Parker wheezed, barely upright, clutching his water bottle like it was holding him together. “Why aren’t we more scared about the fact that she’s here?”
Jace huffed, still glaring. “I want one. Equal rights. Equal creeps.”
“Take Emma, then,” I muttered. “She’s clearly auditioning.”
I was keeping an eye on her as Jace complained, obviously, but I still jumped when Emma stood up and started descending the bleacher steps, each one slow and measured, her hair swinging like a metronome with the rhythm of her walk. The sign stayed clutched against her chest, the black letters bold enough to burn into my retinas.
The rest of the team had already drifted away, leaving just the three of us frozen at the edge of the field. My pulse thudded hard enough to rattle my ribs.
“Why do I feel like I’m about to die?” I whispered, barely moving my lips.
“Because you might be,” Jace murmured back, head tilted, expression equal parts amused and unsettled.
Parker muttered a curse under his breath, but I couldn’t spare him a glance. My eyes were locked on Emma, pinned there like if I looked away for even a second she’d break into a sprint, knife flashing out of nowhere.
Every muscle in my body screamed to move, to backpedal, to run, but I stayed rooted. Watching. Waiting. Keeping my gaze fixed on her the way you keep your eyes on a wild animal—because the second you blink might be the second it lunges.
Emma tilted her head. Just a fraction. Then she raised her hand—two fingers up—and slowly dragged them across her own eyes, like she was recording me. Like she was marking me.
Parker sucked in a breath. “Nope. Noooope. She’s doing the ‘I’m watching you’ thing. I hate it.”
Jace looked delighted, like this was prime-time entertainment. “I feel like we should clap. Or at least tip her a dollar.”
“Shut up,” I hissed, my throat bone-dry.
Emma’s lips curved. Not a normal smile. Her smile stretched too wide, like she was trying on the expression and hadn’t practiced enough in the mirror. Then she mouthed something. Three distinct words.
Go to sleep.
I swear my blood iced over.
She didn’t wait for a reaction. She just turned with that slow, floating walk of hers and disappeared around the bleachers, the sign still clutched to her chest like a trophy.
Silence stretched among us.
Then Parker croaked, “Okay. I hated that. I’m gonna have nightmares.”
Jace, unfazed, cocked his head and said, “She’s probably going home to pour herself a tall glass of milk. With ice.”
The three of us shivered at once.
“Serial-killer behavior,” Parker muttered.
“Yeah,” I said, still staring at the empty bleachers. “And somehow, I’m on her list.”
We finally broke out of our frozen huddle, feet dragging across the turf toward the locker room. Jace kept mutteringabout how unfair it was that I’d collected two stalkers before he’d even gotten one, while Parker said prayers under his breath like he was warding off evil spirits.
I let them talk, my helmet hanging loose at my side, my legs carrying me on autopilot.
Halfway down the path back to our locker room, I glanced toward the lot.Again.
And again…the car wasn’t there.
So many times over the past few months I had caught myself wondering—not with fear, not even with dread—just a quiet, gnawing curiosity. What was it about me that kept her coming back? What did she see that made her stay?
But now all I could think was…what had made her go?
The thought trailed behind me into the building, heavier than the pads on my shoulders.
