Page 142 of Under the Lights

“Nah. I’m not a fucking backstabber. There’s nothing I’d need to outrun, contrary to …other people.”

Jasmine scoffs. “You’re not scary anymore, Sierra. Just sad.Desperate.”

“Mm.” My smile turned razor-sharp. “I must be, to waste oxygen on you.”

Jasmine flicked her hair over her shoulder, her fake confidence faltering.

“Tell me,” I said, stepping into Jasmine’s space, my tone low and venomous. “When you forged those receipts, was that your idea, or did the Beta Chi boys give you a little tip?”

Jasmine’s lips parted. Just barely.

But I didn’t give her time to lie. “Careful, Jas. You’re not good at this. The timestamps on the receipts were off by three days. You really thought no one would notice? Fucking amateurs.”

“I don’t know what you think you saw—”

“Oh, I don’tthinkI saw anything.” My voice dropped to a hiss. “Iknowwhat I saw. And you should be praying I don’t decide to show it to someone who gives a shit.”

Jasmine recovered quickly, but it was solely performative now. Under that false bravado, she was fucking shaking in her boots.

“You don’t have proof.” She sneered.

I smirked, turning to leave, but glanced back once over my shoulder. “Don’t think I’m not fucking coming for you.”

With that, I shoved my earbuds back in my ears and stalked off, my pace even and my heartbeat steady.

I left Jasmine standing in the middle of the quad, arms crossed tight like she was trying to hold herself together — or keep me out.

My own hands felt useless, weighed down by everything I hadn’t said.

Fine. She’d made her decision.

I was halfway to the athletic center when I checked my phone.

One missed call. No caller ID. One voicemail.

A chill snaked down my spine. I veered off the main path, cutting behind the tennis courts where no one could see, and tapped play.

After a moment of static, a cold, distorted voice slid into my ear.

“Curiosity kills, Sierra. Keep digging, and it won’t just be you who gets broken.”

My lungs seized. The voice was warped, metallic. But the threat? That was real.

The message cut off with a mechanical click.

I just stood there, the glowing screen in my hand.

Should I save it? Report it? Should I throw the whole fucking phone into the nearest trash can?

Somewhere nearby, a car door slammed. I flinched hard. My heart stuttered.

I was on the edge, this close to spiraling, but then it just … stopped. Because amidst the panic wanting to sink its claws into me, I realized I wasn’t alone anymore.

There were people who had my back now, who believed me.

I was not alone.

I deleted the voicemail. My thumb hovered a second longer than it should have. Then I shoved the phone into my pocket, squared my shoulders, and stepped into the light with a quiet fury humming under my skin.

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