•

"Hot For Teacher"

The Brew had been a place of sanctuary — even more so than any of their homes. The five friends were emotionally drained, sucked of life from yet another couple punches from A. Their enemy landed each and every one, gutting them. Somewhere, between one of Emily's late night hospital visits and the exchange of A's attacks, one of them suggested coffee and, naturally, they collected at their favourite haunt.

"Uh, coffee please," Hanna said to the barista. She checked with her friends. "We're all just having it simple, right?"

"Yeah, don't think I can do soy right now," Aria replied. "I need the hard stuff."

"You add, like, too much creamer and sugar to your coffee anyway," Spencer pointed out.

"Okay, just because your personality is a black coffee drip doesn't mean you get to dog on me," Aria countered.

At that, Halle gave a chuckle and then said to the barista, "Can I get a chamomile tea instead?"

"Yeah, me too, actually," Spencer said, as she pinched the bridge of her nose and squinted. "My head is a wreck right now."

Halle peered at her, questioningly. She held her breath and prayed that Spencer wasn't going to unload the secret they had both learnt the other night — that Fitz was Board Shorts — that he was A. Halle and Spencer weren't ready to make that devastating of a blow to the five — to their lives. It would be brutal. The two of them could damn well tear a rip down the middle of their group; they'd reel in the fiery chaos of it, rolling around as it spit at them.

"Are you okay?" asked Aria in concern.

"Yeah, yeah—" Spencer grimaced, eyes briefly connecting with Halle's for a second, "I think I'm just not getting enough sleep."

"You do look tired," Hanna unhelpfully commented. "You look stressed."

Spencer let out an amused scoff, "Thanks, Han."

While the rest of her friends converse, Emily had been quiet. Soon after they entered and approached the cashier, Emily's gaze was drawn towards the far side of the coffee shop. She could see someone in the phone-box. She angled her head to get a better view, curiosity piquing her interest, to then discover it was Shana.

"Guys..."

Emily alerted them to it — to Shana. They moved. All of them watched as Shana snaked her way out of the phone-booth with a mobile in her hand and a secretive glint to her eyes.

"Why's she gotta phone if there's a landline?" Halle wondered, suspicion at the edge of her tongue.

"Maybe Ali's number's in that phone," suggested Aria, perfectly shaped eyebrows arched up at Halle. "Maybe that's who Shana was just talking to."

Halle copied her. "Could be worth looking into."

To Emily, Spencer asked in a low whisper, "Have you heard from Shana since? Can we trust her now?"

"If Ali does," Emily began, just as Shana looked over towards the five girls before she made a swift exit, "I guess that means we should try."

"Trying is a very trying word," Halle responded through a clenched jaw.

"Exactly," agreed Hanna wholeheartedly. She remained firm, "No, Shana has too many faces to trust." Remarking to her friends, Hanna said to them wryly, "I've been keeping count and running out of fingers."

"Yeah, well, I've got a finger you can use," said Aria, glaring at the back good where Shana had disappeared out of. Straight away, she was unnecessarily aggressive with her tightened brow and harsh words. "It's not the nice kind."

Once the coffee — and herbal teas — had been poured, steaming out of matching takeout cups, the conversation shifted on an angle. The girls were sitting in the secluded area, off the main floor, with three — Emily, Aria and Hanna — on the couch while Halle and Spencer were split to be opposite sides of it.

"So, is your dad gonna be okay?" asked Aria sensitively.

Emily nodded, breathing in before she shared, "They'll monitor his heart for a while to make sure, but in the long run, he should be fine."

"Except the part where Shana gave him a heart attack," Hanna chided.

"It wasn't a heart attack," corrected Emily coolly. "The doctors said his chest pains were causes from anaemia. Besides—" Emily glanced down with softening eyes, "I don't think it was her."

Despite the heavy information hung around her neck and weighing down her chest, like a huge stone slab, Halle tried to stay open-minded with her friends. "Why?" she asked, and Spencer threw her a look for even attempting to lie.

"I mean, Shana led me to Ali," Emily put simply. "Why would she turn around and punish me for trying to find A? And we know that A is a dude."

"But A's had helpers before," Halle mentioned, wanting to gauge a few names from her friends for the Red Coat counterpart to their English teacher's black hoodie. "I think we should focus there," she said in pleasant suggestion. She avoided Spencer's tired glare. "That should, realistically, be the weakest part."

"The weakest link, you mean," Aria sneered, huffing.

"I thought we agreed not to use that saying," Emily said to her.

"A uses it for us, why can't we do the same to them?" Aria asked easily.

"Because we're not A," Spencer said firmly. She held her ground on this, steady and ready to play offence if she was needed. "The whole point — the only thing we have on A — is that we're not them. We shouldn't result to his mind-games either."

"Yeah, Spencer's right," Halle voiced in support. "The only advantage we have is that we don't think like A."

"Well, I'm starting to see that as a disadvantage," huffed Hanna. "This thing would be over so much quicker if we just knew how the psycho thinks... Behaves, you know," she said, and Halle felt the pit in her gut open up, gaping. "Like, if we knew who he was, and he didn't know we knew, we could watch him — study him — we'd know how to win because we knew him."

Aria said, "That's great, Han, but we still have no idea who A is."

Across the seating arrangements, Halle's eyes fell to Spencer. The dread mixed with the guilt of a secret; it was painful. The way it churned up inside Halle was excruciating. However, Halle knew too well how they couldn't tell their friends yet. They needed more proof that Ezra Fitz's odd combination of boysenberry pie and Board Shorts Ale. Or the fact the very same bar that Aria met him in, Snookers, was once called The Hart and Huntsman the summer Alison disappeared.

"I think Halle's right," Hanna said, causing Halle's gaze to snap to her in alarm. "We gotta focus on the helper, and who knows, maybe Shana's helping this dude," suggested Hanna logically. She remembered clearly, "Wasn't she seen sneaking around Wren's apartment shipping boxes to Melissa?"

With her heavy eyes, Spencer shortly realised the question was aimed at her. She blinked twice, fighting her need to yawn. Her leg wobbled, jumpy as she spoke. "Sure, but—" Spencer took in a deep breath like she wanted to get something off of her chest, "let's say it's not Shana, you know. Let's—Could be somebody else," she stopped and started. "Maybe it's somebody who's working on the musical with Mr Fitz and Mr Browne."

Halle's stare went wide. She was warning Spencer not to say anything — not to tread so close to that edge — but that warning was ignored, then side-lined.

Emily didn't need long to think it over. She said, "I was the first crew member Fitz brought on. I don't know about Mr Browne, though." She grumbled, "Mona is part of that musical."

"Good place to start," Hanna chimed in. "She's too good at being sneaky."

"Actually," Halle inserted honestly, "I think she's just doing it 'cos she wants to."

Aria zeroed in on Halle and asked in disbelief, "You're defending her?"

"I'm not defending anything," Halle countered at her, glowering. "We were giving opinions, I gave mine — that's all."

While the others got distracted, Spencer hadn't. Her legs shook more furiously. She kept her eyes locked onto Emily and said, "And he asked you to meet him after school, right?"

"Yeah, well, no," Emily muddled through her memory. "He asked me to copy the script amendments he made while he was out running an errand." She said, "He said he'd come by if he could."

Her knee bounced up and down rapidly, as Spencer turned the heat towards another unsuspecting friends of theirs. "What about you, Aria?"

Off guard, having just taken a sip from her coffee, a surprised Aria pulled the take-out cup from her lips. She got defensive first. "What about me?"

"I was just wondering," began Spencer, hinting most obviously, "if maybe since you and Jake broke up..."

Hastily, Aria argued, "We broke up, like, a week ago, Spencer. He's still in hospital and you wanna go there?" Aria's adamancy came off desperate. "And yeah, I'm friendly with Ezra, but that doesn't mean we're back together." In her fierce rebut, Aria set down her drink on the table in the middle of the five. "Look, look, I've been taking some time for myself — like Halle suggested," she said, hand out towards the cheerleader at the referral. Aria sat back, trying to appear indifferent as the laid her leather skirt flat over her knees. "I think it's best for everybody if Ezra and I don't talk for a really long time, considering how close A got to exposing him."

Exposing, Halle thought, was a funny word to use for a groomer. He was twenty-six; Aria had yet to turn eighteen. Halle felt like deep down, that really quiet niggling voice at the back of Aria's head, was telling Aria was Fitz truly was. It gave her the language to arm herself, but she was using it to his honour not her own.

Spencer refused to relent, "Do you think that you could ask him?

"NO." It was Hanna who spoke. She was sterner than ever — strong as she forced her friends to listen and obey. "No asking, no following, no taking a look." Her eyes were serious as she stared at Spencer. "A gave us an order in my mouth."

"I'm just trying to help Emily figure out who was chasing her," Spencer said.

"Yeah, but Emily has already said that Ezra wasn't there," Aria put in defensively. "I don't know what kind of help he would be."

Spencer's foot raised up and down in waving motion as she attempted to keep her knee from impatiently bouncing. She narrowed in on her reflexes and tried to ease into relaxation of all kinds. "Yeah," said Spencer. "Yeah, you're right. I'm—"

"God!" Hanna's hand darted out abruptly to snatch the disposable cup from Spencer's grasp. She had been watching the jumpy movements the Hastings girl's legs were doing from the corner of her eyes and finally snapped. "I'm cutting you off," Hanna declared, and slammed the cup down onto the table, away from Spencer. "You're over-caffeinated."

"What? It's herbal tea," argued Spencer strongly.

"Spencer, I'm about to have a breakdown," Hanna pushed out irritably; the swelling in the left side of her side was still noticeable. "Okay — and your floppy foot is gonna push me over the edge!"

"So go sit over there, okay," Spencer fought back. Both of them, the bickering two, ran a hand over their faces, exhausted from the heavy night they'd had. "We're all really tense."

"Tense?" bit Hanna, beyond peeved. "A knocked me out, shot me up, and played post office between my teeth." Her angry, hot stare connected with Spencer, certain to burn holes in the latter's tired exterior. "'Dead girls can't smile.'"

Silence befell them. It landed hard. This A wasn't pulling any punches; they were consistently landing each one, winding the girls for days on end. It was a show of dominance — of ultimate power. A wanted them weak. A wanted to prove to them that he could get to them anywhere, at anytime, and do absolutely anything — truly horrendous, horrific, life-altering things — to them and they couldn't stop him. The rules weren't even close to Mona's game. Halle wasn't even sure they were on the game-board any longer; they certainly weren't taking turns anymore.

A beat passed, and Emily said, "If we don't keep trying to help Ali, she'll never be able to come home." Her determined stare rolled to her side, towards Halle, whose breath hitched at what that meant for the couple; they had to bring Alison home so they could move on together.

"Yeah, and the longer that she's out there on her own, the easier it is for A to get to her," explained Aria, on their side with this.

"No, we're not doing anything," Hanna stayed unwavering. "We're just gonna wait for her to contact us again and let the police catch A."

"We're letting the cops do that, huh?" questioned Halle. A scoff left her afterwards. "I'm still waiting for them to turn it on us, like we brought it on ourselves so it's our fault."

"We have to let them do it, Hal," Hanna said. "And we have to let Alison come to us, we've only making it more dangerous if we go looking for her."

"Yeah, but that's if she contacts us," Spencer said, stressing their disadvantage. "I mean, I might have biffed that one permanently."

Softly, Emily said to Spencer, "We don't know that for sure."

"Can we just all agree on this to keep us safe?" Hanna requested of them, gentle even when her gum was inflamed and in agony still.

All of them managed to agree, eventually. While Halle mumbled out her 'yeah,' Emily was more clearly. Aria was ease to wholeheartedly said, "Yeah, of course."

Then, at last, Spencer did after Hanna shot her a hard look. "Yeah, absolutely." She mustered the strength to glance towards Halle, opposite her, and the two of them felt like they had their own silent agreement. It passed between them. There was a blatant shift: it was going to have to be them two against the three. They would have to seek out forgiveness in the aftermath, not permission at the starting line.

Just when it had seem to settle, the cafe grew colder. The door had been opened, and Lieutenant Tanner entered, sweeping towards them once she had set her gaze on them. It was a targeted approach. "Good evening, ladies," she greeted. "How lucky am I to catch all of you in the same place."

"Is it luck?" Emily asked her.

"Not for me." Tanner forced a smile and said, "Can you all follow me to the station? I'd like a word."

"A word?" questioned Halle, sceptical of what the state police officer could possibly want from the group of teenagers.

Tanner said, "About the statements you made in regards to your stalker."

Aria sat up eagerly. "Have you found something?"

Ignoring that, Tanner told them, "I'd rather have this discussion with you girls in private. If you'd follow me, that'd be greatly appreciated."

•

They were separated. The moment the girls entered and made their presence known, they were split and each directed in to an interrogation room. Their rooms lined the hallway; lights on in every one as they were made to wait and stew and worry.

Halle was cold. She didn't know how long she had been sat there, waiting. Her skin prickled at the lack of heat, dithering under the harsh fluorescent lights hung above her head. It flickered a few times, signalling it was old and in need of changing. Halle's head throbbed at the weak surge of electricity, her temples burning in the cool air.

She was mid-yawn when the door opened. Tanner entered with Officer Holbrook in tow of her. She had nothing in her grasp while he carried a box with Halle's name, among her friends', on the side of it. He set it down in front of her, to the side of the metal table, and suddenly, Halle was made very acutely aware of the blinking red light of the camera in the corner of the room.

This wasn't a follow-up, and Lieutenant Tanner made that very clear with her abrupt first question. She lowered herself down in the right chair, while her partner took up the left, and she propositioned Halle with a chilly sternness. "Did you know lying to a police officer is a criminal offence?"

Alison.

Halle went straight to Alison. Her heart dropped to the floor. Her hope for the cops helping dwindled fast, rapidly disintegrating which each passing beat in the frozen room. Halle felt her heart-rate pick up, dread consumed her as she prayed Alison was safe — that she and her friends hadn't rumbled Alison's whereabouts and endangered her.

"Lying?" Halle's voice cracked, unhelpful to the situation.

"I've got to admit, you girls really had me on side for a moment," Tanner disclosed to her. "I should've known teenage girls and their high school games had changed drastically since my day."

This was where Halle got lost. Her brows pulled together, the vertical crease appearing in the skin between them. "I ain't following."

"Well, let me enlighten you, then," Tanner said, sitting forward. She said in feigned and disappointed astonishment, "You played Detective Wilden very well, young lady, and I'll give you this: he was inappropriate with you and your friends, you especially."

Annoyance flared up in Halle immediately, and she countered, "What gave you that impression, his obsession with us or the video evidence of him choking me?"

"We won't deny Wilden assaulted you," spoke Holbrook, a softer opposition to his abrasive partner. "We're still taking that very seriously."

"How? He's dead," said Halle flatly. Her chest rose and fell quick, getting more and more difficult for her to breath without labouring herself. With dark eyes, she implored them to see her plea — the desperation behind her thin, hardened exterior. In a look, she could tell Holbrook was penetrable — that he believed her — but his superior had the dominant, unwavering force.

"Did you have a hand in that death?" asked Tanner.

The shock left Halle in a snap. "No," she answered stormily.

"I don't know if I believe you, Miss Brewster," started Tanner, "because what we found has proven you to be an excellent liar."

"Has it?" Halle asked, too irritable to even begin to care. She was seeing red. An angry mist befell her, and Halle sucked her teeth to hold back the veil of brutality she wanted to release.

"You played the long game, convincing a detective of your stalker and how scared you were," stated Tanner, who then looked to Holbrook. She signalled for the box, waited for him to collect out a file and accepted it with the knowledge of what it was. In an instance, with that quick opening, Halle knew this was a scare tactic, but it didn't stop her knees from shaking. Tanner said, "To fool him into thinking you were a victim just as he was closing in on what really happened That Summer Alison DiLaurentis was murdered."

"Don't lie, he was nowhere near," chided Halle with a scoff.

"You know that for certain, do you?" questioned Tanner, her eyebrows arched up at the teenager.

"He liked to see things where they weren't anything to see," Halle boldly claimed. "He was set on us from the start, you know that."

"And there's clearly a reason," returned Holbrook, surprising Halle thoroughly.

The other hand, Tanner's harsh scepticism was known. She said like it was gold, "You and your friends are obsessed with the attention you got after Mona Vanderwaal bullied you, and the five of you decided to recreate it."

This shocked Halle. She was stumped as it was only her friends linked to that Vivian Darkbloom bank account. "The five of us?"

"You were smart to leave yourself out the first time, but it had to be even I'm guessing," the lieutenant suspected of them. "Every one of you girls had to have something at risk."

"What are you talking about?" Halle asked, utterly bewildered.

"We looked in to those messages you're receiving, and we found something very interesting," Tanner said. "Those messages come from your cellphone—"

It hit Halle, winding her. She fell back in the chair and was sent spiralling, Her head-noise increased. Her thoughts overlapped and collided with each other. She felt her temples started to throb, overworked.

"—Cellphones belonging to you, Aria Montgomery, Emily Fields, Hanna Marin and Spencer Hastings."

"No," Halle denied strongly. "No, that's not true."

"It's all here," mentioned Holbrook.

"Someone has hacked your system, then," Halle argued with them. "They're faked this. This isn't real."

"Oh, really?" Tanner scoffed, shaking her head.

More gentle, understandingly, Holbrook said, "The game's up, Halle. Just tell the truth."

"I am," bit Halle. She defended herself fiercely. "I didn't do this, and neither did my friends." She shook her head. "This isn't us."

"It sure looks like it," Tanner stated. "It looks like you liked the attention you got from being the friends of Alison DiLaurentis, then the victims of Mona Vanderwaal, so you girls did all you could stay in the spotlight."

Halle refused, "That's not true."

"I'm going to ask you once, very clearly, Miss Brewster," Tanner said to her, stressing the importance of what was happening, "what is the truth?"

Straightening up in the chair, Halle pushed her shoulders back and maintained her innocence. "Read my statement. That's the truth."

After the interrogation wrapped up, the girls were released to each other. They had been lashed, beaten back into submission, precisely where A had wanted them — and he used the police to do his dirty work. The girls each looked scolded, smaller than when they entered. It felt like every set of eyes was on them during the shameful walkout of the hallway of room, judged with every step.

"Did you get the same?" Spencer asked, once they reunited at the main desk. She spoke in low, hushed whispers, careful of any burning ears.

"Get called a liar?" Hanna rolled her eyes and huffed, "Yeah."

"They don't believe us," Emily said, wounded more that the others.

Sourly, Aria remarked, "I don't know why we ever thought they would."

"What do we do know?" asked Emily, rubbing her arms up and down for comfort.

"Pray the don't press charges," Halle stubbornly stated. "Keep our heads down, get outta this freaking town as quick as possible."

Peeved at her own actions, Hanna voiced her main concern for now, "They're never gonna believe us that we didn't know Alison is alive."

"Guys, they're looking to us for her murder," Spencer told them heatedly, still hushed. She explained, series in tone, "They think Wilden was close to outing one of us, and that we might have killed him too."

"I got that impression too," Halle admitted, agreeing. "They're looking to us for answers."

"You've gotta be kidding me," Emily said in disbelief.

"They think we can wrap it up from them in a pretty, red bow," Spencer snarked irritably.

"But we can't," implored Aria, her eyes wide and alarmed. "There's only two people who can do that: Alison and—"

Their phones chimed and cut her off. Instantly, their dread increased, soaring to new heights. They knew the taunt was coming for them, ready to boast and knock them down. A chewed them up and spat them out and he thrived, salivated every time.

SNITCHES END UP DEAD, BITCHES.  THERE'S STILL ROOM IN YOUR FRIEND'S DITCH FOR YOU BACKSTABBERS.
--A.

•

Her keys jangled in her grasp as Halle walked from the front door, down her porch steps and to her car, at the end of the Brewster driveway. Out of habit, Halle tended to look across the street to meet with the DiLaurentis' house, only, this time, her eyes connected on a familiar figure.

"Oh, hey."

At his own car, his own keys in his large hands, Jason stood. He stopped when he saw Halle there, a metre between them from the end of her driveway and the road. His throat tightened, breath catching for a moment before it even out at the sight of his ex-girlfriend.

"Hey," Jason said. He put his briefcase down on the roof of his convertible, slightly nervous with how he then buried his fists into his trouser pockets. He was wearing a casual suit, the knot of his blue tie loosened around the open top button of his collared shirt

"Nice suit," she complimented.

"First full day back," Jason said. Earnestly, he then asked, "How are you?"

"Me?" Halle acted surprised although it was only them two on the dip of Bridgewater. "I'm good, you?"

"Yeah, I'm good too," he returned.

Halle noticed his hesitation; how his green eyes surveyed her over in a double-take. "Why?"

"Can't I ask you how you are, Brewster?" he asked, trying to lighten the mood with some humour.

"Not like that you can't," Halle knowingly returned.

Jason gave a curt nod. He told her, "Just whispers, that's all."

"The bad kind?" Halle poked for information.

"Is there any other of kind in Rosewood?" countered Jason. Kindly, he said, "I heard about Emily's dad, my mom told me. I hope he's alright."

The concern was still there, but had settled after hearing the advice from the doctors. "He should be."

"Give Emily and her mom my best, yeah?" Jason offered.

"Will do," Halle said, nodding once. "So, uh... did you..." Halle tried to act indifferent but failed terribly, "hear anything else?" She remembered, "I know you used to have your ear to wall down at the station."

Jason pressed his lips together and gave a shake of his head. "No." He asked, "Why, is there something I should know?"

"No," said Halle with a polite shake of her head. She had faked a smile for him yet it soon dropped to concede. "Maybe."

"You wanna talk about it?" Jason asked her, and without much thought, Halle exhaled fully.

It took little to none convincing for Halle to follow Jason. Soon enough, she was in the DiLaurentis kitchen with a hot cup of coffee. The last time she had been in there, Halle was with his mother with samples of paint on the walls; they were now creamily manila rather than the eggshell-white Halle had painted it. Still, Halle did her best not to rise to it and let herself be warmed herself through her grasp on the mug. Her hot hands cherishing the heat, while she perched opposite Jason, them both leant against the counters, as she recounted her latest trip to the police station.

"So, A set you up?" Jason followed.

"Yeah, but this time I'm going down with the others too," Halle revealed. "I've been dragged into the old stuff."

"Old stuff? Halle, it's been a month," Jason chose to remined her.

It pinched at her heart. Too consumed, thrown from one thing to another, Halle slipped naturally into believing it hadn't just been a mad rush — that her life hadn't been such a disaster. The guilt stirred up, mainly towards the still swirling embers of her past relationship with the guy facing her. "God—" Halle shook her head, dipped her gaze to her coffee and commented, "I hate how slow senior year feels."

"Yeah, but next thing you know," Jason said, tender in her tone, "you'd have blinked and you're at graduation."

At that, Halle's eyebrows raised. She let out a sardonic remark, "I don't think I'm making graduation."

"Oh, it's not that bad," Jason seemingly reassured. He waited to her to look in his direction then added with a half-smile, "Yet."

Fighting back a smile of her own, Halle tried to ignore the swirling butterflies she felt irrupt from her caged stomach. Every time her eyes met his, for every second Halle held his gaze, her soul decided to match his. It fell into place. She slotted in with him, easily, and it was goddamn tragedy how they ended up at opposite side of the kitchen, reeling from the catastrophe. Her injury from him was bruised, wounded still, and she wore that in a soft quality to her aura when she was near him, too afraid she'd get cut again. Jason was never a surface-scratch, he was tethered deep to Halle's soul and pulled her in with a timeless, careful tug.

"You're not helping," Halle said to him airily. It daunted on her where she was and what she was doing all while who she was dating. Just being in this small of a space with Jason, not screaming at him for abandoning her or passive aggressively ignoring his strong presence, but actually seeking out his help felt like a betrayal of Emily's trust. It was dangerous, double-edged sword; and on either side with the DiLaurentis siblings.

Yet, Jason held his smile as he said, "But the coffee's good?"

"Yeah." Briefly, Halle's eyes flickered down to the contents of her mug and said, "The coffee's perfect. You always did make it best." She jested with him, "Almost as good as my own."

"Oh, now the big compliments are coming out," Jason admired jokingly, a small chuckle leaving him.

"Just the one," Halle insisted, bringing her mug to her mouth to cover how wide her smile was getting. "I ain't very good at giving more." She took a few large gulps, eyes closing at the rich warmth, and then put her hand to her lips, turning to the side to set down. "But, I... I should should go or I'm gonna be late for home-room," she came up with quick excuse to escape. With an eyeroll, Halle added, "If I am, Mona will text me."

Jason's brows raised, curious as to why. "Mona's texting you?" He checked in with her, "As Mona, right?"

"Yeah, she doesn't sign her texts now," quipped Halle. She rolled her wrist around she reasoned for the girl in question, "We're doing the school musical together — Chicago."

"You're—" Jason emphasized to her, "in the school musical?"

"I'm one of the leads in the school musical," Halle informed him, feeling her cheeks rush warm at the embarrassment.

"No kidding," Jason replied, impressed thoroughly. "Congrats, Brewster, you're putting us all to shame."

"Just tryna stay busy," Halle said to him with a pressed smile. "I'll catch you around, yeah?"

"Most likely," Jason agreed. He shrugged at her and said, "It's a small town, we're neighbours — it's bound to happen." He waited for Halle to get to the door, almost through, when he called her back. "Halle," Jason said, and Halle faced him again. "If you need anything, I'm there."

Halle wanted to reply — to tell him she knew. However, her heart didn't. He was unreliable and disappeared on her often. The truth was, Halle didn't know if he would be there — if he'd be the one to stay this time. He didn't last time. Or the time before that. So, Halle stayed quiets and nodded at his words, hoping that it would be different now, when she had the terrible feeling it wasn't.

•

Halle managed to keep her most recent, probably the very worst secret to herself — and Spencer. She kept a sold hold on it, forcing it down with every conversation and each side-glance to Aria. There was a magnetic pull that Halle had to fight against, desperately. Halle forced herself to always put a person between her and Aria, so was incredibly thankful when Hanna naturally walked in the middle of the pair. The question the dark blonde broached, Halle was less than grateful for.

"So what's up with Spencer?" Hanna asked them. She figured two was better than one if she wanted a fair analysis. "Did you notice her last night after yours?" She pulled a face. "All jittery and caffeine bug-eyed?"

"That's pretty much Spencer most days," Aria dismissed in jest. "She's probably just studying for something."

"She was drinking herbal tea," said Hanna, persisting. "That girl is strictly expresso."

"She said she was tired, wanted to cut the coffee out," Halle said, trying to move it along. "You know how she gets."

"Yeah, but this isn't how she gets," Hanna pushed. "She's not studying, she's investigating."

"As long as she's not openly antagonising A, she's following the deal, Han," Halle reminded. "Spencer isn't technically looking."

"Yeah, and she shouldn't be," Hanna said strongly. "We got our asses handed to us by A via Tanner. I don't wanna know what A's gonna do next, but I don't like it," she added, and Halle dropped her head to stop her from looking too much at her friends.

"Sounds like you're investigating, too," chirped Aria at Hanna.

"No," Hanna immediately waved it off. "I'm just observing details."

"Observing details?" Halle questioned, repeating it back to her friends in slight puzzlement.

Hanna began to explain, "I was taking to Gabe and—"

"Who?" cut in Aria, confused.

"Holbrook," answered Hanna with a eyeroll, blatantly aware at how informal it sounded. "And he was telling me—?"

"Whoa, wait, wait, wait," Aria slowed it down. "Detective Holbrook?"

"Hanna—" Halle dropped her voice low, "please say you're playing right now."

"What do you mean?" asked a slightly muddled Hanna.

"Please tell me you're not on first-name basis with a state cop who — last night —as you put it — handed us our asses," Halle fumed.

Baffled, Hanna blinkered at her. "Holbrook wasn't there. Just Tanner."

"Noooo," drew out Aria. "Tanner and Holbrook were there. He held the box."

"No, just Tanner," Hanna stated, as they rounded the hallway.

"Oh, my god," Halle uttered, shaking her head in distress. "They're playing us now. Holbrook has some in with Hanna and they're playing good-cop-bad-cop with us."

"Hold on, he's not playing anything with me," Hanna withstood. "He's been really nice to me."

"Han, he helped put your mom in a jail-cell — remember that, please," Halle flatly responded.

"I do remember that," Hanna defended fiercely.

"So, what?" Aria asked, "Are you guys, like friends now?"

Throwing Aria a look, Hanna breezed past it. "Friends? No."

"Okay, I—" Aria put her hand to her chest as she clearly reasoned, "didn't even know that he has a first name and now you're calling him Gabe and defending him like that?"

"I'm not defending him," Hanna said, doing exactly that.

"Yeah, you are," Halle returned. "You doing it right now."

Aria agreed. As they reached her locker, she said, "Hal's right, there's nothing for the two of you to be connecting on and he's with the state police, Hanna— they're after us."

"He's not," Hanna vowed when they stopped by the side of Aria's locker, which the latter had opened. "We're just, like, book club buddies without the monthly meetings."

"You being buddies with him is exactly what's gonna get us caught," Halle decided. She directed it to her friend, imploringly. "Han, I love you, I think you're brilliant and a genius, but this ain't smart. You're not playing smart right now."

"I don't wanna be playing anything!" snapped Hanna.

"Neither do we," Aria spoke calmly. "But, Hanna, you gotta admit, him getting close when the cops are looking at us is suspicious."

"It's not that, he's not—" Hanna paused to recollect herself. She was going blue in the face to defend the indefensible, so stopped. "Okay, I get it — I'll stop being so friendly with him," she claimed. "But he did tell me something, that Spencer might be—"

"Hanna," Aria interrupted her fast, sterner, causing the worried girl in question to shut up. "She asked a few questions. She was trying to figure out who went after Emily that night in school," Aria said, and Halle looked down at her trainers to escape.

Refusing to back down, Hanna insisted, "She's not telling us the truth, Aria." She side-glanced Halle and noted how quiet she had suddenly gotten after being so opinionated the second prior. Hanna shook her head of it. "Can we just spend some time with her this weekend? Talk some sense into her before she pisses A off — like, more than A's already pissed?"

"Sure," Halle said. "I have rehearsals, but I can do that."

"Um..." Aria started to fiddled uncomfortably with the edge of the book in her arms, "I can't," she said. "I'm visiting my dad." She turned away for a brief second to clear her throat. "He's lecturing in Syracuse and he, um, wants me to look at the campus, so."

"Well, he goes there, like, every weekend," Hanna said, floored at the lack of interest in Spencer on Aria's part. "Can't you just say next time?"

"Well, I kind of need a break from Mike and Mona, too," Aria added on. She frown, slow disgust sneaking up on her. "They're just a constant barrage of slow jams and lip balm." She turned to her locker, exchanging one book for another, hoping that was the end of it.

"Wait, you're leaving Mike unsupervised after last week?" Halle asked, a tad confused. She didn't miss how Aria's shoulders tensed at that call-out. "He threw a party, you're really gonna leave him alone?"

"Uh, yeah," Aria replied. "Honestly, the clean-up taught him a lesson and he's sixteen now," she said. "He's allowed a little responsibility." Shutting her locker, Aria threw them both a sympathy smile and said, "I'm sorry, Hanna, I really wish I could, but—"

"Don't worry about it," Hanna broke in, peeved. "I'll figure it out."

"Come on," Halle put softly, planting her hand on Hanna's forearm. "I'll walk you to textiles, you can tell me all 'bout how hot my costume is gonna be." Ushering Hanna forward, Halle then spared a glance back at Aria. "Catch you at lunch?"

"Yeah—" Aria nodded her head profusely, a deep sadness to her eyes, "yeah, most definitely," she said.

Then, Halle walked away with Hanna. Aria watched with a pit in her stomach. She felt that ugly knot twist into a new place, agonising while her two friends, who she'd prefer to be with, linked arms as they moved further away from her. It churned over, and Aria had to rub her palm over her tummy to help ease it.

She wished it was easier, but it never was going to be until she reached eighteen and graduated. Until then, Aria was having to cope with the awful pain she got every time she lied to her friends or was close to Ezra. She didn't know how to stop it — to get rid of it. The knot had followed her, been carried inside of her, lurching at any given time, ever since Ravenswood. Aria couldn't escape it, so she wondered if she could settle it for a while.

As she went to walk, her eyes caught onto the new school counsellor, Jesse Lindal. He was nice, calming, and easy to talk to. Aria supposed they were all the traits a student body would want in somebody who was meant to support and guide you; and Aria noted how kind and understanding he had been over her problems with Mike and Mona. The thought of chatting to him crossed her mind, spying him comforting another student, and yet slipped away fast when she remembered Ezra could see.

With that, Aria ducked her head and hurried along to her first period, figuring her safety opportunity would be during rehearsals. She rubbed her stomach again and prayed the knot would go away.

•

Rehearsal ran long and exercised everyone to their ends. It started off in the auditorium, the whole gathered in the seats while Mr Browne and Mr Fitz set out their strict timetable. The stage was already being prepped with the art department helping out to paint city skyscrapers and woodwork built jail sets. Halle's stomach lurched at those. The image of her in a prison jumpsuit flashed in her mind and caused her to stiff.

"Halle, not so tense," called out Coach Rhodes. She was down at the foot of the stage, in the orchestra boat, choreographing the routine for the final song. She had Halle and Mona centre stage, directing them with each move while the busy bustle of preparations happened in their surroundings. It seemed like everywhere Halle looked, there were people doing jobs she had no idea that a high school production wanted done; Mr Browne oversaw them all. "I can see you tensing all the way down here," she said. "And If I can see it, the audience will too."

Whispering, Mona leant in to Halle. "Relax, would you."

"I'm trying," Halle hissed back.

"Tell your face that," Mona chided. She faced forward, her shoulders back and straight. "You don't even look like you wanna be here."

At the back of the auditorium, in the lighting booth, Halle's eyes found Mr Fitz. Her English Lit teacher caused her to shiver. Her entire body went rigid being so close to him when knowing what he was doing — who he potentially was. Her thoughts were mixed up, muddled with the frenzy Spencer had planted there, which pushed Halle off-balance. It didn't help that the heels she was wearing were fastened too tight around her ankles.

"I don't," Halle said, whispering so that only herself could hear.

"Okay, walk forward," Coach Rhodes instructed. The two leads did as she told them. "Longer strides — hips out more." She talked with her arms, making a big remark. "Think powerful, ladies, not sexy." She put her hands on her hips, examining them intently as the pair strutted side by side. The coach wanted more of the passion, more to the energy she saw both exhibit when together. She smiled and urged more of it. "Go again." The teens went to drop their poses to go to the starting position when Coach Rhodes scolded them, "No — you are in character, walk like it always." Her voice had risen. "When you are on that stage, you are Velma Kelly and Roxie Hart — act like it!"

Coach Rhodes waited for them to start over, witnessing the pull of smiles at their mouths. "You have stardust in your hands, you've just sold out a show and you're the biggest stars in the world," she encouraged them and watched the girls shine. "Yes!" Brightly, Coach Rhodes grinned. "Pop the hips out — left and right... Left, right." She noticed a slight droop. "Mona, eyes up. Don't look at your feet, it needs to look clean. Left and right. Go again," she ordered. This time, Halle and Mona kept the walk as they rounded back to the starting point. "When you reach the end, I want you to put your outer arm out in a long extension and drop your wrist."

With all the confidence in the world, glowing as a powerful duo, Halle and Mona walked down the stage. They fulfilled the instructions, putting put the opposite arm to each other and extending it out horizontally. "Good—great," praised Coach Rhodes. "Really reach for it, keep stretching. And bring the other arm to it, runs your hand up," she directed and they obeyed. "Beautiful but slower, ladies. Smile more," was her final demand and the girls did it brilliantly, almost rolling their heads back with laughter. "You girls got this — great, love it." With her own smile, the coach turned her head towards her fellow teacher. "You've got the best ones here, Mr Browne!"

Mr Browne looked over. He was by the stage-piano with Simon, the boy playing the bandmaster, chatting over his parts. His stare connected onto his lead, both still smiling and cherishing the elevated moments. "I made the right choice, then?"

"I might have my biases—" Coach Rhodes faced Halle and sent her wink, "but they're definitely the right choice," she said of the two teens.

"Good," Browne confirmed smugly. "Halle, I need you here with me, actually," he said, pointing down at the script he had rested on the piano.

The curly haired girl's head snapped up towards the music teacher. "Huh?"

"We wanna run through the part before Funny Honey," Browne mentioned. "Do you know your lines?"

"Uh, yeah," Halle said, still in her own head to be answering questions. With that, she pushed herself out of the comfort she swelled in with Mona and stepped towards the music teacher.

Throughout the rehearsal so far, Mr Browne, the co-director of the musical, took charge while Mr Fitz brooded miserably from lighting booth but had now found his way at the stage. The former had been up close to the students, interacting. He seemed to have a say it all that was happening around him from the music to the set design to the costumes. Browne positioned himself so all the cast could see him, on the stage because he was a part of the machine that was the musical production.

"Halle, you are gonna moving from the right side of the stage to the left," he said. "There's a little blue mark on the stage near the back, you see that?"

"Yeah," Halle said.

"I need you to hit that mark every time," Browne said. "Someone will be there to catch your robe when you drop it. And you'll continue to move around the stage—" he stretched out his arm to demonstrate, "until you get to the piano. There should be some—Is there steps there?" called out Browne to the head of props. "Oh, there is — great, thanks." He addressed Halle again. "You'll do most of the number on there with Simon—" he gestured to the black boy who had been gossiping with Lennon in the first meeting. "I want everybody at angle," declared Browne loudly to the auditorium. "No backs to the audience, people — I will yell if I see it."

The majority of the cast laughed at him. It was warm and supported while Halle fell trapped from joining. She felt excluded like it was an inside joke she was repeatedly on the outside of. Her loneliness leaked into her eyes only to catch Mona, who stood offside with Coach Rhodes, and gently sent Halle as smile. They shared in the exclusion from the collaboration of drama and music clubs and sought reassurance in each other's presence by being there. They were both another's double as they were mirrors.

Next, Browne asked, "How are you planning on doing the number?"

Halle blanked. "Number?"

"The song," said Browne with a reassuring smile. "How are you doing it?"

"I..." Halle swallowed nervously, stood in the middle of the stage while everything swirled around her. "I'm not exactly sure what you mean, sorry."

"It's alright, we can workshop it now," he assured her kindly. "How do you wanna play Roxie? What's your version of her?"

"Oh, well, Roxie is a little ditzy," Halle reasoned. "She's a flirt but she's also vain and a little desperate. I wanna show that more."

"She should be everything a man wants." Finally, Mr Fitz spoke for the first. He raised her voice like he was the most important opinion there. "She's a harlot and a narcissist and cunning but still dumb. She's able to capture the papers' attention because of her story and her appearance. She has to be pure and conservative, but also sexy and flirty. Men have to want to sleep with her but think they can't."

Astounded, Browne was shocked at his colleague's brashness. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You can't be serious," he scoffed. "It's a high school production."

"Of Chicago," argued Fitz. "You chose an adult musical, it's gonna be adult."

"But it doesn't have to be that adult," defended Browne.

"Roxie is — should be," said Fitz strongly. "I am you co-director, right?"

"Yes," Browne said with a sigh.

"So, I get an opinion," stated Fitz. "My opinion is that is how Roxie should be play, it's why I allowed you to take a chance on Halle. I trust she can play this role." He stood up and decided he was in charge now. "Simon, on the piano," he said. "We'll go over the number now."

Halle looked to Mr Browne for support. Somewhere between the back and forth bickering, she had curled in on herself. Halle was acutely aware of her body — how it looked, how it acted, how it was perceived by others. "I don't have to be sprawled across it, do I?"

"—Yes."

"—No." Browne was louder than Fitz. He was firmer, mainly with his fellow teacher. He glanced to Halle, his eyes soft. "Not if you don't want to, it's what you're comfortable with."

Shaking her head, her gaze glistening, Halle said, "I don't want to. I might change my mind, if I do feel more comfortable, but for now..."

Browne accepted her words entirely. "We take it slow," he announced.

To convince him to keep her — that she didn't want to lose her role — Halle briskly inserted, "I can do flirty, no issue. I'm good at flirty."

"I trust that what you'll do will be great, Halle," Browne politely replied. "Your comfort comes first—" he sent a fierce glower towards Fitz, "always."

"Let's just go through the scene," Fitz said dismissively.

"Fine," declared Browne. "We can agree on that." He let out an exasperated sigh and moved to descend the stairs, soon joining his colleague at the front row.

Halle went to sweep towards her first mark, on the right side of the stage, when Simon spoke up first. From his position at the piano, he said, "Hey, don't take it so serious, alright?"

"I wasn't," Halle gave. "I can take criticism."

"That wasn't criticism, but good to know," Simon replied. "'Cos Fitz's taking it out on you for a reason."

"He is?" Halle questioned it. She had her own turbulent and distrusting relationship with Fitz, often taken place in his own classroom; she didn't want it to stretch to the stage. Yet, a switch flicked on in her head as she remembered at a memory of a conversation that she wasn't a part of but her burning ear were privy to. "Hey, didn't you say something to Lennon about why the musical was pushed up?"

"Oh, yeah," He responded without hesitation. It was information to be shared — that had no doubt already been shared further than this auditorium. "I heard that Hackett was pushing it up because of Fitz." Simon continued to elaborate discreetly, "It was meant to be some Shakespeare thing, got changed last minute. I was in the office the other week, overheard Fitz yelling. He was mad as hell it got changed behind his back." He finished, "Fitz only stopped yelling when he stormed outta the office to see there were people who heard."

"But why?" Halle wondered, puzzled at the extreme reaction. "It's just a play."

"Well, the rumours," Simon said like it was the most obvious thing in their small high school, and yet, he took Halle's faint horror in her eyes to understand it wasn't to he. "Dude," he partly chuckled, "you're part of the rumours. Last year, everyone thought it was you messing around with Fitz." His head fell to the right. "Turns out, it's your friend."

It was instant —  how quick Halle ripped into her fierceness. "She's not—"

"Relax, I'm not judging her — or you," Simon reassured her. He added in very pointedly, "I'm gonna judge him. Hackett is, too." He got closer, leaning up to gossip further. "Mr Browne's his babysitter, basically. Checking he's not too inappropriate with students. And based on that—" Simone hinted with his eyes, "Hackett's right."

•

Exhausted, and dreary from her long rehearsal due to the impending show, Halle yawned at the thought of home. By time she left the school, it was dark. Nightfall fell sooner now they had entered winter, and the sky was an inky blue as Halle fled the building for her car. She regretted parking not at the front because where she had little to no light. The wind picked up while she walked, a gust of it sweeping up behind her and startlingly her ice-cold. At the shock, Halle started to hurry her movements across the sparse parking lot; a fait clicking noise going off in the distance that she blew past as more wind engulfed her.

She reached in to her handbag, strung up over her shoulder, and searched for her keys. She fumbled around for them, her eyes often flickering between the black void of her bag and her set location, her car. She heard the key-rings clatter dully at the bottom but, from her fast footsteps, every time she thought they were in her grasp, they slipped. She stretched her fingers, reaching.

BANG.

Halle's head whipped around. She gasped loudly, her breathing spiked at the sound of the gym door bursting open and the football team erupting out of it after their practice. Her eyes shut as she exhaled in deep relief. Relaxing once more, Halle turned and her right hand clutched safely around her keys when she continued walking. From the distance, a white light flashed. Halle moved her startled, growing fearful stare towards it but saw nothing but the odd car without any person around. It was dead.

Still, Halle got the faint sense of dread. Her lungs strained, causing her breaths to became sharper and more laboured. She rushed to reach her car — the sanctuary of a vehicle that could be locked. Shaking, as she hurried, her keys got louder and louder. They clanged with each step, frightening her even more because she could no longer hear her surroundings — or the clicking. She knew she had heard the constant clicking before. Her location was gifted to whoever was watching from her keys — from her amassing terror. It had grown — overgrown — too violent that Halle's sweaty hands, struggling to find the right key, accidently dropped them.

A small gasp escaped her. "Lord," she cursed out in a low exhale. She tried to keep herself calm, not let the fear paralyse her. "Pull yourself together, girl, honestly."

Halle bent down to collect her keys, distracted. When she straightened up, she bolted immediately back. She jolted, scared through. Her fear surged up, greater than ever. Halle gasped, her shaky hands shot to her chest and her keys crashed to the ground again.

Mr Fitz loomed over her, in front of her. He smiled at her, almost amused at her severe reaction to him. "I'm sorry," he said. "Here, let me." He fetched her keys from the concrete they stood on and stared at her afterwards. "I wasn't expecting you to be so jumpy."

"It's 'cos you scared me," Halle said, trying to sound as calm and light-hearted as she possibly could.

"I didn't mean to," Fitz said.

"You snuck up on me," Halle explained to him, dread bubbling within her trembling voice. "In a dark parking lot."

"Yeah, sorry about that," he returned with a smile. Fitz meant it to be disarming, friendly even, but it felt sinister to Halle, who cowered slightly under his penetrating gaze. "I didn't think," said Fitz. "I just came to apologize for earlier."

"Right," pushed out Halle in a whisper.

"I had a stressful day and I wrongfully took it out on you — I shouldn't have," Fitz very nearly apologised.

"That's fine, apology accepted." Her scared eyes peeped her keys in his hands, and she started, "Can I—?"

"I wanted to talk to you, actually," Fitz cut Halle off. "About Spencer," he said. "I'm concerned."

"I don't really get why you'd..." Halle drifted off, the acid in her throat telling her not to speak any further on her friend. "Mr Fitz," she gulped, "can I please get my—?"

The teacher pulled his hand from her reach, with her keys with it. "She's really playing with fire—" his cold eyes narrowed, "I don't wanna see get burned," disclosed Fitz. "You girls are looking out for each other still, yes?"

"I don't—"

Again, Fitz cut her off. "I mean, I know you and Spencer went through a really rough patch last month and—"

This time, Halle summoned the bravery to close in on what he revealed. "How'd you know about that?"

Fitz blinked. "Sorry?"

"How'd you know me and Spencer had a rough patch?" she asked him, dubious of his knowledge.

"I know about Radley," He excused. "I'm her teacher, she trusts me."

Halle knew that wasn't the truth. The acid rose to her mouth, coating the entire cavity in sourness that made her want to vomit. Halle kept her words short, to a minimum. "Yeah, 'course."

"I'm yours, too," Fitz eerily reminded her. "I'm warning you, Halle, I won't go easy on you because of it."

She rushed cold. Halle was drenched in it, frozen solid to the wet concrete. This time, Halle was paralysed in fear. She didn't dare move, not even to speak.

Then, Fitz cracked a smile. "In the play," he elaborated, and yet Halle's comfort never returned. "I'm not allowed to favour anybody and with the play coming so soon, I can't promise days like this won't happen again. Be thankful it's the weekend."

The prior courage from before tingled somewhere within Halle's body. She wished to be venomous — to strike — like her usual self, but the fear was too great. Still, that niggle sent a warming sensation throughout Halle and she managed to speak to irk him. "You mean musical," she said, and he was.

His jaw tightened, teeth grinding down hard in each other. "I do," Fitz responded, miffed to a whole new level. He was threatened by it — by the danger he was in.

Halle felt the same.

"Mr Fitz," she bravely inserted. "You have my keys."

"Right, right," Fitz said like had merely forgotten. "Here — don't lose them," he warned her while he handed the keys over. "You never know what somebody could do with them."

"Thanks," gave a extremely uncomfortable, writhing Halle. She forced on a smile for him, convinced she had to show him that she wasn't locked onto him like Spencer was. "Have a good weekend, see you Monday."

"You too."

Afraid, Halle waited. She watched him retreat from her before she considered turning her back to him. When he was a secure distance, at his own car, Halle safely went to her driver's door. Her smile had dropped, vanished in a flash. Swiftly, she unlocked the door, climbed inside, shut the door and locked it. She let out one breath, followed by three shallower ones. In her mirror, she saw Fitz was in his own car and Halle quickly found her phone to call the first person she knew would believe her blind panic.

Across the parking lot, in a dark spot, he listened. His heavy-duty laptop sat on his passenger seat; a programme loaded up on his screen, which showed the connected device that made the call.

"Hey—"

"Oh, my god, Spencer!" Halle interrupted her friend. Her troubled voice trembled as she spoke. "You were right, you were so right." She cracked with audible tears. "Fitz just cornered me in the lot at school."

"What?!" exclaimed at worried Spencer. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, I think," Halle said, panicking. "He's onto us, Spencer. We have to tell the others. We have to tell them that he's A."

"Come straight to mine," Spencer ordered. "I'll send an SOS now. Drive safe, okay?"

In a blazing fit of anger, Ezra Fitz tore the earphones from him. He flung them against the window and he slammed his violent hand to snap shut his laptop. He seethed. He breathed steam through his nostrils and, inflamed with rage, reached for his mobile. He, too, called someone — the last number in his call-log. When they answered, Fitz spoke.

"I can confirm the story."

•

The girls has arrived at Spencer's rather quickly. An SOS was urgent, and Hanna dragged Emily there in record-time having been previously staking out the Hastings residence out of curiosity of Spencer's recent behaviour. Aria got there shortly after them and looked to Spencer for answers when there was none.

"So, what's going on?" she asked. "Why the SOS?"

"Uh..." Spencer withheld. She angled away from Aria, too afraid of unkindly blurting out the reason she summoned them. The lie was too big — too painful for the group. It would severer them. "We should probably wait for Halle."

"Spencer, it was your SOS," Hanna pointed out rather sternly. She just wanted answers now — to Spencer's sudden change in attitude and appearance.

"Yeah, but it was for Halle," Spencer said. "Please," she begged, "just two more minutes, just until she gets here. She's coming, she's on her way."

Lying, in her thick winter coat, Aria said, "I have a train to catch in, like, half an hour."

Emily's gaze snapped to her, impossibly offended. "You can wait, can't you?" She aimed, "It's an SOS, this is about A — you're talking about missing a train."

Hanna released a grunt. "Don't start. She's really set on going to Syracuse, believe me."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Aria asked her, clearly insulted and edging on the defence.

"It means," said Hanna, laced with pre-existing annoyance, "I asked you to miss it to help me with Spencer—" whose stunned head spun towards Hanna as she spoke, "and you blew me off. You acted like you couldn't go, like, every other weekend."

"I told you why, Hanna," Aria divulged.

"Yeah, some lame-ass excuse about college," Hanna retorted. "And, yeah, I get it — I do," she said. "College is a big thing and you have to shop around more than us because your junior-year extra-curricular was doing Mr Fitz so you have none and—" Hanna stopped. She halted entirely. Instantly, the guilt at what escaped her hit her full-force like a hardened slap in the face when Hanna saw how Aria caved.

Already small in size, Aria looked even more petite as she shrunk in on herself at the cruelty her friend lashed at her. Her whole body was pierced and subsequently deflated at the centrefold of her junior year of high school. While all her friends had something — even Hanna had yearbook and homecoming queen — Aria had nothing. Everything she did have was confined to Ezra Fitz's tiny, studio apartment, hidden and kept like a secret when she swore it was the most beautiful, epic love the small town of Rosewood had ever seen. Yet, they didn't see it. It was a secret; that was the point.

"Let's just, calm down," Emily gathered coolly. "Before somebody says something they don't mean or regret." She sighed, "Somebody's gonna get hurt if we don't stick together."

Spencer's head had whirled towards her at that. It hadn't occurred to Emily yet, that somebody was bound to get hurt in the midst of this crushing revelation — Aria the most. Spencer tried to play off her alarm: look away fast and pretend it hadn't happened, that she hadn't whipped around at the passing comment, but Hanna was intensely stalking her from, judging every move.

To break it, the back side-door opened and in burst a frantic Halle. Windswept and out of breath, Halle appeared like an angel of safety to Spencer. "We have to talk," Halle heaved out through her shallow breaths; she had raced here.

"That's why were here," Hanna replied with a roll of her eyes.

"No, I mean, really talk," Halle stated. She collected her breathing as best she could, inhaling deep to the very bottom of her lungs as she attempted to seem steady and believable.

She never got to find out if her friends would believe her. Mrs Hastings walked in to the living space first, a stern glower on his face "Good," he said firmly, seemingly addressing the whole room. "I don't have to call your parents myself." His laptop was in his hands, a weapon about to be launched on the group of teens, another accusation made against them.

"Dad," Spencer said in confusion, "what's going on?"

"That's exactly what I want to know," Peter demanded. He put his laptop down on the kitchen island and lifted its lid to reveal what was on the screen. Five set of eyes grew wide, floored by what they were seeing. Peter Hastings said to them very cautiously, "Before you call your parents, would any of you care to explain?"

•

PRETTY LITTLE LIARS
Five Rosewood teens have been accused of wasting vital police time by telling lies relating to the the murders that have put our small town on the map since the sad tragedy of Alison DiLaurentis.

The article scorched Halle. She raged at the leak and how it was everything people had been saying after the bell tower incident last year, until Mona as A was ousted. Halle and her friends, in the eyes of the Rosewood Observer and its many readers, were the ones starved of attention, hungry for drama and would feast on rotten corpses to keep the spotlight on them. Halle wanted to scream at it, but what use was it? Nobody would care. This — they'd care about this.

Alison's best friends consumed by it all, swept up in the attention frenzy they now craved. They brought it all on themselves — those fake, little victims — and the latest update from their local paper would surely send tidal waves throughout their small-minded town.

"It's set to be front page," Veronica had told the gathering of girls and their parents. It was like after the bell tower, when the girls last got accused so publicly of lying — of 'What Really Happened' — when their mothers and fathers gathered in the Hastings' house while the girls had to sit there and take the heat. "A special edition," she claimed.

They were all spread around the room. The girls, on the other hand, were forced into one place for any crushing blow or accusation their chosen relative wanted to thrust at them. Halle and her friends were perched on the one couch — Aria, Hanna and her in the middle with Emily and Spencer taking up either arm. It was easier that way. The adults could focus their disappointment, anxiety and overall red mist of fury on them.

"And you know this for certain?" Pam Fields asked, her hand clutched around her the bottom of her neck, face torn up with worry.

"I have a few contacts at the Observer," Peter Hastings informed. "One was kind enough to send me this beforehand in case I wanted to comment." He assured them, "There was no comment." He glared furiously at the teens. "As far as we're all concerned, there will only be no comment. I told my contact that, too."

"So, what?" Luisa Brewster fired out. Her arms were crossed, mainly in defence, as she stood by the island. "Your contact's nice enough to send you a preview but not pull it?"

"It's not his call, unfortunately," Peter said. "Couldn't pull it if he tried. Shouldn't even be taking my call or sending my the full article, but he owes me a favour."

"Can't you use that favour?" Spencer pleaded with her dad, the skin under her eyes super grey, almost purpling.

Peter shook his head. "That's not how the papers work." He said, "If it wasn't him, it'll be somebody else."

"The Edgewood's full of reporters," Pam panicked. Her eyes were wide and alarmed. "They have been since Wilden's body showed up."

"They were at the funeral," spoke Halle softly. She felt her parents' stares focus on her, burning, but she refused to look at either of them. She kept her chin straight ahead as she talked to Peter Hastings at the mantel. "I heard all their cameras clicking, they were taking hundreds of photos of us."

"It's safe to say that's only going to get worse," Peter regrettably told them. "Once this is out—" he referred to the article, "they're all going to want to publish their own and they're going to go looking for something to add — from your girls."

"What do we do?" Aria asked timidly. She was the only girl without a parent: her mother was in Austria and her father was in teaching at Syracuse. She was stranded without guidance like she often felt even when both parents were in the same room. 

Hanna jumped in on that. "Can we do anything?"

"Well, we can't claim libel since the cops have proof it links to your girls," Peter said disapprovingly. "They've got two solid sources — one from a cop, apparently."

"What's the other?" asked Spencer intensely.

"They can't reveal that," Peter said to his daughter.

"I suggest you girls all delete or block any unkind messages and log out of social media," Veronica said to the teenagers. "I'll have my office monitor the threats."

"Threats?" asked Ashley Marin in shock. "They'll be getting threats?" She had had her own lot of disgusting, violent threats from all over the country when she was charged with murdering a police officer; she absolutely didn't want that for Hanna.

With a deep breath, Veronica explained, "When something like this happens, it brings out the worse people. Things will be said — I'd rather none of you read them, but we'll see which ones hold weight. If any do," she added.

"I'd say that if you go out, make it short," Peter advised them. "Don't interact with people. Don't—" he made sure to stress, "cause a scene."

"Be anti-social?" Hanna zeroed in on that. "Prove to them we are hiding something?"

"Are you?" Ashley Marin's glare stayed firmly on her daughter, studying her so intently for a fraction of a lie. "Hanna, now is the perfect time to come clean and—"

"No, Mom," Hanna strongly cut in. "There's nothing, I told you."

Even when Hanna said it, her friends all felt the lie. The weight of it was excruciating, suffocating each other. They shared in a collective thought of Alison. Her breathing. Alive. That she wasn't the poor girl buried in her grave — twice. All five had a jab to their guts, pushing them to open up and start moving their mouths. It was the perfect time; they just had to be brave enough to go against Alison.

Yet, none of them were.

They never were.

So, they stayed silent.

Having been quiet — watching, surveying — Nick Brewster finally spoke. He intensely scrutinised them as he asked, "So, you're being threatened again?"

Halle locked onto her father, her mirror in many ways, and withheld the things she couldn't bring to him. "Yeah, we've—We went to the police with this, 'cos there are new threats," Halle told him, begging him to believe her. "There's another A and they're worse than Mona."

"How are they worse than Mona?" asked Nick seriously.

At his question, the girls clammed up. Nothing elicited from them. They decidedly, on a silent agreement, all refused to speak — not to let their parents in on the torture and humiliation. How the very reason why Wayne Fields was in hospital was because of A attacking Emily; how Hanna was now petrified of the dentist after A put a message in her tooth; How Aria had been having more panic attacks since the summer and why Halle flinched every time her phone went off; why Spencer was gradually losing the light in her eyes her due to her determination to stop the pain.

"Why are you not talking?" asked Luisa, growing in annoyance slowly as the refusal. "Speak, Halle," she demanded. "How are they worse? Speak."

"I—can't," Halle said quietly. She hung her head low, shame filling her repressed fear.

"Hanna," Ashley called out her daughter's name and forced Hanna to look at her. Her latter said nothing, just held her gaze and pleaded with her blue eyes for some faith from her parent.

"There is no proof," claimed Veronica. "In fact, the proof they have is the same as last time: only this time, Halle's in on it," she said, hand out towards the girl squashed at the end of the sofa. "So—" she started very carefully, "we're asking you this again, did you lie?"

Spencer remained stubborn. "No."

"Did you..." Pam swallowed nervously, torn up the most "send each other those messages?"

"We didn't do it," Emily promised her.

Yet, Luisa rescinded it. "They're coming from your phones."

"Then, check them," Spencer proposed. "Check all of them."

Soon enough, the girls had sacrificed their privacy by handing their mobiles over. Their parents took their own child's; with Veronica offering to do it for Aria since her parents were absence. Halle had never seen them all so collectively determined. The adults hunched over the screens, eyes scouring every inch of an inbox.

"Nothing," Pam stated of Emily's phone.

"The same with Hanna's," claimed Ashley with a great amount of relief washing over her features.

Luisa went to open her mouth to say the same of Halle, but Veronica Hastings had spoken first. She narrowed in on Aria, her eyes deadly all of a sudden. The kindness she had previously shown towards the girl without her parents had vanished by time Aria had blinked. "What does this mean?" she asked.

Aria panicked. Her stare blew wide, alarmed. "What does—" her voice cracked under the weight of her fear, "What does what mean?"

Veronica read from the device. "'Mona played with dolls. I play with body parts. Game on, bitches -- A.'"

The girls turned in on Aria. Their own sets of eyes had grown irritated in the betrayal; they were meant to have deleted those — especially that first text ages ago. They didn't know how she could just leave one— that one! — the one that started it up all again.

"I—I—I don't know," Aria floundered.

"It was sent from your phone," Veronica stated, and the group melted away from Aria.

Halle shook her head. "No—no," she said, "that makes no sense."

"It wasn't, Mrs Hastings," Aria said in a frantic frenzy. She had moved forward on the couch, perched at the very edge, with her hands clasped together in a prayer. "I promise you I never sent that text, I can promise you."

"It's right here," Veronica said disapprovingly. She read it out again. "'Mona played with dolls. I play with body parts.' It was sent from your phone," she accused. "You sent it to yourself and the girls two weeks ago."

"No." It fell from Spencer quicker than it did anybody else. They were all thinking it. They all knew what this meant. This was A. This wasn't Aria. "No, that's not when we got that text."

"There's proof right there, Spencer." In support of his wife, and not his eighteen-year-old daughter, Peter demanded, "Stop lying."

"All of you you need to realise how serious this is," Pam announced at the group. Her saddened disappointment scolded Emily into seemingly small on the Hastings' couch. "Emily, your dad is still in hospital, why are you doing this?"

"I'm not doing this, Mom, I promise," pleaded Emily. "I'm not doing this."

In his quiet, Nick Brewster had chosen to spend his time more wisely. Instead of dishing out punishments and hurtful comments at his child, he watched. He monitored. His suspicion of them only grew and doubled, then moulded into desperate wariness for the girls. While the other adults had signalled their version of events, Nick looked to Halle. Then, to her friends. He saw them all cut themselves to tell what they claimed was the truth; saw them clam up when they withheld something; saw them writhe and wriggled with fear when their mobiles were in somebody else's hands. It wasn't normal behaviour. It was like the last time, he knew that.

"Okay," Nick eventually spoke. "Let's just cut this short, we're going around in circles." He looked to Halle and gave her a curt nod. "We're not helping if we're too busy doing what that paper is."

"What do you suppose we do, Nick?" asked Ashley, eager for his input. He had been nothing but kind to her and she respected him greatly for his compassion the last time the girls were called liars. "What can we do?"

"Like Peter said, we say no comment or we maintain their innocence," Nick decided. "These are our girls — they're not liars."

His faith in her caused Halle's stomach to lurch. It was in knots. She was in knots. Her whole body was rigid, stiff as a board. All of it felt eerily similar to the last time, collected afterward in Spencer's bedroom while they tried to blindly muddle through the mess they had plunged into. The article was going to be published tomorrow and they had no chance of deleting it nor delaying its timing. 

"What do we do now?" asked Emily, steeped in worry. "This is gonna be everywhere. Everyone's gonna see this, colleges are gonna see this. I—" her hand pointed at her chest, "lost swimming when I screwed up my shoulder, I can't have this too."

"Well, it's too late now, Em," Spencer remarked snidely. She was extremely, scoffing as she pulled at her hair. "Can't you see? We made one move against A by going to the cops and he's punishing us for it." Her grave eyes searched for Halle. "He knew we were onto him and he hit back with this."

"Wait," Hanna interrupted, "what do you mean, onto him? We all agreed to leave it."

"And we did," Halle lied yet again, and felt terrible about it. She shook her head at Spencer, pleading with her to understand now wasn't the time.

"Yeah, we did," said Spencer meekly, as she dipped her head.

Emily spoke, irritation lacing her voice, "So, we just let this play out until what?" Her arm swung out. "The cops don't believe us — our own parents don't believe us. We're lucky enough to have Halle's dad being the only one to defend us," she finished, hand out towards her girlfriend.

"I don't feel good 'bout that either," grumbled Halle. She hugged her arms close to her body. "That text really screwed us over."

"Speaking of which," Hanna began. Her gaze shot to Aria in mild accusation. "How did that text even get on your phone?"

"I don't—" Aria gaped like a fish, her mouth opening and closing as she panicked, "I have no idea. Guys, I'm just as clueless as you are," she said.

"We're not blaming you," Halle assured her.

"Well, it did come from your phone," Spencer recounted, shocking the room still. "I mean, it was sent from your phone — to all of us — and you got the text too."

"Yeah, so?" Aria asked.

"Spencer, what exactly are you saying?" Hanna asked, astounded at the direction.

Through a clenched jaw, Halle said, "Yeah, Spence, Aria was there when we got that text and we all know it wasn't sent then. It was sent three months ago, Aria's phone says it was sent two weeks ago."

Halfway malicious, and very pointedly, Spencer said, "Yeah, but what happened two weeks ago, Hal?"

Her eyes bulged as Emily realised, "We found out Alison's alive."

Instantly, it struck Halle. She understood what Spencer was getting at — what she was implying. Spencer's very suggestion caused Halle to forced down the acid that rose up her throat. The same night they saw Alison after Ravenswood, it became clear that Ezra was entering Aria's life once more and Aria had left her phone in his car.

Then, to add to it, Aria's mobile sounded. It buzzed from within her jacket pocket and she pulled it out to check. "I..." The words got caught momentarily. The guilt wormed onto her face. "I have to go."

"Are you kidding?!" exclaimed Hanna. "Aria, A just set off the biggest bomb yet and you wanna skip out?"

"I promised my dad I'd be in Syracuse," Aria sent out another raging lie and her gut twisted over at it. "He'll probably want to see me after this as well."

Visibly offended, Hanna shot, "You don't think the group comes first?"

"That's not what I said," Aria defended.

"No, that's exactly what you just said," impeached Hanna.

"Oh, really, Hanna?" Aria threw back at her irritably. "Please tell me where."

"Right there," Hanna stated in defiance just as Aria's phone chimed for a second time.

Biting her lip to hold back the anger, Aria dismissed her friend. "Whatever, I have to go."

"Aria, you can't leave," Halle tried to persuade.

There was minor hesitation in Aria's eyes, a recognition that it was Halle speaking — pleading with her. Yet, the phone chimed again and Aria had to hurry. "Well, what good's it gonna do me sticking around here?" she posed to them. "All I'll get is stares and be the hot new gossip for the weekend."

"We just got annihilated by A," Spencer stressed to her.

"We're fighting for our lives here," Emily added onto that. "Our own parents think we're lying."

"And we'll still be doing it when I get back," Aria said as a golden fact. Again, her phone went off. She tore herself in two trying to stay but having to face the repercussion of a broken promise to Ezra. "I have to go." Her body was antsy, brimming with flight. To ease — to comfort herself from the deep ache in her gut, Aria rubbed her stomach like she had done earlier when Ezra pulled her away from her friends without even being present. "I'm sorry, guys."

Then, Aria left. The four behind here reeled from the targeted A-attack and Aria fled in a brisk hurry. She cried all the way to the cabin and yet she couldn't tell her friends that because she had a secret that she was forced to keep. Ezra forced her to keep it.

•

No one would question the Rosewood Observer. By the next morning, it was fact. It was holy scripture in a small town like Rosewood. There wasn't any room for defence. They never corrected anything or put out apologies when more information came to light; they'd hide behind more print, ignoring the lives they had destroyed in the wake. Halle and her friends bore the brunt of the blame and faced new, hot accusation. They were evil, in need of proper punishment, and the witch hunt began the first week of December.

PRETTY LITTLE LIARS

It taunted them. Halle remembered something Caleb said a long time ago — the rich girls steal, the pretty girls lie, the smart girls play dumb, and the dumb girls spend their days trying to be all of the above. As of now, with all they had done and known, Halle sided in with the latter. She stole evidence to help aid her friends more, she lied constantly and most convincingly, she played dumb when faced with her crimes and was dumb when it came to foolishly believing she could ever outmanoeuvre A.

Halle had gone out earlier that following morning. She had driven to the middle of town and found the newspaper vending machine. It was there — first thing — before the sun had fully rose. She hated how she put her spare change in the machine to get the paper. Part of Halle wanted to pour all her money into it so that nobody could read it, but this wasn't only one dispenser in the centre of town and Rosewood had three. It hadn't been a surprise that she ended up at the police station with it, searching to accuse the source.

"What is this?" fumed Halle, shaking in her fury. She slammed down the newspaper onto Tanner's desk and shot fiery daggers at the woman. Her blood boiled at the print, blistered at the words. Her whole body was alight, on fire, burning as she seethed.

Tanner mused it over, pretending like she didn't know what the teen was getting nor why she had come to her. "It's this morning's paper," she said. "Special edition, I hear."

"Don't play dumb with me," Halle warned gravely. "We both know I'm too smart for that."

"You are," agreed Tanner, not a hint of patronization to her tone.

"Did you do this?" Halle asked.

"No," Tanner answered. "The leak didn't come from me or my partner."

"Then who?" demanded Halle. "Who leaked it? Someone in the force? Who can't I trust?"

"Somebody who knew." Tanner learnt forward. "I'm actually curious in finding out the leak in the department myself," she claimed. "It looks like you girls have enemies everywhere."

"So, you have no idea?" Halle wondered impatiently.

"With you girls, I wouldn't be surprised if you have leaked it yourselves," Tanner responded.

"Why?" Halle said in shock, scoffing. "Why the hell would we do that?"

Urgingly, Tanner said. "You tell me."

"No— I ain't telling you you crap," Halle damned her. "I don't trust you," she said matter-of-factly. "I thought I could, once, but now I know I can't. We came to you, begged you for help and you called us liars—"

"Because you lied," Lieutenant Tanner cut in, silencing her. "You lied, Miss Brewster. It might not have been about A, but you did lie to me." She proposition Halle, "What am I supposed to do when you don't tell me the truth? How do you suppose I help you and your friends?"

"Correct this," Halle ordered first, her fingertip pressed down firmly to the front page of the paper that rested on the desk.

Newspapers don't print corrections unless you take them to court and win," Tanner informed Halle although she had the sneaky suspicion that the teenager already knew this.

Halle settled for something more grave — that shook her to her core — that terrified more than anything else. It was her biggest nightmare and her worst, most painful premonition. "You do know this won't stop until one of us dead, right?" Halle said of herself and her closest friends. "A is real — we didn't lie —and you're right, there are things I can't tell you. But A is coming for us—" she droved her finger down further into the paper and desk, "they have something planned, and one of us will end up dead. But who cares, right?" Halle withdrew, wry and impersonal. "Not you. Not until that actually happens," she stated. "Then, you'll believe us — when it's too late and you're having to go tell our parents you failed and now their child is dead."

Tanner visibly swallowed. She pushed back her shoulders, uncomfortable at the suggestion that Halle had made. Still, the lieutenant maintained her stance and acted indifferent when it came to the girl gone from pleading to resignation. "Would you like you make a formal complaint?"

"Shove your formal complaint up your ass," Halle cursed her out. "Go to hell. All of you can go to hell."

With that said — damning Halle for rest of her goodwill with the state police — she walked out of the private office. Halle left the newspaper behind, hoping the guilt of a leak under watch would spike the guilt; more-so Halle never wanted to read the words Pretty Little Liars again. It was stupidly hopeful — Spencer would tell her as much — because those words would now stalk her for the rest of her life. Halle would forever be one of the five pretty little liars to A.

She hurried through the station. Her trainers slapped against the black-and-white tiles. Officers stared at her as she rushed past their desks and their stares followed her until she pushed open the doors. The intensity of eyes on her never dropped, only increased and charged up further when she exited.

A sheet of white flashed blinded her. Halle let out a small scream, terrified at the attack of cameras around her. She used her hands as shields, covering her face, as the clicking grew louder. Engulfed in, the reporters serving as a iron fence around her, Halle had nowhere to move. She couldn't even see where the top step was to escape, not that the vultures around her. would let her. Then, the shouting started.

"—Why did you lie, Halle?"

"—Did you lie? Do you like the attention that much?"

"--How do you feel about the nickname,
Pretty Little Liar?"

"—Are your friends guilty too?"

"Please," Halle begged them desperately. "I just wanna get through, please. I can't see—"

"—What are you doing a a police station?"

"—Are you being charged?"

"Charged?!" Halle was mortified, her head spinning due to all the allegations.

"—Did you and your friends lie?"

"—Do you know who killed Detective Wilden?"

Halle tried again, "—Can I just—?"

"—Do you know who killed Alison DiLaurentis?"

"—Why are you screwing up the police investigation?"

"— Are you really that starved of attention?"

"Hey!" The yelled wasn't one of theirs. "Hey— hey—back the hell off, okay?!" Halle knew this voice and the vast relief her body instantly felt wash over it when she knew he was coming for her was the greatest of comfort. "Hey— get out of the freaking way — Now!"

Jason's shout cleared the way for him to get to Halle. He had charged through the army of reporters and their savage ways, who clawed at Halle for answers while she shook in terror. Now, his arm protectively fell around her shoulders. He made certain the harm never touched her; only his familiar one ever graced her skin.

"Get back— get back!" he shouted. "Halle, we're moving, we're walking, okay?" said Jason to just her. His face was tucked close to hers, dipped, as he used one large hand to block the cameras, which clicked faster and more incessantly now he was beside her. "Get back!"

His strong hold never wavered, even as the shouts turned to him. All Halle could hear was a barrage of his name along Alison's with hers thrown in. All of the clicking and flashing had caused her senses to muffle. It overwhelmed her. Her heart-rated spiked and Halle could feel her legs wobble beneath her; if Jason wasn't holding her up, she would've collapsed.

"I got you, okay?" Jason said, as he forced open the passenger side to his car. His hand covered her head, his back battling off the more aggressive reports who grasped their chance to get nearer to the couple. They had spread more, spanning around the front and their stark flashes blinded her through the windshield. "Move away from the car," she had heard Jason say. Her door was shut and Halle gripped onto the handle tight to keep the press from opening it again.

Jason was shortly at the driver's side. He had crossed behind the reporters, giving Halle a minor break from their scrutiny. However, now they had the shot of the two of them — her in her dead best friend's brother's car and him, the brother of her dead best friends, protecting her. "I said, move," Jason warned firmly. Halle couldn't see his eyes; her aching soul told her they were mad but still green. "Move!"

With that warning spoken, Jason got in next to her. He slammed the door shut and it dulled some of the yells. The cameras continued to go off, more vapid when they were side-by-side again. Briskly, Jason turned the key in the ignition and the car roared to life.

"Jason," Halle said quietly. He couldn't hear her over the vultures in front of the hood of his car.

"Move now!" Jason yelled at them. The veins in his neck protruded, violent in his maddening temper. He slammed his hand down on the horn as a secondary warning then released the handbrake. When he started to drive, they moved but the clicking never stopped. Halle heard it follow them to the end of the street; it only ceased when Jason sped out of the junction.

"Jason," she said again. This time, his green eyes flashed to her in concern. "I drove here," she told him. "My car's by The Brew."

Letting out a breath, Jason promised, "I'll come back for your car later, okay. I just wanna get you home."

He succeeded in doing what he set out to do. Jason managed to get Halle home and make sure she was safe. Jason was more than relieved the press didn't follow them to Bridgewater or more of them weren't camping out on their lawns. The gratefulness settled him as he watched Halle slowly resume to calming down after a cup of hibiscus tea at her kitchen table.

"You good now?" he asked.

"Hardly," Halle mustered. "But better, I suppose." Small, Halle said to him out of sincerity, "Thanks, by the way. For getting me outta there."

"Don't mention it," said Jason, pleasantly dismissive of her wanting to thank him. He didn't want her thanks; he wanted her safe.

With her gaze fixed to the surface of her tea, Halle gloomily said, "It's only gonna get worse from here on out, ain't it?" She looked up at him for a brief moment; she knew he couldn't lie to her if she was looking at him. Halle knew Jason wouldn't lie to her anymore yet she wanted to be sure of it. Her trust had been maimed too many times for her to risk it.

"The press? After that article," he began with a shaky breath, "yeah, it's gonna get worse." Jason confirmed for her. "The phone's been ringing all day. My mom's hauled herself up at her aunt Carol's house to escape it, she says it's like last time."

Gently, with her guilt eating away at her, Halle requested, "Will you tell her I'm sorry?"

"I will," Jason said. "I should warn you, she's more..." he searched for the word and ended up with, "delicate... at the moment. I think moving back, flipping the house back to how it was, being so close to Ali again — it's getting to her now." Jason told her, "She's more secretive about it, too."

"Did you ever—?" Halle stopped herself. She couldn't bring herself to ask him knowing how awfully invasive it was.

"Did I ever, what?" he asked. His brows raised at her as Jason pieced it together himself. "Did I ever ask her about Ravenswood?"

Halle fell quiet. "Yeah."

"I did," he admitted, and Halle's eyes went to him. "She shut me down, like she and my father always do when I ask questions."

"They don't like you asking them?" Halle said to him.

Almost sour in his thinly conceal resentment, Jason pointedly remarked, "It's my family — secrets are what hold us together."

•

It shocked Halle to find, after another urgent SOS, that Hanna was firmly planted at Spencer's side. There, on the foot of Spencer's bed, were the connections Spencer had found and printed off of Ezra to Alison, before her fateful disappearance. It including the most damning two — Snookers being The Hart and Huntsman and the Fitzgerald name on the listing to the Ravenswood apartment.

"Well, they did say posh name and rich," Halle remarked on sight.

"Okay, Fitz is not that rich," Hanna chided. "He lives in a studio apartment, he's one step away from crapping where he eats. He's not rich."

"His family is," Emily said. "Didn't Aria say they own, like, a ton of art that's worth hundreds-of-thousands?"

Suddenly, Spencer stiffened. "Wait, do you remember that time where Aria was asking you about Jason and the fifty-grand?" she asked Halle.

"Yeah," Halle answered. "She was asking if it was weird if somebody kept that kind of money 'round."

"She didn't tell you guys," Spencer led, "but she asked 'cos she found a lot of money Ezra was stashing away in his sock drawer."

"How much is a lot?" Emily asked.

"Enough to ask the question," Halle responded.

"You're saying he's the one who Jason gave that fifty-grand?" questioned Hanna in disbelief.

"It happened right after," Spencer stated.

"Yeah, but didn't she say he sold a car?" Emily plausibly recounted.

Spencer argued with that, "Yeah, but he's an established liar. Who knows what's the truth anymore? He's been lying to Aria since day one."

"And he's a frigging creep," Hanna interjected in disgust. "He's got a surveillance camera in his vent outside his apartment."

"You're playing?" Halle said, disbelieving but only out of shock.

"Nuh-uh," Hanna said. "Like, it's pointed right at his door."

"Wait—" Emily wad dumbfounded. "He has a surveillance camera? What if the building manager put it in there?"

Leaning on her bed by her hands, straight at the elbows, Spence refused that suggestion. "It was hidden," she said. "And most honest people put up a sign saying you're being recorded." Pointedly, she asked, "Who else do we know who like to hide cameras and spy on people?"

"But Mr Fitz?" Emily asked them, completely stunned and knocked for words. "Mr Fitz isn't..." At her minor hesitation, the fear trickled in. "You're saying that you think he's A?"

"I know" sympathised Hanna, shuddering at the thought. "My head feels like it's full of hot ice cubes. I mean, he was so sweet to me when my mom was in jail."

Emily said, "He helped me with my college essays."

"He was probably trying to get close so we'd let our guard down," Spencer said, not easing any of the sharing and rising discomfort.

"That's exactly what he's been doing from the start," Halle replied, seeing it very clearly. "He's too close — he put himself there and now people are noticing."

"What do you mean?" Spencer questioned her.

"I mean, Hackett's onto him," Halle revealed, stunning the group. "Browne's his babysitter, to keep an eye on Fitz for Hackett."

"Oh, my god," awed Hanna, her hand falling to cover her mouth.

Immediately, Emily began to panic. "Have you called Aria? We have to call Aria."

"No." Spencer rushed in sternly. "Not yet," she said. "I don't think we should tell her until we're a hundred-percent sure."

To comfort some of the swirling anxiety, Hanna told them, "Well, she's in Syracuse with her dad, so she's safe for now."

Spying a home comfort peeking out of Emily's handbag, that had previously been flung to the bed, Hanna dove from the coffee bean bag without permission. "Oh, thank god you brought coffee," exclaimed Hanna, somewhat cheerful at the sight of it.

Spencer struck out her hand. "Here, do you want me to make some?"

"Yes, but not with that," Emily warily said, casting scepticism when she snatched the bag from Spencer. "That's for Shana."

Halle raised her confusion. "Why are you gifting Shana a bag of coffee beans?"

"—Why are you still talking to her?" Hana questioned more seriously. It had occurred to her that not one of her friends within this bedroom had taken their vow to heart.

With a heavy, pressed exhale, Emily then unfolded the lip of the coffee bag and retrieved a crinkled enveloped from inside. From the way it was bent in her grasp, the weight of its contents were substantial. "She wanted me to help her with this," Emily said as she passed it on to Spencer.

Careful fingers pulled it open and the clueless three peered closer at what the envelope held, which then shocked them. Inside was a huge amount of cash, fastened together with elastic bands and a flimsy piece of paper with writing on and it was definitely Alison's perfectly infuriating, looped handwriting.

Inspecting it over, Spencer said, "Shana gave you this?"

For a brief moment, the girls thought that Emily might not answer. She debated it, too, out of the future and present safety of the blonde who needed this money. Yet, Emily couldn't lie to them.

"No," Emily admitted. "It belongs to Alison. Shana was supposed to meet me at The Brew, but she never showed up." She eyes her wary friends, who all were astounded, while Spencer flipped through the wad of green counting. "There's contact information there, maybe for other people who are helping her or places to stay," explained Emily. She took a sharp inhale. "All I know is that Alison's running out of money and Shana's the only one who knows how to reach her. If she can't deliver it—"

"Ali can't keep on the move," Spencer cut in with a sense of danger edging her tone. "And she's vulnerable." Curiously, she wondered, "When was the last time you talked with Shana?"

"This afternoon, why?" said Emily.

Instantly, Hanna's stare snapped to Spencer. "You said that Ezra never came home today," she recalled most gravely.

Emily let out a scared breath. "You think he's got her?"

"I think maybe he wants Shana to lead him to Alison," Spencer reasoned, "so he can finish what he started."

"What he started?" Hanna asked her in confusion.

Halle gulped, "That Night."

•