be here."
He stepped forward and pressed the doorbell.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
No response.
Ginevra's heart clenched so hard it felt like something inside her cracked.
"Nothing?" she asked, voice low.
Captain Thor nodded, troubled. "Maybe she hasn't come home yet."
"No." Ginevra's denial came out immediately, sharper than she intended. "I watched her get on the bus. She wouldn't just disappear."
Unless—
Unless something happened.
Captain Thor weighed it. "Try calling again. If we can't reach her, I'll find a way to contact Mr. Stevens."
Ginevra tried.
And tried again.
Powered off.
Every time.
Her panic rose higher, compressing her lungs.
Then—
A loud crash sounded inside the villa.
Something heavy falling, shattering.
And right after it—a woman's scream, high and terrified.
Ginevra's entire body turned to ice.
"Jayna!"
She knew that voice.
She didn't think.
She ran to the fence—an iron barrier tangled in vines, topped with sharp anti-theft spikes.
And began to climb.
"You're insane!" Captain Thor shouted, eyes wide. "Get down! That'll tear you apart!"
"Call the police," Ginevra said through clenched teeth, not stopping.
Her fingers scraped metal.
Pain bloomed.
Blood warmed her skin.
She heard Captain Thor yelling into his radio, his voice urgent—calling for electrical maintenance, calling for backup, calling for someone to come now—
But Ginevra couldn't wait.
She reached the top, trembling with strain. Sweat and wind and fear blurred her vision. She searched for a safe landing spot inside the yard and saw a pile of foam packaging bags near the ground.
She inhaled once—deep, hard—then jumped.
Captain Thor's shout cracked the air. "No—!"
Ginevra hit the foam pile back-first.
The soft material absorbed enough impact that her bones didn't break.
She rolled, gasping, then forced herself up and sprinted to the inner door, pounding it with all her strength.
"Jayna! Jayna, are you there?!"
No answer.
But when she pressed her ear to the door, she heard faint movement—tiny sounds of someone shifting, breathing, crying.
She reached for the outdoor light switch.
Nothing.
Dead.
She moved to the side window.
The entire house was black.
A burnt, acrid smell drifted through the air.
Electrical failure.
A short circuit.
That explained the unanswered doorbell. The dead phone. The silence.
Ginevra searched along the windows until she found one unlocked—the kitchen.
She hauled herself up, using sheer arm strength, and slipped inside.
Outside, Captain Thor stared in disbelief—then grabbed his radio again, voice snapping, demanding immediate repair assistance.
Inside the kitchen, the smell of scorched wiring was stronger.
Ginevra stepped carefully, avoiding shattered glass on the floor. Somewhere nearby, a woman was crying—low, broken sobs, trying to stay quiet but failing.
Ginevra moved through room after room, fast and silent.
And then she found her.
At the corner of the living room, at the base of the staircase, a small figure sat collapsed on the steps—knees pulled tight to her chest, head buried in her arms, shaking.
"Jayna…"
The figure jerked violently, as if struck.
A hand scrabbled at the floor.
And in the next second, Jayna swung something up—an improvised weapon—pointing it straight at the intruder.
At that exact moment—
The lights snapped on.
One by one, the entire house flared bright.
Ginevra blinked against the sudden glare.
And saw Jayna clearly.
Her face was paper-white. Her hair and her dress were smeared with dirt. One sleeve was torn open, the fabric ripped nearly to the elbow. A bruise darkened her arm, raw and blooming. Her eyes were huge, glossy with terror, tears trembling at the edges.
She was holding a pair of scissors against her own chest like a shield.
Ginevra's heart seized.
A stabbing, sickening pain cut through her so sharply she almost couldn't breathe.
She pushed every violent emotion down—down into some sealed place where it couldn't leak out—and moved slowly, carefully, like approaching a frightened animal.
She crouched in front of Jayna.
One hand eased the scissors from Jayna's trembling grip.
The other hand lifted to Jayna's face, wiping the tears from the corner of her eye with a touch so gentle it barely existed.
"It's okay," Ginevra whispered, voice trembling despite her. "It's okay. I'm here. You're safe. It's okay."
Jayna stared at her, mouth opening as if to speak.
No sound came out.
And then the tears fell—one after another—heavy, uncontrollable, spilling down her cheeks like her whole body finally understood she'd survived.