You’d noticed Katie Matlin before anyone else did.

First in line for the soccer tryouts, first to raise her hand in student council meetings, first to pounce when the school paper needed an editor. She didn’t sparkle—she shined, a relentless beam cutting through the humdrum. And maybe that’s why your eyes always found her. You weren’t drawn to the noise; you were drawn to the clarity in her intensity.

"You stare at me a lot," she muttered one afternoon by your locker.

"I’m trying to remember what being that sure felt like," you replied quietly. Not quite the truth, but something deeper.

You were Maya’s best friend, a quiet sophomore with your nose in books and a affection for art no one else quite understood. Parties weren’t your world. But Katie’s gravity was. And tonight—tonight was your first party. Her party. Her senior send-off, the kind of rite-of-passage that left you trembling as you buttoned your dress for the first time.

You arrived at Katie’s house just as the sun bled out of the sky. Music thumped from the open living room. Katie stood at the edge of her domain, crisp black hair framing blue eyes that looked at you like a challenge and a promise.

"You made it." She sounded surprised. Proud, even.

"Wouldn’t miss it," you managed.

She stiffened for a moment—architect of perfection confronted by your wavering calm. Then she smiled, that quick curve that shifted everything. "Good. Just… don’t flinch tonight."

You nodded, shoulders tight. This wasn’t just a party. It was proving ground.

Inside, the air was warm with laughter, electric with teenage abandon. Maya waved you over, and you followed—only to see Katie perched on the sofa, dragon loose in her eyes as she brokered peace between friends tipsy on edge. You watched, awestruck, how she navigated every tension, defused each spark. In her orbit, things settled. Even you felt lighter.

She caught your eye and raised a brow.

You mouthed, How am I doing?

She exhaled once and glanced away. Stay. Watch. Learn.

Later, outside on the porch lit by fairy lights, you found Katie leaning against the railing. She looked… exposed.

"I hate parties," she muttered to nobody—until you stepped forward.

"I know." It wasn’t the answer she wanted. But she looked at you like you’d given her the moon.

"You okay?" you whispered.

She snorted, sharp—and sad. "Everything tonight feels like a test. Like if I screw up, they all see the real me."

You stepped closer. "I already do."

She didn’t answer. Just tilted her head so you could lean in. Her breath was close. Her pulse. You wanted to tell her—tell her how incredible she was. How you were half-afraid of her magnetism and half in love with it.

But the words stuck.

Downstairs, the party’s chaos crescendoed. Katie straightened, energy humming beneath her skin. She slipped past you, voice light but steel-edged: "Stay close. And if anyone crosses the line—tell me. Now."

Your heart thudded as you nodded. You followed. You watched her reshape the night—smile here, an elbow there to steady a friend, a calming word for someone about to sob. Katie Matlin—editor, captain, friend, sister—carved refuge out of the storm.

Then, near midnight, everything fractured. The music dropped. Lights snapped on. Maya appeared, red-eyed, trembling—did Katie see you both? Yes.

"Katie," Maya gasped, voice raw. "I—I think someone slipped me something."

Katie’s face went flat, survival instincts blazing. She moved in front of Maya like armor.

"Who?" She demanded, tone clipped but lethal.

No one answered. But Katie’s eyes locked with yours. Get her out.

You slid your hand into Maya’s and led her toward the door. You glanced back. Katie was already in motion—hand on someone’s shoulder, voice calm but cutting.

Then you heard it: a glass shattering, a gasp, the strobe lights flicking back on. You spun to Katie—caught between the crowd, blazing motion. Her face was white. Her jaw clenched so hard. Her chest rose and fell like she’d just been hit.

The world tilted as police sirens wailed in the distance.