The afternoon’s sunny and warm, and Sibylla couldn’t be more thrilled to spend the lunch period with her closest friends. Her sleeve rolled up, Marshall is by her side, aweing at her improved muscle capacity, and on her other side is Angie who’s shoving her food into her mouth top-speed. The three of them lay in the courtyard just outside of the cafeteria, resting on a blanket the girls had brought from their dorm room. Even Sibylla insisted she descend from her wheelchair to sit with them on the soft, black cloth.

“Those exercises you taught me have been paying off, Mar,” Sibylla praises. Marshall shakes his head, ruffling her bangs.

“It’s only because you put in the effort.”

Angie, with her fork in her mouth, squishes Sib’s bicep. Sibylla giggles. “It definitely makes lifting myself in and out of the chair easier.” The fork is the next thing to poke Sibylla’s arm.

“We’re just lucky our shower curtain rod hasn’t broken from the pull-ups yet!” Angie exclaims. She squints at Marshall, kicking her foot out and pushing him away at his chest. “Speaking of showers, you need one! I can smell your body spray from cities away.”

Marshall feigns feint with a melodramatic gasp. He defends, “Don’t be rude, Angie, it smells good. Sibylla agrees with me, right?”

“Well. . .”

“You don’t have to agree with him, y’know!” Angie retorts, and the bickering goes numb in Sibylla’s ears. She sighs, fond gaze upon such a familiar sight. Even as Angie and Marshall continue their meaningless spat, the both grin wide, competitive, and entertained.

They’re only interrupted when a loud voice, that of Rina the secretary, blankets the entire campus via the P.A. system.

“Sibylla Dorothy Briar to the Headmaster’s Front Desk, please.”

Sibylla sighs and leans until her chair is in reach while the other two watch, concerned. Angie frowns, looking off in the direction of the first floor main lecture halls, but Marshall immediately jumps into action, standing, and pushing down on one side of the chair while Sibylla pull herself up by the other side’s armrest. Angie stops her with a hand to her shoulder.

“Hey, I got this, alright?”

Sibylla lowers herself back onto the blanket. She takes Angie’s hand in her own. “You don’t have to! I don’t want to inconvenience you or anything; you both should finish lunch while I go deal with it.”

Angie smiles wide and leans in until they’re almost nose-to-nose. Her hair falls to curtain the view Marshall or any passerby may have, and Sibylla tries to find where the grin Angie bares meets her eyes, but she can’t. The brown of Angie’s eyes is lifeless. She pulls her hand away slowly. “I promise it’s okay, Sib. Stay put.”

Still reaching out, Sibylla watches her friend jog off, but her stomach sinks lower and lower with every passing second. She looks at her hand and then at Marshall. He brushes a strand of her hair behind her ear.

“You good, Sib?” he asks, kneeling by her. She rests her hand in her lap.

“I think so.” For a moment, she thinks, before waving it off. “Yeah, I’m alright!” Marshall eyes her up and down.

There’s little effort in lifting her up, Marshall scooping Sibylla from under her knees and behind her back bridal-style, and Sibylla releases a surprised squeak. Her arms instinctively wrap around his neck. He shuffles to the middle of the blanket on his knees before setting her down in his lap, but her arms never let go. She sighs.

“I keep telling you to warn me before doing that!”

Marshall laughs, planting a kiss to her forehead. “Sorry, sorry.” He plants another kiss on her cheek. “But waiting until Angie’s not around makes me impatient.”

“We’ll tell her eventually,” Sibylla says.

“And your brother.”

Sibylla hums long and doubtful. “Or we could not?”

Marshall rolls his eyes.

By the time Angie returns, only 20 minutes have passed, and Sibylla has repositioned herself to sit while Marshall naps rather loudly on her lap. Angie shakes her head in amused disapproval.

“If you keep spoiling him, he’ll never be good for anything!”

Sibylla shushes her, forcing a smile. She pats the spot beside her for Angie to sit, and the redhead obliges. She rests her head on Sibylla’s shoulder.

“So,” Sibylla starts. “What did they need?”

Angie shrugs. “Nothing important. I got up there and was dismissed almost immediately!” She wraps her arms around Sibylla’s. “It was annoying, so I tried to pry, but all they said was that someone else had already claimed the thing they called you for.”

Sibylla frowns. “What thing?”

“A cell phone, apparently.”

A long sigh of relief washes over Sibylla. “Well, whoever it was, if they got their phone back, that’s good. I wouldn’t have known what to do with a stranger’s phone.” She watches as Angie tries to twine their fingers together, and Sibylla forces herself to relax.

“Agreed.”

“You were gone for a while, though. . .”

Angie snuggles closer, and the blush on Sibylla’s face betrays her quickly beating heart, pounding loud in her ears. Her chest squeezes as the rest of her body runs completely cold. Where their hands meet are cold needles pricking at her every need to run.

But she can’t.

So she doesn’t.

“I needed to use the loo,” Angie responds nonchalantly, and Sibylla nods. “Napping is so much easier when you don’t need to pee. Can’t let Marshall hog you.”

Hesitantly, she rests her head on Angie’s and settles into place, squeezing her friend’s hand. With the other, she threads it through Marshall’s dreadlocks held on top of his head by a hair tie. Marshall releases a pleased hum as the courtyard clock ticks down to next class period.

Marshall bids them both farewell, classes over and sun setting beyond the forest’s treeline, from the girls’ dorm doorway. He gives playful finger guns to Sib even as Angie ushers him out, saying something about needing ‘girl time’, but even Sibylla, from her position on the couch, can see the caution trapped in their eyes as they give each other a final passing glance. Angie shuts the door a little too harshly for anyone’s liking.

Angie, now in a short tank-top and pajama shorts, sighs and bends over in exhaustion, hand still on the doorknob. The tank top rides up her back, and Sibylla’s eyes narrow in on the black and red tree-like markings that peek from beneath. Quickly, she rushes to pull out her phone, and she snaps a picture. Her blood drains from her body, however, as the snapshot sound renders the room silent save for the ringing tension.

Angie whips around, hand on the metal doorknob clutching until her knuckles are white; she’s visibly holding herself in place. The anger shaking her joints stays there even as her expression pursues something more confused, more concerned.

“Sib?” A forced, nervous laugh. “Did you take a picture of me?” That smile is back, and Sibylla holds her phone close to her chest.

She shakes her head. “N-No, it was at the couch,” she bluffs. When Angie’s eyes narrow, she babbles further, “I was just— I was just trying to look at some of my photo album, but my finger accidentally hit the capture button instead of the gallery button and—”

Stalking forward, a cat stalking a wounded rabbit, Angie holds her hand out. “Show me.” Sibylla shakes her head. The anger creeps red up Angie’s neck until it stains her cheeks. “Show me, Sibylla!” she all but growls.

Tears prick at Sibylla’s eyes as she tries to scoot her chair backwards but instead bumps into the side of the couch. “Angie. . . Angie, you’re scaring me, please stop! I promise it was an accident; I didn’t take a picture of you!” Still holding tightly to her phone, the backs of her hands wipe fervently at her eyes. “You’ve been so scary today, please stop!” A sob escapes her, and Angie retracts her hand. She kneels.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” she says, attempting to soothe, but when she places a hand on Sibylla’s knee, the other jolts in place, once more trying to get away. Sibylla swats the hand away, choking on another cry. Angie huffs and stands. She bites her lip. “I’ll give us both a minute, then.”

Like before, the door slams shut, but Angie is on the other side of it now, in the hallway. Sibylla peeks out from her hands at the sound, and she takes a deep breath, using her shirt sleeve to wipe the rest of her tears and sniffles. She unlocks her phone and reviews the photo of Angie’s back, crisp in detail, and she immediately texts it to her brother. She had seen Angie’s back before, confirming Thanatos’ suspicions, but she hadn’t been able to get a picture. However, instead of a silent wait for a response, a loud buzz comes from Angie’s backpack resting on the other side of the couch.

Sibylla wheels over and pulls it into her lap. She digs in every pocket until shoving her hand down the bottom of the main section and feeling something smooth, rectangular, and familiar. She sends another text with her other hand, and soon enough, the thing buzzes again. Sibylla pulls it out and tosses the bag away. Where the notifications appear on the lock screen, behind them is a picture of Sibylla from her primary school graduation, when she was only 11 years old.

The dorm’s front door locks.

“You have my brother’s phone,” Sibylla states, not bothering to look up. “Why do you have my brother’s phone?” Finally, braving herself, she sees Angie standing in front of the door. The lifeless gaze is back, and there’s no smile or brightness so indicative of Angelica Waterson to be found left there. The ease that she had breathed into Sibylla’s quaking nerves the first day of this semester vanishes. “What took you 20 minutes must’ve been trying to unlock it, right?”

Angelica runs forward, across the couch, and steps on the wheelchair wheel as Sibylla tries to maneuver herself away. She reaches for the phone trying to grab once, twice, thrice before Sibylla has the mind to push at her knee, and the stranger she once called friend topples to the side, head hitting against the corner of the coffee table and knocking off the flower vase.

Taking the chance, Sibylla takes the phones with her into the bathroom even as Angelica pushes herself onto her feet and makes chase. She wants to call her brother before remembering Jonny’s messages from this morning, and instead calls him as she makes for the shower.

She slams the bathroom door and locks it just as she spies Angelica picking up the vase and launching it at her head, and it crashes against the door’s thick wood. Undoing her hair ribbon, she ties it to the knob while muttering hasty, trembling words. A spell she learnt from her brother, one to use on her room on nights he came back late and couldn’t be there, she held it tight with her magic on the rattling handle.

“Sib—”

She holds the phone between her ear and shoulder. “I’m here!” she whispers, panicked. “I’m here, please— Please, Jonny, is my brother here?”

“Yeah, but he’s top speed right now to the girl’s dorm. Are you okay?”

It takes every ounce of her to resist the ‘I’m fine’ at the back of her throat, but she shudders and pushes through. “No. I have Ato’s phone. Angelica had it.”

“What?!” Jonny exclaims, loud enough to make her wince. She eyes the shower curtain rod and the high window next to the shower at the back wall. “Sib, we’re on our way, so please just hold on!”

“Don’t!” she pleads. “I’m going to. . . Just be at my window!”

Jonny pants, and there’s the shuffling of running and trampled grass. She focuses on it like a lifeline as she pushes up her pajama sleeves, gets as close to the window as her chair will let her, and pushes herself up on the windowsill until she can grab at the shower curtain rod just above the bathtub. With one trembling, desperate arm, she hoists her full body weight until she’s level with the window.

Her fingers can barely unlock the damn thing despite it being a normal latch, but for some reason, right now, it’s the hardest simple thing she’s ever had to do. Minutes feel like forever until she forces the window up and leans to see outside it.

Lo and behold, her brother, limping, and his friend, clearly exhausted, break for her window. But her muscles are screaming, burning . Her fingers slicked with sweat begin to slip on the metal rod as she mumbles ‘please’s and ‘hurry’s through the phone as if praying. She even feels her magic at the door tested by Angelica’s banging, shaking, and yelling. It sounds like her friend, but it’s not .

“We’re here!” Jonny shouts, and Sibylla chucks Thanatos' phone out the window as hard as she can, as fast as she can. Much like her ribbon falling from the knob, she falls from her hold and slides unceremoniously into the ceramic tub below.

Groaning, she mumbles, “At least it was legs first. . .” even as her body vies for air.

The bathroom door is thrust open and Angelica rushes in, skidding onto her knees by the tub, and she helps the helpless Sibylla sit upright. All Sibylla can do is watch her own body be pulled out of the tub a little roughly and onto the tile floor. Angelica apologizes the entire time, even as she sits in front of her frightened roommate.

“Sibylla, are you alright? Hurt?” Both of her hands reach forward, and in the moment, Sibylla believes Angie to be herself again. She shakes her head. “Please, at least let me check; you fell so hard!” There’s no response, not even a glance, but there’s also no resistance.

Angie pushes up Sibylla’s ankle-length skirt, getting a full view of thigh-high sock-clad legs and boxer brief underwear. She doesn’t linger on it, instead focusing on the blackened flesh of what she can see of Sibylla’s bare thighs. Angie pries at the band of one sock, but seeing Sibylla wince and shut her eyes so tight pulls her away. She replaces the skirt to cover them.

“N-Nevermind, I’ll take your word for it.”

The air tastes like salt and metal, and to cut it, a lumberjack’s axe would be needed before even a dent could be made. The silence makes it even harder. Angie tries to make eye contact, but Sibylla remains persistent in her avoidance. She rests her palm against Sibylla’s cheek.

“Where’s the phone, love?”

Finally, a glance, but Sibylla’s eyes are cold. “Is that all you care about?”

Angie hesitates. “No, but I. . .” She sighs and scoots closer to hold her friend’s face in both of her hands. “I admit to it, that I took your brother’s phone, and I’m sorry for reacting so violently.” Her brown eyes water. “But your brother, he— He recorded me doing something that I couldn’t get out, and I needed to delete it before he could get to it.”

“Recorded?” Angie nods.

“I. . . Well, I’ll be honest because it’s you, but recently another. . .” She trails off, looking anywhere but at Sibylla as if searching for something. “Another student and I had sex in a classroom the other day, and just before then, your brother was at the door I was going to meet the guy at.” She shakes her head mournfully, and her hands slip to the other’s shoulders. “I have class there first thing in the morning, and when I got there, I saw another kid taking a cell phone to the lost and found, and I could feel it, Sib, like how you do.”

Sibylla nods along, pulling Angie into a hug, but her attention is on the glass in the doorway. Angie tightens her grip and settles into Sibylla’s lap in a full embrace. “I believe you.”

“You do? Truly?”

“I do. I mean, it must’ve been scary, but please don’t ever do that to me again.” Her grip on Angie’s shirt grows tighter. She can feel the veins underneath against the skin of her knuckles. “You don’t get to take your shit out on me.”

Angie pulls away, pathetic like a guilty puppy. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“And I threw the phone outside. I heard it shatter when it hit the ground, so your secret is safe anyway.”

Lit anew, a smile blossoms on Angie’s features, and Sibylla can’t help but sigh in relief. “Oh, that’s great news!” She laughs awkwardly. “Well, maybe not for your brother, but it definitely makes things easier, protects his secrets too considering his line of work.”

Angie helps her friend back into her wheelchair, and she pushes her out to the living area, avoiding the glass, before stopping next to the couch, where this whole thing started.

“Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?”

“Anything?”

“Anything,” Angie reaffirms.

“Then. . .” Sibylla watches her hands, flexes her fingers, smooths out her skirt. “I want pizza.” She’s hugged from behind tight and fond.

“Can do! And once I get everything cleaned up, we can move on, right?” Angie pulls away but lingers at the back of Sibylla’s neck. “It’ll be like tonight never happened.”