The door to the clinic clicked shut behind her as Ginny stepped outside.
A few steps away, Lucy was waiting, shifting from one foot to the other like she could barely contain herself. The moment Ginny appeared, Lucy's face lit up, and she darted over, her expression bright.
"Oh! Hi, Ginny! Or, um, Imogen?" Her voice bubbled out, words tumbling over each other. One hand fiddled with her glasses, the other moving wildly as she spoke. "Okay, wow, I'm really glad you agreed to talk—or, well, I guess you didn't really agree, but here you are, so thank you! I'm Lucy Bellinger! But, you know, people just call me Luce, and you can too! I mean, unless you prefer Imogen—I mean, if you want me to call you Imogen? Ginny just sounds more... I don't know, friendly, less formal?"
Ginny blinked, a little dazed by the whirlwind of words swirling around her. Lucy's eyes sparkled, waiting for a response.
"Yeah, sure," Ginny managed, forcing a smile. "Ginny's fine."
"Oh, great!" Lucy beamed, clearly pleased. She adjusted her glasses with a quick, nervous swipe, then nodded to herself. "Ginny it is! I mean, it's really cool to finally meet you, you know? You're, like, famous on campus. Well, maybe famous isn't the word, but, you know, a bit... mysterious. I mean, you're best friends with Cassian and Lysander Thorne! The Thorne twins! That's practically royalty, right? Everyone wants to know you—or be you."
Ginny bit her lip, a spark of annoyance flickering as she nodded, trying to keep her voice steady.
People always loved to talk about the twins as if she'd somehow won some silent lottery by being their friend. And Ginny thinks, in a way, maybe she had, but that wasn't why she cared about them.
Not even close.
To her, they were just… Cass and Lyle.
"Luce, right?" she said, hoping to steer Lucy back on track. "Why did you want to talk to me?"
Lucy's face went blank for a split second, as if she'd forgotten her reason. But then, just as quickly, she perked up again, tucking a stray pen behind her ear.
"Oh! Right, the case." Her voice dropped, growing almost conspiratorial. She leaned in close, her eyes serious. "I'm working on something big—really big. If I get this story, it could mean real funding for the journalism club. Not the tiny crumbs we usually get, but actual support, maybe even our own press! And we could really make a difference with it."
Lucy's eyes sparkled with a mix of ambition and intensity, and she almost looked away again but held Ginny's gaze, as if she was trying to impress the urgency of it on her. She pressed her lips together for a moment, as if deciding something, then leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a near whisper.
"And believe me, the journalism club has struggled. You have no idea how hard it is to scrape together enough for decent equipment, or even to make sure our press runs smoothly. Most people don't realize how tough it is for us." She shook her head, exhaling in frustration. "I mean, if we had just a fraction of the funds other clubs get, we could do so much more—"
"Luce, sorry, but… how exactly do I fit into this?" Ginny asked, struggling to keep her voice light. "I mean, I'm not exactly rolling in cash. I don't think I'd be able to help the journalism club with funding, even if I wanted to."
At that, Lucy laughed—a short, surprised sound.
"Oh, no, Ginny! I don't need you to donate." Lucy grinned, looking excited and a little mischievous, and suddenly Ginny felt that same prick of unease from earlier start to settle in as she watched Lucy adjust her glasses again. "It's more like… I think you and I can help each other."
Ginny raised an eyebrow, feeling the tension twist into confusion.
"Help each other?"
"I know this is a long shot, but I've heard about your crime rate prediction system. The one you presented in class."
Ginny felt her stomach twist. So she'd heard about that, too.
Her cheeks heated as she let out a short sigh.
"Yes... let's not talk about that."
Lucy gave a sympathetic smile but couldn't quite mask the spark of interest behind it. "I think I can help, actually. Like, really help. I know people in criminology and journalism, people who could give you insight—or maybe even help you develop it further. And in return, you could help me with my case."
Lucy was serious, that much was clear. And the way she was looking at Ginny—it wasn't like she was asking for a simple favor. There was something more layered underneath it, something that made Ginny hesitate even as her curiosity gnawed at her.
"What exactly is this case, Luce?"
Lucy's face lit up, a slow, satisfied smile spreading across her lips. She leaned back, folding her arms in an almost triumphant gesture.
"Well," Lucy said, drawing the word out, "That's something I'll tell you once you agree to help."
Ginny shifted her weight, resting her shoulder against the cool brick wall behind her. Her eyes stayed on Lucy, waiting.
"Tell me, Ginny," Lucy's voice slid through the silence, soft but insistent, her eyes dark and intent, never quite letting go. She leaned against the wall next to Ginny, close enough that Ginny could feel the heat of her body and the scent of her cologne. She oddly smells like lasagna. "What's stopping you from letting me use the system? You'd be helping so much, you know."
Ginny sighed, her eyes drifting to the ground.
"It's not that simple," she muttered. "I didn't make it to change the world, Luce. I just... need to graduate. To finish."
Ginny pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, feeling the weight of the words even as she said them. "Honestly, I just needed the credits."
Lucy tilted her head, a strange sympathy in her gaze, though she didn't step back. "So it's just... credits?"
The words stung, a little too close to what her professor had implied earlier. Ginny's mouth tightened, her voice sharper than she intended.
"Yes," Ginny said, her tone firm. "It's just a tool to calculate probabilities, nothing more. A fancy calculator that spits out patterns."
Lucy tilted her head, studying her with an intensity that felt almost invasive.
"You're underestimating it," Lucy then said, her voice low and certain. "It's not just some tool for figuring out probabilities. Think about it. It looks at data, Ginny—past data. It can see patterns, spots where people might be hiding, still doing the things they used to do."
"Patterns don't mean anything. They're just coincidences, history repeating itself in a loop."
Lucy smiled, a faint, knowing curve of her lips that made Ginny's skin prickle.
"You're wrong. It's not just repetition. Think about it. Your system could be tracking people—groups of people, let's say, who don't want to be found. People with...let's call them questionable motives. Even if they're hiding, they still have habits, places they return to. Things they can't help but do. Your system could see that."
"But it's just data," Ginny said, her voice quieter now, uncertain. "It can't see...hidden things. It's not magic, Luce."
"I know it's not magic," Lucy agreed, but her smile didn't fade. If anything, it grew sharper, more determined. "But it's powerful. Think about it. You could feed it data on certain groups, places that were once...well, let's call them hotbeds of activity. Your system could tell us if those places are active again, if certain people are going back to the same spots, even if they're trying to stay, you know, invisible."
Ginny crossed her arms over her chest.
"And what are you trying to find exactly?"
At this, Lucy paused, glancing away for the first time, her gaze settling on the floor as if she were contemplating some secret only she could understand.
"I don't know."
"You… don't know?"
Lucy let out a small, bitter laugh, but her eyes never left the floor.
"No," she admitted, her gaze still fixed on the ground. "But I think your system could get me closer. One step closer to the truth."