Page 3 of In Shadows We Dance

The abandoned dance studio welcomes me with its familiar scent of wood and rosin. No one comes here anymore, not since Mrs. Reynolds left for California. The school didn’t bother to hire a replacement. There was no point when I’m the only student who cared.

I change quickly, and slip my feet into my ballet flats. The mirrors reflect back a girl I barely recognize. Eyes wide in a pale face, hair coming loose from its ponytail.

Usually this is where I find my peace, where I can shed my invisibility and become something more. But as I move to the barre, I can’t shake the memory of Wren’s eyes. The way he looked at me, like he could see right through me. Like he knew exactly who I am beneath my camouflage.

Why did he call me ballerina?

How does he know?

My father always told me that freedom is dangerous. Invisibility is safety. He said that’s why he chose to live in Silverlake Rapids, why I don't have a phone, and why I don't exist online. We hide in plain sight because that’s how we survive. For years, I would ask him why. Why did we have to live like that? His answer was always the same.

You’re too young to understand. One day I’ll explain. But not now.

Every time I step into the old dance studio, I betray his philosophy. But I can’t stop. It’s as though dancing is in my blood, and if I go too long without it, the reality of my existence suffocates me.

The mirrors here are cracked, the ceiling dotted with water stains, and the floorboards creak underfoot. The light that seeps through the dusty windows is pale, filtered by years of grime. It’s a forgotten place. Unnoticed, unwanted.

Just like me.

Yet here, I am anything but invisible. The abandoned studio knows my name in every move I make. The space knows my secrets. When I dance, the emptiness fills with my presence,with every leap and turn that releases what I keep locked away. Dancing is dangerous because it makes me visible. It forces me to exist, fully and unapologetically, if only to the cracked reflections staring back at me.

Dancing is my rebellion. My reminder that, for at least an hour each day, I exist for myself.

But for the first time in years, I’m terrified that I’m not invisible anymore.

CHAPTER 2

Stained Intentions

WREN

Details consume me.The truths others overlook, the ones that strip people bare and show me who they really are. A nervous tap of fingers. A glance that lingers too long. That fleeting, cruel smile when they see someone else stumble. Patterns and secrets—those are my currency.And I know how to exploit every single one.

Ileana Moreno was just another file in my head. A name, a pattern, a set of habits I could use if I ever needed to. She wasn’t supposed to matter.

She moves like a shadow, fading into the background with deliberate care. Most people wouldn't notice. But I did. I noticed the way she skirts around the edges of the crowd, how her eyes dart away if anyone looks too closely. She has a routine—afternoons spent sneaking behind the school, toward the abandoned dance studio by the gym. It’s her hiding spot. She thinks no one sees her disappear.

But I do.

Her invisibility makes her interesting. Interesting enough to watch, to mark as a possibility. A game to play if Monty, Nico, and I got bored. Someone who could be nudged into the spotlight just to see how far she’d run—or if she’d stand and break.

Just a possibility. Until today.

It started when she spilled the juice on me. Cold stickiness soaked into my shirt, and her eyes went wide—shock, fear, vulnerability, all in a flash. I barely felt the irritation, just a faint annoyance at the mess. What caught my interest was her reaction—how quickly she shrank back, cheeks flushing, stammering an apology.

I glance down at the stained shirt, the sticky residue still clinging to my skin. It’s disgusting, but I don’t botherchanging. Not yet. My mind is too busy replaying the moment, the way she froze when I spoke her secret out loud.

Ballerina.

Her face went white. Her entire body tensed, like I’d stripped away something vital. She didn’t think anyone knew. She’s good at hiding, staying unnoticed, keeping her world separate from the rest of us.

But she’s not as invisible as she thinks.

One moment, she was on the edges, just another name. Then she spilled that juice, and something changed. Maybe it was the fear in her eyes. Maybe it was the vulnerability she tried to hide. Either way, something shifted, and now she’s in my head, demanding my attention, refusing to be just another face in the crowd.

I leave my friends by the football field, their laughter fading as I cross the courtyard. My mind buzzes, replaying the way she froze when I spoke. She looked as though I’d uncovered a part of her no one else had ever seen.

Pausing at the edge of the courtyard, my attention locks onto the far side of the school. I know where she is. Her routine plays out like clockwork in my mind. She thinks no one notices.

---