Rowan's sister's POV
She told herself she hadn't meant for it to spread that far.
That was the lie she chose this morning, sitting on the edge of her bed with her phone face-down beside her, like it might look back if she wasn't careful.
The house was quiet. Too quiet. Her mum had already left for work. Her brother's room door was shut—locked, for once but even that felt too strange on its own as she was used to seeing her brother free roaming the corridors. That alone made her jaw tighten.
She replayed yesterday in pieces.
The photo she'd sent.
The board.
The way the comments multiplied faster than she'd expected.
She hadn't planned on screenshots. Hadn't planned on teachers getting involved. Hadn't planned on the writing club going silent all at once, like a held breath.
She picked up her phone.
Three unread messages.
All variations of the same thing.
Did you see what happened?
They're saying it's stolen.
Do you know who did it?
She didn't answer.
She opened her notes app instead.
A list sat there already.
Not titled.
Didn't need to be.
She scrolled.
– library printer
– locker access (old combo?)
– club bags left unattended
– copies ≠ originals
She stared at the last line longer, a little longer than she attended to.
That was the problem.
Copies.
She'd thought she had them all. Thought she'd been careful—quiet, even. Saving things the way some people saved pressed flowers. Proof that something real had existed.
But now someone else had copies.
Someone messier.
Someone who didn't understand restraint.
Her brother, maybe.
Or someone she'd trusted.
Or someone who'd been watching longer than she realised.
The idea made her stomach twist—not from fear, exactly. Irritation.
Control slipping always felt like that.
She added another line.
– identify leak
Downstairs, a floorboard creaked.
She froze, thumb hovering.
Then footsteps passed. The front door opened and closed.
Relief came late and sharp.
She leaned back against the wall and exhaled through her nose.
This wasn't over. She knew that.
Not because she wanted to hurt anyone.
But because unfinished stories itched.
And because once you pulled something hidden into the light, you couldn't just shove it back into the dark and pretend it hadn't changed shape.
She locked her phone.
Stood up.
And started thinking about what came next.