AMBER'S POV
I sat in my room, surrounded by stacks of papers and photos. My desk was a chaotic collage of red string, notes scribbled on sticky pads, and printed text messages. I had been obsessively trying to piece together the identity of Micha's murderer, but every lead I followed dissolved into a dead end.
My frustration boiled over causing me to slam my fist on the desk, scattering a pile of notes to the floor.
"Damn it," I muttered, rubbing my temples. Micha deserved justice, but the more I dug, the murkier everything became. Lies and half-truths clouded the investigation. Everyone—even my closest friends—seemed to have something to hide. And now James was claiming someone was after him.
I leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling. James. I had brushed him off earlier, but his trembling voice replayed in my mind. The note, the stalking—it all sounded eerily plausible. My gut twisted as I thought about it. I didn't want to believe him, but deep down, I knew he wasn't lying. Someone was targeting James.
Still, I couldn't involve herself. Not now. Not when I was so close to uncovering the truth about Micha. And certainly not when James might very well be next. My hands tightened into fists as guilt gnawed at me.
If James was killed, it would make me look like the prime suspect. I would have been one of the last people to talk to him before his death, and I knew people would whisper about it behind my back.
Getting too close to James now would only paint a target on me. But even beyond my own fears, I couldn't ignore the harsh reality: whoever was behind this wasn't just targeting James. For all I cared to guess, I could be next. Or Alison. Or Kyro. None of them were safe, and the thought of that sent a chill racing down her spine.
My eyes flicked to my phone, the screen still showing James's missed call. I hadn't answered it. Couldn't answer it. She imagined the panic in his voice, his desperation, and she hated herself for ignoring him.
"Get it together, Amber," I whispered, pushing ,my chair back and pacing the room. "You can't save everyone."
But could I save anyone? Micha was dead, and every attempt to find her killer felt like clawing at shadows. The few threads of evidence I'd found led nowhere. Witnesses contradicted each other, and any physical evidence seemed to vanish before I could follow up on it.
It was almost as if someone was deliberately erasing the trail.
I clenched my jaw. Micha's murderer was smart, calculating. And if James was truly being followed, then whoever was behind this wasn't done. My instincts screamed at me to take his warnings seriously. Yet, selfishly, I stayed away.
As the night dragged on, my mind spiraled with guilt and fear. I couldn't sleep, couldn't focus. Every creak of the floorboards in my apartment sent a jolt through me, and every shadow outside my window made my heart race. I hated feeling like this—helpless, scared. But more than anything, I hated herself for not answering James's call.
I sank into my chair, burying my face in my hands. I had to make a choice: keep chasing Micha's elusive murderer, or risk everything to protect James. I hated how easy the decision seemed when I framed it like that. Micha was gone. James was still alive. But what if I was wrong? What if getting involved made me the next target?
I exhaled shakily, staring at the photo of Micha pinned to her wall. "I'm sorry," I whispered. "But I can't get involved in this, not this time, it's too risky."
For the first time in days, I reached for my phone and typed out a message:
...
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Amber set her phone down, the screen still glowing faintly as her message sent. She stood up, stretching her stiff muscles, and decided to take a shower. The tension from days of sleepless nights clung to her like a second skin, and the hot water would help her think clearly.As the water cascaded over her, Amber closed her eyes, letting the heat soothe her. But the steam and solitude brought memories she had tried desperately to bury.
Flashbacks flooded her mind, unbidden and raw. She was back in her childhood home two years ago, the acrid smell of smoke thick in the air. Flames licked at the walls, roaring hungrily as the gas leak in the basement exploded into an inferno.
She remembered screaming for her parents, her voice hoarse as she stumbled through the house, the heat scorching her skin. Her father's voice had been the last thing she heard, shouting for help, to get out. She had survived. But they hadn't.
The memory brought a complex swirl of emotions. Amber mourned the family she had lost, but part of her couldn't ignore the relief. Her parents had been reckless and destructive, their lives a blur of drunken arguments and careless neglect. They had left her to grow up too quickly, forced to take care of herself in ways a child never should. Their death had ended the chaos but left a void she didn't know how to fill.She grieved for the love she had never received, for the parents they could have been, and for the loneliness that crept into her heart every day since. Now, with her group of friends divided by lies and mistrust, that loneliness loomed larger than ever. Alison was distant, Kyro seemed preoccupied with his own secrets, and James—James was spiraling into paranoia. Amber felt like she was on an island, stranded and isolated.
Amber's knees buckled slightly under the weight of the memory, and she steadied herself against the tiled wall of the shower. Tears mingled with the water streaming down her face. The fire had taken everything from her—her family, her home, her sense of safety. And now, here she was, faced with another nightmare. Another threat she couldn't fully understand or control.
The water turned cold, jolting her back to the present. Amber shut off the faucet and wrapped herself in a towel, her mind racing. The fear she felt now wasn't so different from that night—the same helplessness, the same gnawing dread that she might lose more people she cared about.
But this time, she wouldn't just run. She couldn't.