The night glittered in a thousand fractured lights, the courtyard humming with electric anticipation as Evelyn's campaign event unfolded onstage. A thousand eyes pinned to her, students packed tight into the square, their chatter a rising, restless tide. The massive spotlights swept the crowd, casting long, trembling shadows that danced along the school's old stone walls, and onstage, Evelyn stood center, dazzling in a shimmering silver dress that caught every beam. She raised a hand in an effortless wave, her smile perfect—dazzling, magnetic, hungry.
Backstage, Lottie watched, her hands loose at her sides, fingers brushing the hem of her jacket. The air was thick with the smell of sweat, perfume, and faintly metallic nerves. Leo leaned casually against a column nearby, one brow arched, arms crossed, his mouth tugging in a sharp grin as he watched Evelyn preen under the lights.
"She's really leaning in tonight," he murmured, voice pitched low for Lottie's ears alone. His fingers drummed lightly against his elbow, the restless motion betraying his excitement. "You sure you're ready for this?"
Lottie tilted her head slightly, eyes half-lidded, the smallest of smiles brushing her lips. The weight of the night pressed in on her chest, but instead of crushing, it sharpened her senses. She could feel the rush of blood in her veins, the cold touch of air slipping through the open backstage curtain, the muffled beat of the bassline under Evelyn's voice. "I've been ready," she murmured, her voice like velvet drawn tight over a blade.
Onstage, Evelyn launched into a carefully choreographed speech, every word a calculated charm offensive. "Together," she purred, fingers pressed lightly over her heart, her voice thick with faux sincerity, "we can make this the most unforgettable year." The crowd erupted, the sound washing over her like a baptism of noise, but Lottie caught the tremble—just a hairline fracture—in Evelyn's jaw when the spotlight briefly flickered.
Then—Lottie felt it.
A flicker behind her eyes, like the sharp snap of a match in the dark. The Mislead Pulse surged, subtle and precise, threading into the air like a ripple through still water. She didn't need to move much, just a subtle shift in her posture, a tilt of her chin, a half-step backward into the shadowed edge of the stage. The Pulse bloomed outward, invisible, unavoidable.
Across the stage, Evelyn's eyes widened—just a flicker, a heartbeat of uncertainty.
Her breath hitched mid-sentence, the practiced cadence stumbling as if her tongue caught on an invisible snare. Her gaze darted sideways, pupils constricting sharply, hand tightening imperceptibly on the microphone.
Leo straightened, his grin sharpening as his fingers drummed once against his arm. "And there it is."
The vision hit Evelyn like a freight train. A flash of movement in the crowd, a surge of whispers, the sensation of the ground tipping beneath her heels. She saw—Lottie rising in the crowd, faces turning toward her, a roar of approval swallowing the stage lights. The image cracked through Evelyn's confidence like ice spidering across glass.
For one breathless moment, Evelyn staggered, her ankle pitching just slightly off balance. The gleaming silver of her heel wobbled, a hairline tremor that sent a tiny flash of panic rippling up her spine.
Amy rushed forward at the edge of the stage, eyes wide, hands half-raised as if to catch something unseen. "Evelyn," she whispered under her breath, voice tight with panic, eyes darting from Evelyn's face to the crowd. The corner of Evelyn's mouth twitched, a tiny spasm betraying the iron clamp she held over her expression. The crowd's cheer faltered, a question rippling through their voices.
Lottie shifted again, so slight it was almost imperceptible—a soft exhale, a brush of her sleeve, a flicker of her presence where Evelyn could just sense it. The Pulse tightened, sharpening the edges of the false vision threading through Evelyn's mind.
Evelyn's fingers whitened around the microphone. Her voice, when it returned, trembled faintly, a breathy laugh fluttering over the sound system. "I—I'm so glad you're all here," she managed, but her smile trembled at the corners, too stiff, too thin.
From the crowd, a rival contestant stumbled, jostled by the tension rippling outward, his elbow knocking into a stage light with a sharp clack that sent a beam skittering wildly across the audience. A murmur rose like the hiss of wind through dry leaves, the crowd shifting, restless, as if some hidden thread had been pulled too taut.
Leo's eyes gleamed, his breath a soft hum near Lottie's ear. "Chaos in heels," he murmured, and Lottie caught the flicker of amusement, the sharp undercurrent of satisfaction in his voice.
Amy scrambled, her phone clutched white-knuckled in one hand, tapping frantically as she murmured to a team member offstage. Sweat beaded at her temple, slipping down to dampen the fine blonde hairs at her brow. Her lips parted in quick, shallow breaths, the words she whispered barely audible under the mounting noise of the crowd.
Lottie's heart pounded—not with nerves, but with the steady, precise rhythm of strategy. Every second stretched long and glittering, every tremor on Evelyn's face an echo of the shift Lottie had set in motion. She could almost taste the electricity in the air, sharp and metallic on her tongue, the scent of perfume and heat curling around her like smoke.
Evelyn pressed on, her voice brittle now, words skating too quickly over the surface of the moment. She gestured broadly, a sweep of her arm that nearly sent the microphone stand tipping.
The audience gasped, laughter bubbling nervous and thin at the edges. Lottie saw the wide eyes, the flickering gazes, the subtle shift of students edging away from the stage, as if unsure where to direct their allegiance now.
Behind her, Amy hissed a sharp command into her headset, fingers trembling as they adjusted a teleprompter to help Evelyn recover. The glass panel flickered, the words jolting slightly as the team backstage scrambled to keep pace.
Lottie let the moment breathe. She stepped back, hands slipping into the pockets of her coat, breath steady as she let the chaos bloom without her touch. The Pulse coiled tighter, pulling Evelyn's focus inward, her thoughts spiraling tighter with every heartbeat.
Leo drifted closer, a whisper at Lottie's shoulder. "You're a menace, Hayes," he breathed, his mouth grazing the curve of a smirk, his eyes dancing with the thrill of it.
Lottie tilted her head, gaze fixed calmly on the stage. "She was always going to fall," she murmured, almost to herself. "I just gave her the mirror to watch it happen."
Onstage, Evelyn's panic bled into her posture—the tight set of her shoulders, the clipped movements of her hands, the too-bright glint in her eyes. The audience felt it; Lottie could see the ripple as it moved through them, faces turning, smiles flickering uncertain, whispers stirring at the edges.
Amy darted forward again, murmuring something into Evelyn's ear, the desperation sharp in the angle of her jaw, the flush rising high on her cheeks. Evelyn's fingers twitched, jaw clenched, the smile returning—too wide now, the kind that didn't reach the eyes, the kind that cracked if you looked too closely.
Lottie breathed in deep, the scent of cold night air, damp earth, and the faint metallic tang of stage lights. Her pulse beat a slow drum beneath her skin, calm, deliberate, fierce.
Leo's fingers brushed her sleeve, grounding her for the barest moment. His voice was low, dry, edged with affection. "You're terrifying when you're quiet."
The corner of Lottie's mouth curved, a flicker of a grin sharp as glass. "Good."
The crowd surged, the balance tipping, the atmosphere shifting from elation to unease. Evelyn's laugh rang out, brittle and too loud, echoing harshly off the courtyard walls. Amy darted sideways, murmuring frantically into her phone, eyes flicking toward Lottie where she stood in the shadows.
For a moment, Evelyn's gaze snapped toward Lottie, eyes sharp, mouth parted as if to speak. Their eyes met across the sea of faces, and Lottie felt the weight of that stare—a silent, desperate question, a flicker of challenge, a flash of recognition.
Lottie inclined her head, a quiet, devastating acknowledgment.
And Evelyn—Evelyn faltered.
The microphone dipped, her next words catching on her tongue. Amy lunged, hands raised as if to steady the unraveling, but the damage was done. The audience's attention fractured, glances darting, laughter thinning, the sharp scent of panic threading into the night air.
Lottie drew in a slow, steady breath, the air cold and alive in her lungs. Her fingers brushed the edge of her sleeve, the fabric cool against her skin.
Leo leaned in, voice a soft murmur against the chaos. "It's beautiful, you know," he murmured. "Watching her realize she's losing."
Lottie exhaled, slow and sure, the curve of her mouth soft and sharp all at once. "It's only just begun."
On the stage, under a thousand dazzling lights, Evelyn Hayes stood, smiling too hard, laughing too brightly, the queen of a crumbling kingdom, as the crowd watched, whispering, waiting for the next crack to appear. And in the quiet of the wings, Lottie waited, pulse steady, eyes alight, the hum of the night crackling like a storm just beyond reach.