No one will find out.

The words are so loud in my head that I sit straight up in bed.

They came from everywhere. The walls, the floor, somewhere behind my skull. I don't know where the voice came from.

Panic grips my chest for a second before I remember where I am. Right. The Santos guesthouse. Second morning waking up here and it still doesn't feel like I belong. The sheets are too nice, the pillows smell like someone else's laundry detergent and the room still carries a faint scent of roses, which I'm starting to hate.

I squint at the clock on the nightstand.

10:43.

Twelve hours. I slept for twelve hours straight and I still feel like garbage. My head's foggy, my mouth is dry, and my body has that heavy, drugged feeling you get after crashing too hard. What did I do last night?

After the spa with Harley and Emma, I drove around for an hour with no destination, arguing with myself the whole time. Talk to Allegra Shaw. Don't talk to Allegra Shaw. Yes, I want to get to the bottom of this. I need to know who's ruining my life. But talking to Allegra means facing things I might not want to face. Do I really want to find out that one of my friends is trying to run me out of town?

By the time I got back to the estate, Dr. Santos was waiting by the guesthouse door. Because of course she'd been tracking my location. She looked me up and down like I was mold growing on her pristine walls.

"Did you engage in any magic while you were away?" she asked in that clinical way of hers.

"No." I barely looked at her. "I told you. Spa day with friends."

She nodded like she'd already decided I'm lying. I went to my room and stayed there the rest of the night, drawing sigils in my sketchbook until my eyes blurred.

So why does my head feel this messed up? Like I drank ten elixirs and then got hit with a frying pan?

My phone chirps. Then again.

And again.

One right after the other.

I kick the sheets off and grab it from the nightstand where it's been charging overnight.

Fifteen texts and DMs from different people. There's one from my dad. Another from Harley. Something from Emma, one from Connelly and a handful of college acquaintances who suddenly remember I exist.

My stomach drops.

I open Harley's first.

Uh-oh babes. We might have a problem.

No, no, no.

The words repeat in my head like an alarm I can't turn off.

Emma's is worse:

I don't think you're going to like this, Press.

There's a link attached. I skip it. My dad's message is next:

Don't worry, son. I'm on top of this.

On top of what?

It's not until I read Connelly's text that I know it's really bad. We're supposed to meet for brunch at 11:30, but when I read what she sends, I almost cancel on her. I can hear her voice in my head, that dry little tone she uses when she's enjoying someone's downfall.

Don't bail on brunch just because everyone's laughing at you. Check the blogs, sweetie. I think they're on to something...

I go back to Emma's message and click the link.

And there it is.

GTV. The biggest gossip site for influencer drama in Caldera Heights. My face is plastered across the homepage. The headline reads: Disgraced?

The article underneath makes me want to throw my phone into the Pacific:

Popular mage influencer overstaying his welcome at an Old Magic estate?

Sources say he and his boyfriend are on the outs. They were spotted having an impassioned argument at a rooftop bar, which ended with the influencer splashing the boyfriend with water from the pool. Some say the boyfriend has moved on. But the question remains: why is the influencer still at the estate?

Word is his ex wants him gone, but the influencer is obsessed with him and won't leave.

I can't read any more. If someone is leaking these lies to GTV, it won't be long before that same someone leaks the video from the garden party. I don't know how much money my dad can throw at this, but something tells me even he can't get this scrubbed fast enough.

My phone chirps again. I almost drop it.

Same unknown number. I groan out loud.

As you can see...I've been busy. And I'm just getting started. Three more days before your life blows up. Tick tock...

I don't respond. I won't give them the satisfaction.

After seriously considering screaming into my pillow and taking a shower that's too hot and too long, I get dressed. Jeans, a white Luxecaster tee from the last brand box they sent me, back when they were still sending brand boxes. Sunglasses.

I'm not going to hide. I'm meeting Connelly at brunch.

On my way out, I pass the main house. My car is parked where my dad had it delivered a couple of days ago. I can't help but notice Mateo's car isn't in the driveway. I don't know why I check, but it stings that he's not here.

When I need him most.

✨✨✨

"There he is. I had money on you canceling." Connelly greets me with a smirk as I slide into the booth at Wiz's.

"You can't get rid of me that easily."

"Shame." She smiles sweetly. "I really thought today would be the day."

I can't help it. I burst out laughing. Mostly because the alternative is worse.

Wiz's is quiet because it's a weekday. On weekends you can't get a table without a reservation. It's a retro diner, heavy on the old-timey aesthetic: jukebox humming in the corner, Art Deco arches framing the booths, velvet green upholstery that feels good to rub your hands over. The milkshakes are charmed to be "all the sweetness, none of the calories," which sounds like marketing bullshit but I'm not complaining.

Our booth is deep in the back, away from the windows. Good. I don't need anyone snapping a photo of me right now.

I stop laughing and look her in the eyes. "I'm not going quietly," I say.

The flinch is small. Most people would miss it, but I catch it. A tiny shift in her jaw she tries to suppress, but it doesn't last. She flips her honey-brown hair over one shoulder and the composure snaps back onto her face. "You've always been dramatic."

"I have every right to be." I lean forward. "How would you feel if someone was trying to pull the rug out from under you? Threatening to expose you to your sponsors, trying to get you kicked out of Vale? You'd be losing it too."

"The difference between you and me," she says, picking up a sugar packet and turning it between her fingers like a card trick, "is that I'm not dumb enough to put myself in a situation like this."

I study her a beat too long. She sets the sugar packet down.

Connelly Palmer. I've asked myself a hundred times whether she's actually my friend. We went to the same high school as Emma, Mateo and Bayer. But Connelly didn't start hanging out with me until after I hit a million followers. Before that, I was as useful to her as a hole in a sock.

She's Old Magic. The Palmers own half the enchanted car dealerships in greater Los Angeles. Want a ride with a built-in navigation charm or climate affinity pre-loaded? You're buying from a Palmer. Their family magic is mentalism, which means they can nudge your thoughts and influence your decisions. They're not universally liked, but they are universally feared. Fun people.

Connelly is a friend of convenience. We run in the same circles and belong to the same clubs. But if I couldn't afford my affinities tomorrow, she wouldn't remember my name by Friday.

"Did you leak that stuff to the blogs?" I ask, giving her a pointed stare.

She scoffs. "Press, believe it or not, I have my own shit going on."

"But you don't mind stirring the pot. You've done it before."

She puts her menu down. The glare she gives me could freeze lava. "I had my reasons for what I did."

"I hope it was worth it."

"It was." But she won't look at me when she says it.

"It's gotta kill you," I say, dropping my voice. "Watching Bayer flirt with Harley the way he does."

Connelly takes a sip of her water. Sets it down carefully, right on the edge of her napkin. When she looks at me, her face is perfectly unbothered. Bored, even. But her fingers are still on the glass, making prints in the condensation. "Bayer can flirt with whoever he wants," she says finally.

"Sure. But you loved him. For a long time."

"Things change, Press." She picks up her menu and covers her face like a wall going up. "You of all people should know that. Look how fast Mateo moved on."

I don't flinch. But my jaw muscles twitch and I know she clocks it.

"Emma told me someone's blackmailing you," she says, pivoting like nothing happened. She's reading the menu like she's never seen it before, voice light and easy while she casually drops a bomb in my lap. "Any idea who?"

I narrow my eyes at her even though she doesn't see me. Connelly is capable of backstabbing. I shudder when I think about the lies she told on Bayer after he dumped her. But why me? What have I done to her?

"I'm not really loving how everyone discusses me behind my back," I say.

"Oh, get over it. It means people care." She wrinkles her nose. "Or at least that you're becoming someone worth caring about."

"Do you know who's doing this to me?"

She shrugs one shoulder, lazily. "It's obviously someone with footage. So they were at the party. How many enemies have you made, Press? Sometimes people hate you and you have no idea who or why."

A chill runs down my spine.

Are you one of those people? Do you hate me? I want to ask her. I almost do.

And then she leans forward and says something that turns the chill into pure ice in my veins.

"If I were you?" Her voice drops. "I'd keep an eye on Emma." She watches me for a second, reading my face. "From what I've heard, she has a few reasons to want you gone."

My heart picks up the pace to a steady pound. "What reasons?" 

Connelly tilts her head, considering. "You were using Overhear at the party, weren't you? That little spy affinity?" 

How does she know that? I freeze and study my menu.

 "Thought so." She says with a snotty smile. "You have a habit of listening to conversations that aren't meant for you."

Before I can respond, she straightens up like a switch flipped with a bright smile and perfect posture. She waves the server over.

"I think we're ready to order." She tells him, smoothing her napkin across her lap. "I'm famished."

And I sit here with Emma's name rumbling in my head, wondering how just many of my friends want to see me gone.