"Co in," a voice called from inside.
I pushed the door open, and almost collided with a student carrying a heavy stack of papers high enough to hide most of their face.
They muttered a quick "sorry" before slipping past into the hallway.
"Good morning, Mr. Blake," I said, stepping further inside.
He looked up, squinting at like my face was sowhere in the back of his mind. "Nice to et you... hmmm... Ash?"
"Ash Rivera, sir," I clarified, closing the door quietly behind .
"Right. Ash Rivera." His voice softened. "How’s your sister doing? Give her my regards."
"She’s okay. Thanks... for the other day." I glanced around the room. It was a small office. Just his desk, a filing cabinet, a pile of folders on the side table, and a coffee mug with a chipped rim. It felt too quiet.
"Oh, it’s nothing," he waved it off. "You don’t have to co all the way here just to thank again."
"Actually, sir..." I hesitated, shifting from one foot to the other. "I ca here to ask you sothing else. It’s about the tattoo, sir."
He let out a low chuckle and leaned back. "What’s with kids these days? Always curious."
I felt my jaw tighten. "It’s not curiosity when it’s connected to my life. And my family’s."
His eyebrows lifted slightly at that, but he didn’t say anything, so I kept going.
"I don’t know if I should be saying this, but... I’ve been getting threatening ssages from soone. Anonymous. And I think it’s all connected to the fact that I witnessed an attempted murder. I’m scared. I just.." I swallowed. "I don’t know who else to ask."
Mr. Blake’s eyes flicked to the window. "Have you told the police about it?"
I shook my head slightly.
"Not everything," I admitted.
"If you’re involved with that group, they’re dangerous," he said flatly. "Tell the cops not . There’s nothing I can do to help."
That stung. "That’s not true," I said quickly. "You have the sa tattoo. You were there when my sister almost got kidnapped. You do know sothing, and you’re not telling . Please.."
His gaze t mine, and for a second I thought he might actually admit it. Instead, he shook his head slowly. "Ash, there’s nothing I can do. Idon’t want to get involved. Please...leave."
I stood there, staring at him. Doesn’t want to get involved? Involved in what? The sa gang he has their tattoo on his right arm?
Finally, I nodded. "Ohhh, okay, sir."
I turned to the door, but my hand paused on the knob. I turned back. "My mom just had surgery. I... I’m scared of losing the people I love."
There was a silence. Then, he sighed.
"Listen."
I looked back.
He picked up a pen, scribbling sothing on a scrap of paper. "This is my address and phone number." He slid it toward . "Co see after class. I might be able to help... but not officially. I still don’t want to get involved."
I took the paper. "Thank you, sir."
His smile was faint. "Now go on."
I stepped into the hall, staring at the paper in my palm.
Why the sudden change of heart? Why say no, then yes? And if he really wanted to help... why does it feel like he’s hiding sothing?
I stood in front of Mr. Blake’s door for a mont, as my thumb brushed over the ink of his address.
My head was still spinning from his sudden change in tone, the way he’d said he doesn’t want to get involved, like helping was so kind of cri.
A soft click of heels echoed down the hall. I looked up.
Mrs. Gerald...the new school therapist, was walking toward , her neat bun barely moving with each step. Her smile was perfectly in place, like it had been rehearsed.
That was what I didn’t find interesting. Her smile looked so fake.
"Ash Rivera," she said warmly, like she’d been expecting to see . "When will you be ready to start your sessions?"
I swallowed. "Uh... I’m not sure yet."
"Well," she tilted her head, "the sooner we start, the sooner I can help you. I think you’ll find very good at... listening."
Sothing about the way she said "listening" made my stomach tighten.
She gave a polite nod, smiled and then, without even knocking properly...just a light tap with her knuckle, she pushed open Mr. Blake’s door and stepped inside.
I froze.
Through the small gap before it closed, I caught a glimpse of Mr. Blake looking up at her... not surprised. Not like she was interrupting. More like they already knew each other.
The door clicked shut.
Why would the school therapist be visiting him? And why did it feel... coordinated?
I couldn’t place it, but sothing about her always rubbed the wrong way. And now she was in there with Mr. Blake.
Well, it’s none of my business. I have other things to worry about.
I walked faster down the hall, but my head wouldn’t quiet down.
Guilt crept in, I glanced down at the address in my hand. His phone number. A breadcrumb trail into sothing I wasn’t even sure I should be walking into.
And I was doing it alone.
What if Dominic finds out I started digging into this without him?
It felt wrong.
It wasn’t like I didn’t trust him....he’s literally the one person I do trust, but sothing about that phone call yesterday... the warning to exposesothing... it felt too dangerous to drag him into without knowing the truth.
Still... it felt wrong. Like hiding a wound under my sleeve so he wouldn’t see the blood.
This is how secrets start, I thought. One little thing you don’t tell them... then another... then another.
What if he took it the wrong way? Thought I didn’t trust him? What if he saw this as shutting him out?
He’d been there through everything....the blackmail, the attempt kidnap, the nights when I couldn’t sleep.
And I was about to chase sothing dangerous without him, sothing that could blow up in my face... in our faces.
I shoved the paper into my pocket, trying to convince myself it was temporary.
I’d tell him....eventually.
When I knew exactly what I was telling him.
I told myself I was protecting him. That I didn’t want him in danger until I knew exactly what I was walking into.
But it didn’t feel like protection. It felt like betrayal.
I just hoped... if this ever ca out, it wouldn’t already be too late, and ruin what we had.
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