Black clouds pressed low over the city, the sky outside the windows churning and heavy. Rain hammered down in sheets, loud enough to swallow most sounds.
In the tiled restroom on the sixth floor, a small sound rose, thin and eerie, like a voice dragged up from under the floor.
Ginevra Volkova lifted her head, eyes narrowing slightly as she glanced toward the doorway. A figure stood there, framed by the darkness of the hallway.
When she realized who it was, she dropped her gaze again and went back to what she was doing.
Jayna fumbled along the wall, fingers brushing over damp concrete until they hit the switch. She snapped the light on.
In an instant, the cramped restroom filled with harsh white light, the heavy gloom thinning just enough for her to breathe.
Even she hadn't known, until that moment, just how furious she already was.
Because the first thing she saw was Ginevra, alone in that murky half-dark, bent over the sink, rinsing something under the icy stream of water.
Her shoulders were slightly hunched. The back of her uniform blazer was damp at the hem.
"You," Jayna said, trying hard to keep her voice level, to smooth out the tremor. "In weather like this, all alone in here, and you don't even think to turn the light on? That's terrifying."
She walked up beside her, forcing her tone into something almost casual. Her gaze dropped, landing on the object in Ginevra's hands.
A checkered umbrella.
"I forgot to turn it on," Ginevra murmured, her voice low.
Jayna listened to the answer, but her eyes stayed fixed on the umbrella.
Muddy water swirled down the drain as Ginevra held it under the cold tap. She was rinsing the fabric over and over, trying to scrub away a layer of filth that clung stubbornly to the plaid surface.
"Did it fall on the ground?" Jayna asked.
"…"
Ginevra didn't respond.
And really, she didn't have to. Even if an umbrella dropped on the floor, it wouldn't end up like that—caked in clumps of mud, strands of hair stuck to the edges, and all sorts of disgusting grit ground into the fabric.
Jayna didn't press.
She just reached out, wanting to take the umbrella from her, to rinse it herself, her fingers already lifting—
And Ginevra blocked her hand.
"It's dirty," she said quietly.
"Aren't you the one with the neat-freak thing going on?" Jayna muttered, something stinging in her chest. "Let me wash it for you."
Ginevra paused.
For a heartbeat, it seemed like she was about to give in. Then she pressed her lips together and shook her head, as if all of this were no more than a minor inconvenience, something hardly worth mentioning.
Jayna let her hand fall back to her side.
She stood there in silence for a long moment before asking, barely above a whisper, "Your desk…?"
Ginevra flicked her a glance.
It was enough.
Jayna understood.
It meant that, yes—the same trash that had been shoved into the umbrella had been dumped all over Ginevra's desk too. And Ginevra had simply cleaned it all up alone, quietly, without a word.
While she, oblivious, had been downstairs.
Jayna clenched her jaw until it hurt.
"So," she forced out, the words scraping her throat, "do you know who did it?"
It felt like swallowing a fishbone.
Ginevra only shook her head.
Her eyes dropped to the umbrella again, to the ruined plaid she'd bought not long ago. She watched the water run brown for a few seconds more and thought of how it had looked earlier that day: hanging neatly beside her desk, perfectly dry.
Then the teacher had called her to the office just before the last bell. By the time she came back, the umbrella had been thrown into the trash can. Her desk and chair were smeared with sludge and unidentifiable bits of garbage.
Like someone had decided she was a receptacle for whatever they didn't want to touch.
Now she just kept washing.
Jayna stayed beside her, not moving, not talking. She clearly had no intention of leaving.
"How come you came back?" Ginevra asked at last.
Wasn't she supposed to have gone home with Calista already?
She glanced sideways at Jayna while opening the umbrella to check it. The water dripping off it pattered onto the tiles. She slowly turned the handle, examining the inner structure to see if any ribs were broken.
Jayna stared at the umbrella.
Up close, it was obvious it should've been thrown away.
Even with the water rinsing off some of the filth, there were several long tears ripped across the fabric—clean, sharp cuts that no accident could explain. Anyone could tell it had been slashed deliberately, probably with something like scissors or a box cutter.
"I forgot my keys," Jayna said. "Came back to get them. Then I saw you hadn't left yet, so I came up to check on you."
"Did you get them?" Ginevra asked, folding the umbrella back down.
"Yeah."
Jayna nodded, but her eyes stayed on Ginevra's face.
Her expression hadn't changed much—still that cool, unreadable calm.
"Let's go together," Jayna said. "I borrowed a floral umbrella from Calista."
Ginevra opened her mouth, clearly about to refuse.
Jayna clapped her lightly on the shoulder, cutting her off.
"You might like the smell in here, but I don't," she said. "Come on, let's talk outside."
She didn't give Ginevra much of a choice, fingers closing gently but insistently around her wrist as she pulled her out of the restroom, down the hallway, and back into their classroom.
By then, the rain outside had turned the world almost completely black. The windows were painted in streaks of water.
"You've been rinsing that thing forever," Jayna said, noticing the chill in Ginevra's skin as she tugged her along. "Your hands are freezing."
The moment she said it, Ginevra jerked her hand away.
Jayna realized at once that she had crossed a line.
"Sorry, sorry," she said quickly, her words tumbling over each other. "My bad."
She stepped back a little, giving Ginevra more space, then busied herself with urging her to pack up her things so that they could leave together.
Through the window, the campus had disappeared into sheets of rain. Even with umbrellas, they'd be soaked through by the time they reached the gate.
If Mr. Carter had been free today, he would have come to pick them up. But of all days, this was the one day he'd had to drive somewhere else.
Some luck.
Jayna took out her phone and called home.
"Mrs Rose, hey—it's me. Don't wait dinner on me, okay? No, really, there's no need. The rain'll stop soon, I promise. Don't trouble yourself. Right, right, I'm hanging up now."
If she got home late without saying anything, the news would go straight to her father's ears before she even stepped through the door. Better to report in advance.
So there they were—two friends who'd once stepped in dog mess together and somehow decided that counted as sharing hardship—sitting in an empty classroom, waiting for the rain to let up.
Only, Ginevra made good use of the time, head bowed over her textbook as she previewed the next day's lessons.
While Jayna… honestly was just bored out of her mind.
"I don't think this rain's going to stop any time soon," she said at last.
She was leaning against the windowsill now, staring at the blackness outside. All she could hear was the relentless drumming of raindrops smashing against concrete and glass.
A lollipop stick poked out between her lips. She chewed on it absently, then tilted her head and poked at Ginevra's arm with one finger.
Ginevra glanced up at her.
"Come on," Jayna said. "You read all day. What's so fascinating in there? Talk to me for a bit."
Ginevra quietly closed her book.
"What do you want to talk about?" she asked.
Jayna leaned back in her chair, folding one leg under the other, pretending to think deeply even though the question had been sitting in the back of her mind all along.
"What do you think of… Lydia Westbrook?" she said, watching Ginevra's face carefully.
Ginevra opened the book again, letting her eyes skim a random page as she considered her answer.
After a short pause, she said, "Nothing special."
Jayna couldn't help laughing.
Getting Ginevra to call someone "special" would probably take a miracle.
"That's not what I meant," she said, sighing theatrically. "I'm not asking what you think her personality's like. I mean, what do you think you are to her? Like, what's your relationship in her eyes?"
Ginevra frowned faintly.
The question felt oddly specific.
To her, Lydia was just a classmate, someone who happened to sit in the same exam hall and write the same tests.
She thought it over, then said slowly, "I suppose I'm just an ordinary classmate to her. And… a competitor."
"Uh-huh. And on all the exams, you're first and she's second?" Jayna scooted her chair a little closer, refusing to let the topic go.
"More or less," Ginevra said.
"'More or less'?" Jayna raised her brows. "Calista said you've always been first in the grade."
"Her scores fluctuate," Ginevra said. "There was one exam where we tied for first. During the competition this year."
Jayna blinked.
She hadn't expected Lydia to be that strong—strong enough to tie with Ginevra.
She had no hard proof, but in her gut she was certain this broken umbrella was connected to Lydia's crowd.
Still, she couldn't bring herself to ask Ginevra outright.
Some things were too filthy to drag into the light in front of this person.
They didn't deserve to stain her.
"The rain's lighter," Ginevra said suddenly.
Her familiar, calm voice snapped Jayna out of her thoughts.
Jayna stuck her hand out the open window. Sure enough, the drops were smaller now, gentler.
"Looks like heaven still favours us after all," she said with a grin.
This time, it was Ginevra waiting under the teaching building for Jayna.
Miss Stevens, having run out in a rush, had left the floral umbrella on her desk and had to dash back up to fetch it.
"Why are you always running around?" Ginevra asked, frowning as Jayna came back to her, panting lightly.
"Easy for you to say when you're just standing there," Jayna shot back. "I was scared you'd get tired of waiting and head home on your own."
She popped the umbrella open and held it up, tilting it in Ginevra's direction as if to prove her point.
"Come on," she said, jerking her chin.
"I'll hold it," Ginevra offered, reaching for the handle.
"Nope. I'm taller than you," Jayna said, smug.
Only by a little.
And Ginevra was actually younger than her, a fact Jayna didn't seem to know.
Feeling the force of the early summer wind buffeting against the building, Ginevra decided—perhaps a little deliberately—to humour her.
"If you want to carry it, then carry it," she said.
The moment the words left her mouth, Jayna's grin widened.
She tightened her grip on the handle and stepped out into the rain, triumphant.
They had barely walked a few paces when a strong gust of wind slammed into them, dragging the rain sideways.
Drops whipped into Jayna's face, stinging her eyes, blurring her vision. The umbrella lurched in her hands, nearly tearing out of her grip.
If Ginevra hadn't grabbed the shaft quickly and held it firm, the wind would have ripped it away.
Ginevra gave her a cold, sideways look.
Jayna immediately turned her head away, cheeks burning.
"Here," she muttered, inching closer to Ginevra. "You do the heavy lifting. Holding the umbrella's a physical job, not for someone as delicate as me. You're stronger anyway."
As she spoke, she shifted her whole weight slightly toward Ginevra until they were almost pressed together under the canopy.
From this close, she could feel the warmth of Ginevra's body where their shoulders touched, the faint, clean scent of rain-wet fabric and soap rising from her clothes.
Maybe it was that face, always calm and self-contained, that made people trust her.
But with Ginevra at her side, Jayna really did feel… safe.
Her chilly cheek brushed against the side of Ginevra's neck and shoulder.
Ginevra opened her mouth, wanting to say something.
Then she looked down and met Jayna's bright, unguarded eyes.
Whatever she had been about to say dissolved on her tongue.
So she said nothing.
She held the umbrella in one hand, tilting it slightly toward Jayna so the rain wouldn't catch her. With the other, she tugged at the strap of Jayna's backpack now and then, hoisting it higher when it slipped.
Eventually, she simply swung it off Jayna's shoulders and settled it on her own front, the straps crossing over her blazer.
"You don't have to," Jayna protested, a little embarrassed, trying to pull it back.
"Watch where you're walking," Ginevra said.
"Oh."
Jayna obediently turned her eyes to the path ahead, focusing on avoiding potholes and slick patches camouflaged by puddles.
There weren't many people on the road.
Under their shared umbrella, the world felt narrowed down to the sound of rain, the push of the wind, and their two sets of footsteps.
The rain wasn't strong anymore, but the wind came in sharp, cool bursts.
Ginevra knew better than to rely on Jayna to pick the route. For someone with perfect eyesight, she had a knack for stepping into every patch of muddy ground in sight.
The wind hit Ginevra's side as they walked, blowing straight into her hair and soaking her shoes, dampening the hem of her skirt.
Jayna stayed mostly dry.
"Just follow me," Ginevra said, half to herself.
Jayna pulled her foot back from the puddle she'd nearly planted it in and nodded obediently.
She risked a glance up at Ginevra.
"You never go to those after-school tutoring classes, do you?" she asked.
"No," Ginevra answered. "They're expensive."
Jayna chuckled softly.
"Knew it," she said. "You're the reigning queen of this school."
Ginevra's eyelid twitched.
"A queen?" she echoed. "I don't bully anyone."
"That's not what I meant," Jayna said quickly. "I mean you're probably the only one here who can not go to tutoring and still stay at the top of the grade. That makes you the queen."
She sounded perfectly confident in her logic.
Looking at Ginevra, she couldn't imagine her hurting anyone. If anything, she looked like the type who'd get hurt instead.
Like with that umbrella.
The thought of it made Jayna's anger flare again.
People like Ginevra—people who were bad at defending themselves, at making a fuss, at shouting—were always the easiest target.
And people as exceptional as she was… were so very easy to envy.
"Ginevra," Jayna said softly.
Ginevra glanced down at her.
"From now on, if anything happens," Jayna said, "you have to tell me. We're friends who stepped in dog crap together, remember?"
Ginevra actually stopped for a fraction of a second.
For a moment, the frosty calm of her features seemed to thaw, just a little.
Jayna couldn't tell if she was imagining it, but she thought she saw a faint warmth touch the corners of her mouth.
"Too talkative. Watch the road," Ginevra said.
"Oh my God, are you a broken record?" Jayna groaned, rolling her eyes. "Is that the only line you know? Anyway, you have to tell me. I mean it."
She stepped carefully around a puddle, shaking her head.
The warmth she thought she'd seen on Ginevra's face—
Yeah. Definitely her imagination.
Someone like Ginevra Volkova couldn't possibly have any other expression just for her.