Elara Whitmore's POV

By the time I reached my dorm, the irritation hadn't faded. It had settled. Properly. Like something sitting in my chest, tapping occasionally just to remind me it was still there. Great. Amazing. I made the "right decision" and somehow still feel like I lost.

I dropped my bag, paced once, then froze mid-step.
Sienna.

Oh.

Oh no.

I grabbed my phone and immediately regretted every life choice that had led me to this moment. Missed calls. A terrifying number of missed calls. Messages stacked like evidence in a case titled Elara Whitmore vs Common Sense.

I'm dead. She's going to kill me.

I called her.

She picked up instantly.

"Elara? Oh my God, where have you been? Do you have any idea how worried I was? I was about to file a police complaint. I called you, I texted you, your phone was basically decorative at that point. What were you doing?"

I winced, pulling the phone slightly away. Yeah, deserved. Fully deserved.

"I'm fine," I said quickly. "I just got drunk and came back and slept."

A pause.

A very specific pause.

"Are you sure?" she asked.

And that tone—

Yeah. She knows. She absolutely knows.

"Yes," I said, already sounding like a criminal in interrogation. "Why would I not be sure?"

"Elara."

"Sienna."

"You're lying."

"I am not."

"You are," she said flatly. "And you're bad at it right now. Which means something actually happened."

I opened my mouth.

Closed it.

Fantastic. Betrayed by my own lack of lying skills.

"Come meet me," she said. "Now. Café. And don't even try to escape this. You're telling me everything."

I sighed, grabbing my bag again. "I'm coming."

"Good. And Elara?"

"Yeah?"

"If this is something stupid, I will personally make it worse."

"That feels threatening."

"It is."

The call ended.

Yeah. I deserve whatever is coming.

The moment I sat down across from her, she leaned in immediately, eyes dragging over my face like she was running a full diagnostic. Injuries, secrets, bad decisions, all of it. Honestly, I half expected her to pull out a checklist. Great. I haven't even ordered water and I'm already under investigation.

"You look fine," she said, narrowing her eyes slightly, like she didn't believe her own conclusion.

"I am fine," I replied, keeping my voice steady, which apparently was my first mistake.

"That's suspicious."

"That's rude?"

"Start talking," she said, completely ignoring that, already settling in like she had all the time in the world and I had none. No warm-up, no small talk, not even a fake smile. Just straight to interrogation mode. Fantastic. Love that for me.

I exhaled, leaning back for a second before leaning forward again because suddenly sitting still felt illegal. "Okay. But don't interrupt."

"I will absolutely interrupt."

"Don't."

"I'll try," she said.

"That is not reassuring."

"Talk."

Right.

I ran a hand through my hair. Okay. Start from where it actually goes wrong. Not the older wrong. The new wrong.

"You remember the club," I said.

Her expression immediately sharpened. "Yes. The place where you disappeared and ruined my mental stability. Continue."

"I didn't disappear," I muttered. "Things just... escalated."

"How?"

I hesitated for half a second. Okay. Say it normally. Do not make it sound worse than it already is.

"I met a guy," I said.

Her eyes narrowed instantly. "Elara."

"I didn't do anything," I said quickly. "He offered me a drink. I had it. And then I started feeling weird."

Her posture changed immediately. "What kind of weird?"

"Dizzy," I said, my voice lowering slightly. "Weak. Like my body just... stopped cooperating properly."

Her fingers tightened around the table. "Did he put something in your drink?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "But it felt like that."

Her jaw clenched. "And where was I?"

"You were busy being in love for five minutes," I said.

"I was not in love," she snapped, pointing a finger at me like that alone should end the discussion. "He was just attractive. Focus."

Sure. Because people aggressively defend 'just attractive' men like this all the time. I nodded anyway. "Right. Anyway, he started trying to take me somewhere quieter."

Her entire face changed in a second. The annoyance vanished, replaced with something sharp, dangerous. "And you went?"

"No," I said quickly, then hesitated. "Or... I couldn't really do anything. That's the problem." Wow. Amazing phrasing. Truly reassuring. Gold star for me.

She didn't respond immediately. Just stared at me, eyes narrowing slightly, like she was rearranging the situation in her head and not liking a single version of it. The silence stretched just enough to make me uncomfortable.

Then, quieter, more controlled, "What happened next?"

I exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through my hair. "Alessandro showed up."

That landed. Not softly. Not even close.

Her eyes widened, just a fraction, but enough. "The suspect?"

"Yes."

"At the club?"

"Yes."

"How?" she pressed, leaning forward again, like she could physically pull the answer out of me if I stalled. Honestly, at this point, she might.

"That is exactly my question," I said, pointing at her like she had personally walked into my internal monologue.

She stared at me. "What did he do?"

"He stopped it," I said, trying to keep it casual, like this was a normal sentence people said over coffee. "Pulled me away. And when the guy tried to argue, he..." I hesitated, choosing my words like they might explode if I picked the wrong ones, "...was not calm anymore." Understatement of the year. Truly. Give me an award.

Her brows shot up. "He fought him?"

"Yes."

"Oh my God."

"And then he took me away."

"To the hospital?" she asked immediately, already nodding like that was the only acceptable answer.

"No."

She leaned forward slowly. Very slowly. The kind of slow that meant I had just made a terrible life choice. "Elara."

"I told him to take me to his house," I said quickly, before my brain could stop me. There it is. The bad decision. Fully out in the open.

"You WHAT?"

"I was drunk," I defended, holding up a hand like that somehow made it legally valid. "That's my only argument and I'm sticking to it."

"That is not a strong argument."

"It is in my current situation."

She just stared at me. Long enough that I started feeling like a disappointing character in her personal documentary. I could practically see her reevaluating every moment of our friendship. This is it. This is where she decides I'm not worth saving.

"And then?" she asked finally, narrowing her eyes.

"And then... nothing bad happened," I said. "He didn't take advantage of anything. He was... careful. Like annoyingly careful. He made sure I was okay, got me food, didn't push anything."

Sienna blinked. "He made you food?"

"Yes."

"In his house."

"Yes."

"The murder suspect."

"Yes."

She leaned back slowly, processing. "This sounds like a psychological thriller."

"I am aware," I said.

"And you stayed?"

"I was not in a state to evaluate my life decisions," I replied.

"That's fair," she muttered. "Continue."

"In the morning, I sobered up," I said, rubbing my temple like I could physically erase the memory. "And then it hit me. Everything. Where I was. Who I was with. How completely insane the entire situation was." Truly a beautiful moment of clarity. Ten out of ten. Would panic again.

"So you left."

"Yes."

"You just left?"

"Yes."

"And he let you?"

"Yes."

She blinked at me, once, then again, like her brain had rejected that answer and was trying to reload it properly. That, more than anything else I had said so far, seemed to throw her off.

"That doesn't make sense," she muttered, leaning back slightly but still staring at me like I'd skipped a crucial chapter. "You're telling me the same man who apparently decided you were his personal responsibility for the night just... what? Opened the door and wished you a nice day?"

"I didn't say he wished me a nice day," I replied, a little too quickly. Because that would imply normal behavior. Which... no.

Her eyes narrowed immediately. "Elara."

"What?"

"This is not normal."

"I know," I said immediately.

"No, like seriously not normal," she stressed. "He knew where you were. He showed up at the exact time. He handled the situation. Then took you home and took care of you. That is not coincidence."

"That is exactly what I said," I replied.

"And you still don't know how he knew?"

"No."

"And you're okay with that?"

"No."

"And you still went with him?"

"I was drunk," I repeated.

"That defense is getting weaker every time you say it."

"I don't have another one."

She sighed, leaning back in her chair and dragging a hand through her hair like she needed a full system reboot. "This is bad."

"I know."

"This is really bad."

"I know." Thank you for escalating the panic. Very helpful. Love that.

She exhaled again, slower this time, staring at the table like it had personally disappointed her. A brief pause settled between us, heavy but not silent, just... processing.

Then she looked back at me, eyes sharp again. "What are you going to do?"

I blinked. "About which part?"

Her expression didn't even change. "That you willingly went to a murder suspect's house, or that said murder suspect is now apparently hovering over your existence like a very attractive, very dangerous security system?"

...When she says it like that, it sounds worse. I pressed my lips together. "In my defense, I did not plan any of that."

"That's not a plan," she said flatly. "That's a confession."

I let out a quiet breath, slumping slightly in my seat. "I don't know," I admitted, finally being honest for once. "Pretend none of it happened? Avoid him? Move cities? Change my name?" I paused. "Fake my death feels a little dramatic, but I'm open to suggestions."

She stared at me for a long second, completely unimpressed. "You're not funny."

"I'm coping."

"That's worse."

She's not wrong. I hate that she's not wrong.

Sienna didn't say anything for a moment after that, just watched me like she was trying to decide whether to shake me or fix the situation. Both. She's considering both. I can see it in her eyes.

Then she leaned forward suddenly, elbows on the table, voice dropping just a little. "Okay, listen to me carefully. I was going to tell you this later, but clearly 'later' is not a safe option in your life anymore."

That did not sound comforting.

"What?" I asked, straightening slightly despite myself. Why does this feel like the start of something worse.

"You remember Professor Mehra's assistant?" she asked.

I frowned. "The one who looks like he hasn't slept since 2008?"

"That's the one," she said. "He was in the records room yesterday. I went there to grab the case files for revision and he was already there, going through the same file."

My stomach tightened slightly. "That's not weird. It's a high-profile case."

"No," she said, shaking her head. "It wasn't the file that was weird. It was what he said."

I leaned in a little now, attention sharpening. "What did he say?"

Sienna hesitated for half a second, like she was replaying it in her head. "He thought I hadn't noticed him. He was on the phone. And he said..." she paused again, lowering her voice further, "...'no, she hasn't connected it yet.' "

Excuse me?

I blinked. "She?"

"Yes," Sienna said, watching my reaction closely. "And unless there's another law student obsessing over this case and making reckless life decisions, I'm pretty sure that's you."

"That is very rude," I muttered automatically, even though my brain had already gone somewhere else entirely.

"Focus," she said.

"I am focusing," I replied, though my thoughts were now racing. "What else did he say?"

"Not much," she admitted. "He got quiet when he noticed me. But before that he mentioned something about the timeline not matching the statement."

My brows pulled together. "Whose statement?"

"He didn't say," she replied. "But he sounded... tense. Not like someone casually discussing a case. More like someone who knows something is off but shouldn't be saying it out loud."

Timeline not matching.

"That could mean anything," I said, but even to myself, it sounded weak.

"Exactly," she said. "Which is why it's bothering me. And now," she gestured at me, "after everything you just told me, it's bothering me a lot more."

I leaned back slightly, my mind already shifting gears, lining things up whether I wanted to or not. Timeline. Statements. Who was there. Who arrived first. Who made the call.

Because that was the part that mattered. The order of things. The part people always overlooked until it was too late.

And then Alessandro. At the scene. Caught.

But not first.

He was there, yes. But he wasn't first.

Which meant someone else was. Someone who saw everything before him, before anyone else, and somehow managed to step out of it clean.

That felt... inconvenient. For everyone involved.

Yeah. That changes things. A lot.

"You said he was already at the scene when they found him, right?" Sienna asked, watching me carefully.

"Yes."

"And he didn't deny it."

"No."

"But he also didn't say he did it."

"No."

She leaned back slowly. "That's not normal."

"I know," I said quietly.

"No, like actually not normal," she stressed. "If he was guilty, he'd either deny or lawyer up. If he was innocent, he'd fight it. But he's doing neither."

"Exactly," I murmured.

Silence settled again, but this time it wasn't confusion.

It was... alignment.

Two people realizing something at the same time.

"What if," Sienna said slowly, "he was there after it happened?"

I looked up at her immediately.

"That would explain the timeline," she continued. "If someone else committed the murder, and he arrived later, then technically the evidence would place him there, but it wouldn't mean he did it."

"And if the official statement assumes he was first—" I added.

"—then the entire sequence is wrong," she finished.

My pulse picked up slightly.

That changes everything.

"But then why wouldn't he just say that?" she asked.

I went quiet.

"Unless," Sienna added, narrowing her eyes slightly, "there's a reason he can't."

I stared at the table for a second, my thoughts moving faster now, connecting pieces that didn't fully fit yet but were starting to form an outline.

Timeline mismatch. Unclear statements. Controlled silence. And that call.

She had not connected it yet.

But I had. Slowly, piece by piece, the shape of it settled into place, and it was not messy the way it was supposed to be. Not chaotic. Not careless.

It was controlled.

Sienna watched me carefully. "Elara?"

I looked up.

And for the first time since leaving his house, the noise in my head didn't feel like noise anymore. It sharpened. Aligned. Oh. That's... new. Slightly concerning, but also useful.

"I'm not dropping this," I said quietly.

Sienna looked at me for a long second, like she was checking if this was one of my impulsive decisions or something worse. Then she sighed, leaning back again. "Of course you're not."

"I mean it."

"I know," she said, rubbing her temple now, already tired on my behalf. "That's exactly why I'm worried."

"This is a pattern," I said. "The club, the timing, him showing up exactly when things got worse, the way he already knew how to handle it, the way he..." I hesitated for half a second. The way he looked at me like I was something that needed to be accounted for. "...moves. None of that feels random."

Sienna didn't interrupt. Which, honestly, was terrifying.

"And I have a feeling," I continued, slower now, the realization settling in properly, "I've only just started seeing it."

She held my gaze, completely still, and for once, she didn't argue, didn't joke, didn't even sigh. Which meant she saw it too.

Great. Amazing. Love that for us. We're both concerned now.