By morning, I'd made up my mind.
If the Blogger wanted a game, I'd play. But on my terms.
No more flinching at shadows. No more waiting for the next humiliating drop. No more looking over my shoulder like a victim.
No. I'd been a victim before. In another city. In another school. I knew how that story ended.
Not again.
This time, I would be the threat.
In the first period, I wore red lipstick.
A petty move, maybe, but symbolic. My way of saying: You don't scare me.
It worked. Eyes followed me down the hallway like I'd grown horns. Someone whispered, "She's lost it already."
I didn't care.
I walked taller. I looked every whisperer in the eye. And when Ezra Maddox passed me by the lockers, he paused.
"Nice shade," he said, motioning to my lips. "Dangerous."
"Good," I replied. "I'm done hiding."
His smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "That makes two of us." He said before walking off as calmly as usual.
At lunch, I pulled out my old leather journal.
The one I hadn't written in since the Incident.
The one I almost threw away a dozen times.
I flipped it open to a blank page, tore it out slowly, and scrawled in black ink:
"To the one who sees everything…what are you hiding?"
-N
Then, I slipped it into a random book from the library's top shelf and left the journal cracked open on the table. Obvious. Deliberate. A trap.
If the Blogger was watching if they had access to my stuff they'd see it.
They'd know I wasn't afraid anymore.
Or at least… that I was pretending not to be.
After doing that, I went about my day like nothing happened.
That night, Lena noticed the change.
"You're being weird," she said, brushing toothpaste off her pajama shirt. "You've got a murder-eyes thing happening."
"I'm experimenting with fearlessness."
She snorted. "Let me know when that works out."
I didn't tell her what I'd done.
Not yet. I just turned away, my back facing her. I didn't want more questions.
I woke at 3:17 a.m.
Same as before.
Only this time, there was no phone buzz. No anonymous text.
There was something worse.
My journal was closed.
And the page I tore out was gone.
My blood turned to ice.
I never closed it.
I grabbed it, flipping through furiously. Page after page of old, aching memories until there.
A new note.
Written in handwriting that was not mine.
"What I hide could end you."
"Let's see how brave you really are, Nova."
-B
****
The next day, the fire alarm went off during the third period.
Everyone evacuated. Sirens blared. Girls shrieked. Teachers looked panicked.
But no fire trucks came. No smoke. No fire.
Just chaos.
I stood outside Ashmoor Hall, breath fogging in the cool air, surrounded by noise, and knew.
It wasn't random.
It was a warning.
Once they let us back in, another message went live.
This time, not just on the Blogger's private blog, but projected on every classroom smartboard for exactly ten seconds before disappearing.
"The next lie exposed will be fatal."
Panic spread like a virus. Teachers tried to laugh it off, but no one believed them. Students whispered in corners. Phones were snatched. People accused each other.
And me?
I sat in the library again. At the Blogger's old table. My hand trembling over the cover of my journal.
Ezra found me there.
"You did something," he said. Not a question.
"I asked a question," I said quietly.
His expression was unreadable. "You're going to wake up a beast you can't control."
"Maybe it's already awake."
He stepped closer.
"I'm serious, Nova. Don't poke the dark if you're not ready to see what's in it."
"And what if I am?" I asked, meeting his gaze.
He didn't blink. Didn't flinch.
Then he said something I didn't expect.
"Then you're not the one who should be scared."
****
That night, I slept with my journal under my pillow.
But I couldn't shake the feeling that I wasn't the one being watched anymore.
I was being measured.
Tested.
And if I failed, I wouldn't just lose my second chance.
I'd lose everything.