Under the Grit

Wildest Dreams

"Impressive work, Evangeline." Professor Lang's voice, though firm, carried a warmth that made Evangeline's chest swell with cautious pride. She nodded as he handed back her rough draft, the annotated pages lined with a mixture of checkmarks and detailed notes.

"Thank you," she managed, her voice steady but tinged with relief. The past few weeks had been an uphill battle of late nights, endless cups of coffee, and a constant war against self-doubt. But hearing that simple praise was a small victory she desperately needed.

As she scanned the feedback, Evangeline felt the tight coil of tension in her shoulders loosen just a little. There were critiques, of course—places to refine her arguments, add more sources, and delve deeper into her analysis. Yet beneath those notes, the foundation was strong. Solid enough that for a fleeting moment, she believed she could pull this off.

"Are you any closer to figuring out who's leading the gang?" Professor Lang's voice brought her back to the room, his tone shifting from the academic to the curious.

She blinked, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she considered how to answer. The truth was complicated. "I have a few leads," she said carefully, not wanting to reveal too much of the connections she was starting to piece together. The names on her list felt like a puzzle where each piece carried weight, and she wasn't ready to place them just yet.

Lang's eyes narrowed, not in suspicion but in thought. "Be careful, Evangeline. This is impressive work, but the closer you get, the more you might catch the attention of people who don't want their stories told."

A chill ran down her spine, and she forced a smile to mask her discomfort. "I know. I'm being careful."

The professor nodded, satisfied, before turning to straighten a pile of essays on his desk. "Good. Keep at it. Your instincts are sharp, but don't forget to protect yourself out there."

As she walked out of the classroom, those words echoed in her mind, a reminder of the fine line she was treading between the life she knew and the dark undercurrents she was starting to uncover.

As Evangeline stepped into the hallway, the muffled sounds of other students shuffling past seemed to fade into a distant hum. The weight of Professor Lang's words pressed down on her, intertwining with the familiar, relentless thrum of anxiety that pulsed through her veins. The caution in his voice replayed on a loop, setting her mind into motion, like gears turning on a rusty machine.

Your instincts are sharp, but don't forget to protect yourself.

The implications of those words clung to her like a second skin, cold and unyielding. Her mind spiraled through the possibilities—how many people had already noticed her questions, her careful digging? Who was watching from the shadows, listening for her missteps? A part of her knew the risks when she started this journey, but hearing the warning spoken aloud added an edge that she wasn't prepared for.

She inhaled deeply, the sterile air of the academic building doing little to soothe her nerves. The paper clutched in her hands was proof that she was getting somewhere. It was progress. It was also dangerous.

Her eyes darted to the clock on the wall, noting the time. The day was slipping through her fingers faster than she could hold it. The band would be meeting later that evening—a rare sliver of normalcy amidst the chaos. Evangeline tried to push away the dread that had latched itself to her, replacing it with the anticipation of the hours to come. Music had become more than a distraction; it was a lifeline, one that Arthur had been an unexpected part of. The thought of his easy smile and gravelly voice sent an involuntary warmth through her that she couldn't afford to acknowledge.

Should I tell Ben? The question was like a needle threading through her conscience, tugging uncomfortably. She knew how he would react—his eyes darkening with mistrust, fingers tightening at his sides as he barely masked the bitterness in his tone. The arguments were always the same, circling around the idea that her connection with Arthur was more than just friendship. The irony was almost laughable given everything Ben was hiding himself, but the betrayal that simmered beneath the surface was an open wound they both pretended wasn't festering.