The note wasn't there in the morning. Sharon was sure of it.
But by lunch, her locker had something it didn't have before — folded once, no name, no handwriting, just pale blue paper.
She looked around the hallway. A few students passed without noticing her. Damian was down the corridor, laughing with Ikenna. Bianca swept by in heels and cold perfume, trailed by two girls who clung to her every glance.
No one was looking at her.
Still, someone had left it.
Sharon unfolded it slowly, eyes scanning the neat, tiny words written with deliberate slowness.
> "You're looking in the wrong direction. The queen dances. But the real hand moves the board."
Her heart skipped. It wasn't a threat. It was a code. A warning. A test.
She read it twice, then tore it to pieces and let them fall into the nearest trash bin.
---
The cafeteria hummed with its usual buzz — low laughter, the clatter of silverware, the hierarchy playing out in real time. Sharon carried her tray past Damian's table, past Bianca's clique, and settled at a corner by the window.
She didn't need an audience.
But someone slid into the seat across from her anyway.
Eli.
He didn't speak right away. Just pulled a sandwich from his tray and took a bite. Then, without looking at her, he said, "You're being watched."
Sharon didn't flinch. "Good."
He chewed in silence.
Then, after a pause, he added, "They're starting to talk. About you."
"Let them."
This time, Eli looked at her. Not with pity, not with concern. But with something else. Like maybe he'd started to believe she wasn't just another girl with good posture and perfect lipstick.
"They're scared," he said. "Bianca especially."
"She should be."
---
That evening, the Literary Club gathered again.
Sharon entered last, her expression composed. Bianca was already seated, lips painted deep plum today. Her mood was brittle — not her usual bored elegance.
Someone had shaken her.
Damian was missing.
The discussion barely started before Bianca broke character.
"You're not better than anyone here just because you're new and dramatic," she snapped, her words sharp.
Sharon raised an eyebrow. "You think I'm trying to be better?"
"You're watching us."
"So are you."
The room went silent. Even Daphne paused mid-scribble.
Bianca rose slowly. Her voice was even, but her hands clenched her velvet notebook too tightly.
"Don't dig too deep," she said. "Crescent Grove swallows people who don't know when to stop."
Sharon leaned back in her chair, smiling without warmth. "That's the thing about graves," she said. "I already live in one."
---
She left before the meeting ended. Took the side hallway near the back staircase, the one lined with old class portraits and locked bulletin boards.
That's when she saw her.
Adanna Umeh.
Leaning against the wall like she'd been waiting.
Oversized grey hoodie. Black tights. Hair messy. She looked like she'd just rolled out of bed. But her eyes... her eyes were too clear.
Sharon slowed her steps.
Adanna didn't blink.
"You're braver than she was," Adanna said softly.
Sharon's throat went dry. "You knew Sade?"
"She asked too many questions."
"So did you."
A pause.
Then Adanna stepped forward and tucked a small folded card into Sharon's blazer pocket.
"Stop looking at the queen," she whispered. "They gave her that role so you wouldn't see the real game."
Sharon's heartbeat thundered.
But when she turned around to ask another question — Adanna was gone.
---
In her room that night, Sharon opened the second note.
There was no writing.
Just a small, drawn symbol:
A circle. Empty. Clean. And incomplete.
She remembered something from her sister's last page.
> "The circle only opens when someone bleeds."
---
📌 End of Chapter Five