Sara knelt by Laura's bedside, gazing at her pale face with compassion clouding her teary eyes. Her nose was red from constant wiping, and her eyelids were swollen from crying. Hours had passed before the girl finally succumbed to exhaustion and fell asleep. Still, Sara found it nearly impossible to soothe her pain after the loss of Simon.
Her presence alone seemed to comfort Laura. Even without words, holding her hand was enough to remind her she wasn't alone—that someone was there, willing to do anything to help her heal.
Sara couldn't bring herself to leave. She was determined to stay at Laura's side until the girl could once again stand on her own two feet. She would be her strength, her support through this unimaginable grief. Because she had to. Laura needed her now more than ever.
A quiet knock at the door drew Sara away from the bed. She opened it gently, already guessing who it was.
Alan stepped into the room, his gaze immediately seeking Laura's still figure. His expression reflected the same sadness etched across Sara's face.
He couldn't fully grasp that Simon was truly gone. Some part of him hoped it was all an illusion—that they hadn't found Laura trembling beside the body of her dead friend. He wanted it to be a cruel dream, but he knew it wasn't. It was the grim reality they all now had to face.
"We took care of the body. Matthew helped me," he said quietly, pulling Sara into his arms. She rested her cheek against his chest and closed her eyes, as though trying to shut out the world. "We figured it was better for us to do it ourselves than leave it to those bastards."
"Where did you bury him?" she asked hoarsely, tears threatening to rise again.
"Behind the old oak tree. We thought it would be best for him there," he replied, stroking her back gently. He could feel her beginning to tremble, guessing she was holding back her tears. "I want to know what happened. Do you think Laura will tell us?"
"She will," Sara said softly. "But we have to give her time. When she's ready, she'll tell us herself. Let's not rush her."
She stepped into the bathroom to compose herself. Alan sat down on her bed, his eyes never leaving Laura.
In front of the mirror, Sara studied her reflection, her lips tightening as fresh tears slipped down her cheeks. Her heart ached. She couldn't bear this pain any longer. And on top of that, she feared for the others. For Alan. For herself. For Oliver…
"Oliver," she whispered, suddenly struck by the realization that she hadn't seen him since the party.
Where had he gone?
As she left the bathroom, she halted in her tracks. There he was—leaning against the windowsill, his expression somber, eyes darting warily toward Alan.
The tension between them hadn't gone unnoticed. Sara remembered the brief, bitter confrontation from earlier. Alan hadn't shared the details with her, and it irked her. She hated being left in the dark.
"I told Oliver everything. He wanted to come with me to see how Laura was doing," Matthew said, breaking the silence.
Sara nodded and turned to the brunet, who now looked directly at her. For a moment, she had the strange feeling that his visit was more about her than about Laura.
Alan must have thought the same, letting out a low scoff.
"If I remember right, he used to hate Laura. He must feel real sorry for her to suddenly start caring."
"You're right," Oliver replied calmly. "I do feel guilty. I treated her rather cruelly before."
Sara raised her eyebrows. That answer surprised her. He should've snapped back—but instead, he was civil. Polite even. Especially toward Alan.
"How long has she been asleep?" Matthew asked, nodding toward Laura.
"I haven't been asleep since you got here," Laura croaked, rubbing her puffy eyes. She slowly sat up, catching everyone's attention.
Sara immediately sat beside her, taking her hand.
"I'm sorry we woke you. The guys were worried, so Alan let them in."
Laura ran her fingers through her hair and lifted her eyes to meet Matthew's. Tears welled up again as she imagined how Simon would've reacted—probably tossing out some sarcastic comment. He wouldn't have been pleased to see Matthew.
"Sorry I passed out drunk in your bed earlier," Matthew said sheepishly, unsure what kind of response he'd get.
"If you got some sleep, that's good," Laura replied, leaning against the wall. She pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. "My soul is in agony, but I know I can't unload it onto others. I have to be strong. Simon asked me not to give up." Her voice faltered on the last line, and Sara squeezed her hand tighter in reassurance. "That's why I won't cry into my pillow anymore. I want to keep my promise."
Matthew gave her a faint smile and gently touched her shoulder. He admired her strength.
"You can always count on us."
"This place is cruel," Laura said. "And we don't all get along, but in the end, we're here for each other. That's something real." She turned her gaze to Oliver. "And I'm grateful to you for opening my eyes to a few things. You don't have to feel guilty anymore. I understood your words."
No one knew what she meant. Clearly, she and Oliver shared a secret they had no intention of explaining.
Oliver seemed taken aback but nodded slowly. When Sara tried to catch his gaze, he quickly looked away.
"I've always wanted to tell someone about it," Laura began, drawing everyone's attention. Sara, after a moment of hesitation, turned her focus from Oliver to her roommate. The brunet remained a mystery—one that seemed to hold a piece of each of them. "Do you want to know what my first meeting with Simon was like?" she asked, eyes glistening. "That bastard probably fell for me right then and there. I must have made a hell of an impression." She gave a soft, trembling laugh as she wiped her tears away.
"Laura, you don't have to—" someone began.
"I want to," she interrupted. "I have to be strong, right? Let me tell you how it all began. The more I remember the good moments with Simon, the faster I'll heal. Let's call it therapy, okay?" She looked at each of them until they nodded in agreement.
A genuine smile lit up her face through the sadness.
"He became my best friend for a reason…"
*
With an aggravated expression, she stepped into the building and set down her suitcase, crossing her arms over her chest.
She was waiting for the director.
She was already irritated by the slow gait of the elderly man who, despite clearly being of retirement age, was still in charge of the educational center. In her opinion, someone younger and more energetic should hold the position—someone capable of handling things properly. Judging by his age, Laura was convinced he wouldn't be able to do much here. So she decided to spice things up. As revenge. Revenge for her parents locking her up in this awful place. Revenge for the fact that the director agreed to take her in.
"You'll remember me, old coot," she muttered under her breath.
She raised an eyebrow when a group of girls passed by. Laura kept her arms crossed as one of them stopped beside her. With a mocking smile, the girl tilted her head and scrutinized her carefully.
Laura guessed she was probably their leader.
"Well, what do we have here?" the girl drawled. Her gaze locked on Laura's face—particularly her eyes. She stepped closer, and Laura noticed the absurd amount of makeup smeared across her features. The girl looked like a zebra.
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
"I'm just wondering if your eyes hurt," Laura replied, making Julia clench her jaw. "It's the first time I've seen makeup inspired by a zebra." She burst into laughter right in her face, which enraged the brown-haired girl.
"You little maggot," Julia hissed, raising her fist to strike, but froze when she spotted the director approaching. Laura, triumph written all over her face, turned to him and spoke with feigned outrage.
"This is what parents pay for? I thought this place was about rehabilitation, but all I see is aggression. Where's the psychologist's influence here?"
The man grunted, clearly irritated, and gave Julia a harsh look.
"My office. Fifteen minutes."
Then he gestured for Laura to follow him. She bent down, picked up her heavy suitcase, and threw Julia a smug look. She knew she'd just made her first enemy—but she was used to girls like her. Queens of their little cliques who loved tormenting the weaker ones.
This time, though, she'd messed with the wrong girl. Laura had every intention of turning her life into hell.
"And what about manners, Mr. Director?" Laura quipped, walking after him. "You're really going to let a lady carry this heavy suitcase?"
She expected him to ignore her, but instead, he motioned to a boy standing by the windowsill.
The girl puckered her lips and gave the boy a once-over. He was handsome. Blonde bangs fell into his eyes, but she could still see he was checking her out. He was tall, had kissable lips—but what really impressed her was his ass.
The boy silently picked up her suitcase and followed the director. Laura paused for a moment to admire his muscular backside, licking her lips and raising an eyebrow.
She hurried after him—and then, without a hint of shame, reached out and grabbed his butt cheek, giving it an appreciative squeeze.
The blonde froze and turned around, wide-eyed.
Laura grinned.
"My hands were glowing. Forgive me," she said, completely unapologetic. She never had trouble with men—they usually liked her. "Mr. Director, can this handsome gentleman be my butler?"
This time, the director didn't respond.
They entered the office, and Laura smiled again as the boy set her suitcase down. He turned to leave, but the director stopped him.
"Wait, boy. You'll help her carry it to her room. I assume that's not a problem?"
"Not if her hands don't get grabby again," he muttered.
Laura raised her hands and made a playful squeezing motion with her fingers.
The director laid out the rules and handed her the schedule. While he was distracted, she snuck a black marker off his desk, already plotting her next move.
Simon squinted at her suspiciously. She was… interesting. Her personality, her confidence—and her looks. Definitely intriguing.
They left the office, and a wicked smile spread across her face as she grabbed his hand.
They ducked behind a wall.
"Let's wait here. That painted zebra should come out soon. She'll probably get some punishment, and I'll make sure to take full advantage of it."
"You mean Julia?" he asked, genuinely curious.
"Yeah. I've already figured her out—she's a bitch. I'm not wrong, am I?"
"You're not. She is a bitch. Go on—do your thing."
When Julia stormed out of the office, clearly fuming, Laura seized the moment. She dashed to the door and, with the marker, scribbled "OLD FART" right across it. Simon couldn't hold in his laughter. Laura ran back to him, and the two of them ducked behind the wall, laughing until their stomachs hurt.
They nailed it.
In that moment, Laura gained a friend.
And Simon's heart had already begun to beat a little harder.
*
"You've always been unpredictable," Sara said after Laura finished her story.
But the most surprising reaction came from Oliver, who suddenly started giggling quietly. He turned his back to them and covered his mouth, trying to hold it in—but the harder he tried, the more contagious his laughter became.
"Sorry. I know I shouldn't be laughing now, but that moment with the buttocks..."
Sara stared at Oliver, her mouth slightly open, hearing his genuine laughter for the first time. She had never witnessed it before. Laura was the first to make him laugh like that.
At last, the mysterious Oliver dropped his mask and showed his true self.
"Stop laughing, imbecile," Matthew snapped, throwing a pillow at his friend. "This isn't the time. Laura was just trying to lighten the mood, but you're overdoing it."
"If Simon were here, he'd be laughing too, remembering that moment. I'm sure of it," Laura said softly.
Sara glanced toward the door—and her smile faded.
There, in the shadows, stood Simon's silhouette. The boy pressed a finger to his lips, signaling her to be quiet. Sara realized she didn't want Laura to know he was there. It might upset her all over again. She wasn't about to ruin the fragile calm.
Alan noticed her glance and the subtle shake of her head, understanding she'd explain later.
"As for Julia," Matthew said, "you actually got your revenge. The director believed she scribbled that in anger, so she got punished again."
"She had to scrub all the bathrooms," he added with a smirk.
"But it didn't change her," Sara said bitterly. "She's still a bitch."
"Why do you say that?" Matthew asked, nervously.
"Because to save her own skin, she set me up," Sara admitted. "She told the General I knew about some hidden treasure. If only that were true..."
"Honey?" Alan repeated with genuine curiosity, and Sara shot him a worried look.
"I don't know anything about it myself. They'll probably come after me, and what am I supposed to say then? They won't believe me if I deny it."
Nervously, Sara fiddled with her fingers, debating whether she should confess everything she'd learned recently.
"I don't know if it's a treasure or something else, but it's supposedly important to the General. That's all he cares about," she finally said, breaking the silence and drawing everyone's attention.
"How do you know that?" Alan asked, looking directly at her.
"Because the spirit that visited me most often was my grandmother. From her, I learned everything."
*
"Alan, wait!" Sara ran after him, but he was stubborn and didn't slow down. His long legs quickly put distance between them, especially when he picked up speed.
"Is it so hard for you to wait just a moment?" she finally snapped, raising her voice.
Alan stopped in his tracks but didn't turn around.
"Explain yourself, then."
"What do you want to explain? That you've been keeping secrets from me?" His voice was sharp with indignation as she slowly approached him. He turned away again. "I thought we were supposed to tell each other everything. Maybe your 'best friend' got that honor." He made quotation marks with his fingers around the word friend.
He snorted nervously, and Sara hesitantly took his hand.
"No one knew until now. I wanted to tell you first, but there was never the right moment."
"There was a moment! You could've done it any time!" he shouted. Her eyes widened in shock—he'd never raised his voice at her before, let alone shouted.
Seeing the fear flicker in her eyes, he immediately softened. He rubbed his forehead, trying to regain control.
"I'm sorry. I'm just worried about you. I want to know everything that concerns you," he said quietly. She lowered her head.
"Sara? Are you hiding anything else from me? Now's the time to tell me."
She bit her lip, torn about revealing the secret involving the General's administration of the substance. Fear clenched her chest—she didn't want him to do anything reckless.
"I'm not hiding anything else," she lied, staring at the floor.
Alan gently lifted her chin until their eyes met.
"Say that again. Are you absolutely sure?"
She shook her head.
"I'm not hiding anything else."
"Is this some kind of audition?" Oliver asked, stepping forward with a grimace. Alan squeezed Sara's hand.
"Did you learn this from your grandfather? He's a master at it," Oliver teased. "Unless it's in your blood."
"Have you been stalking Sara again? Obsessed with her or something?" Alan retorted.
"Again? Well, yes, considering our last conversation…" Oliver trailed off as Sara looked between them, puzzled by what they were hiding.
"That one—the time you cut my lip because I told you to stay away from my girlfriend," Alan said, running a finger over his lips. He shot Oliver a triumphant look and sighed. "Nothing gets through to you."
"So it looks like that, huh?" Oliver said with an exasperated snort. "How about we tell Sara the real version?"
"Go ahead. I'm giving you a free hand—just don't touch her," Alan warned, throwing a frustrated glance Oliver's way. Then he released Sara's hand and smiled faintly at her.
"Listen carefully to your friend," he said, putting an arm around her head and kissing her forehead.
"Are you still mad at me?" she asked, confused by his strange behavior.
"I trust you, Sara. Don't you remember what I told you when we were locked in the cantina?" He looked deeply into her eyes. "I know you wouldn't stab me in the back. You're different from the rest."
With that, he walked away, and Oliver shot him a hostile look.
Sara muttered to herself, "You're mad at me," watching Alan disappear into the distance.
Her gaze shifted to Oliver, silently demanding an explanation.
"I hope you'll believe me this time and finally see through it, Sara," he began, but she turned away suddenly. Something caught her attention.
"Simon," she whispered. She sensed he wanted to tell her something.
"Huh?" Oliver furrowed his brow, unsure if he'd heard her right.
"Simon's behind you," she said, and the expression on Oliver's face changed to misery in an instant. "He wants to reveal something to me..."