*Camille*

I kept staring at the laptop. By 3 PM, my designs had become a meme.

A popular fashion account had posted my jacket—right next to a crumpled garbage bag.

“New look just dropped. Thoughts?”
“Distressed? Nah. Just depressing.”
“She sews like a kindergartener on acid.”

I shut the laptop. My hands were trembling so hard I had to tuck them under my thighs.

I finally dared to check my phone.

Had he written? Called?

I hated this feeling—the pit in my stomach, the creeping anxiety, the darkness clawing at my thoughts.

And there it was.

Two missed calls. Three messages from him.

One at 3 AM. Another at 9.The last one just now.

 I can’t wait to see you again… there’s something I want to tell you.
If you know who I am, please let me explain why I didn’t tell you.
Café Leroux. 8 PM.....

Lena read it over my shoulder and sighed, “Oh no. You’re not going. He should’ve stopped this before it even started.”

I looked at the text. The parts that’ll make you hate me. The internet was already doing a fine job of that, but they were just noise. Daniele was the only one who had actually been there.

I already knew I was going.

I needed answers.