Chapter 4

I didn't hesitate. I hit video call right then and there.

Zara Kline answered almost immediately—but her face flashed with panic. She hung up instantly and texted instead. "You're insane! If Willow finds out, it's all over!"

I sent another video call.

This time, Zara hesitated. She glanced at Willow's phone sitting on her desk. Probably afraid I'd call Willow next if she kept dodging me, she finally picked up.

"Zoe, sweetie, what's wrong?" she chirped, acting like nothing was off.

"Put Willow on the phone," I said flatly.

Zara opened her mouth to reason with me, but it was too late. Willow had already heard my voice. She sauntered into frame wearing my skintight top and low-rise jeans—the "hot girl" outfit I'd packed but never worn.

"What's up, Zoe?" Willow asked, chin tilted high, like borrowing clothes without asking was perfectly normal.

I clenched my jaw. "Who said you could touch my clothes?"

Willow let out a dry laugh. "Wearing them is a compliment to your taste. Besides, your body... you'll never actually slim down, so why pretend?" She arched an eyebrow. "I'm keeping these. I'm wearing them tomorrow night to meet Logan."

When I didn't budge, she leaned closer to the camera, voice dropping low. "You wouldn't want anyone else finding out your little secret, would you?"

My expression faltered—just for a second—but it was enough.

Willow cackled, that raspy, grating sound like a rusty hinge. "Kidding! Just kidding." She smirked. "Though... how did you even know I borrowed them?"

Her eyes flicked toward Zara.

Zara snapped. "Gotta go!" She ended the call before I could respond.

The screen froze on Willow's smug face.

Inside, though, I exhaled quietly. Let her think she had leverage. The more she believed I was scared of exposure, the less likely she'd suspect I'd posted that anonymous message on Hawkeye Hive.

By the time my bus reached Iowa City, Zara's furious text popped up: "You're unbelievable! Willow's been passive-aggressive sniping at me for an hour. I cover for you and this is how you repay me?"

She was livid. Good. I didn't care. If it weren't for Zara's scheming—if she hadn't egged Willow on last time—nobody would've died.

Later that night, I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to map out tomorrow. My phone buzzed softly: motion detected.

It was past midnight. All three roommates were asleep. Who was moving?

Then I saw it. The moon hung full and bright outside our window, casting silver light across the dorm. And in that glow, Willow stood over Zara's desk, a syringe clutched in her hand—its needle glinting bone-white. Her face twisted into something feral. She unscrewed Zara's thermos, dipped the needle inside, and swirled it around three, four times.

My stomach lurched. That was a medical syringe. What had it been used for?

Willow didn't stop there. She calmly opened Zara's makeup bag, pulled a small bottle of black ink from under her own pillow, and slowly dripped it into Zara's foundation. Then, from her pocket, she produced a tube of super glue and mixed it into the lash adhesive. When she finished, she smiled—a slow, chilling curve of her lips.

Just then, Zara yawned and sat up, groggy-eyed. "Willow... what're you doing?"

Willow froze, then shrugged, playing it cool. "Nothing. Just got back from the bathroom. Go back to sleep."

Still half-asleep, Zara reached for her thermos and took two long swallows. Then she paused. Her face tightened. She sniffed the cup. Her eyes widened slightly. Something was wrong.