Chapter 4: Shadows on the Path

The sidewalks across campus were veins against a gray October afternoon, Sarah's words echoed in my mind, as constant as the wind: "End it, or I will." Not a threat, but a guillotine that hung over the one thing I could never afford to lose. Timothy. I forced my hands deeper into my pockets, the velvet ring box pressing against my leg like an aching bruise.

Students dotted the quad ahead, raking leaves into lopsided piles as part of some cleanup club I’d dodged joining all semester. Their laughter bounced off the bare trees—carefree, loud, the kind of sound that used to feel like home. Now it grated, a reminder of everything slipping through my fingers. A boy in a red hat wielded a rake as a sword and teased a girl who had struck him with a handful of leaves. "Finals are gonna kill us first!" she screamed, and they both laughed.

I kept my head down, slashing through them to the path to the library, and needing the quiet.

The barbecue had been pandemonium—Sarah's brusque orders, Timothy's smooth talking in direct contradiction to her glare, and that kitchen altercation I couldn't help but listen to. "He'll marry Emma, and that's final." Her declaration had permeated me like ink, tainting all. I'd stormed off subsequently, abandoning Timothy to the dishes and Leo with a stare like I'd developed a second head. Now, by myself, the campus was too big, too empty, a mausoleum to the life I'd built with him.

Footsteps crunched behind me, faster than mine, and I prepared myself, half-hoping for Sarah's shadow to appear. It was Leo, sprinting to catch up with me, his breath fogging the air. His dark curls burst out from beneath a knit hat, and his jacket was open, revealing a worn band t-shirt. "You're fast when you're pouting," he said, falling into step alongside me, hands on hips as if he'd just finished a marathon.

"Not sulking," I muttered, kicking a blown leaf. It curled off, caught in a whirl, and I watched it get lost in the mess the cleanup crew had left. "Just walking."

"Right. And I'm the QB." He smiled, his goofy smile one he'd been perfecting since the first day we met in chemistry lab sophomore year. "You've got the face on again, Mo. The one that tells me you're carrying the world and a half."

I didn't say anything, just kept walking instead, the sidewalk curving around the science building where Timothy and I would pilfer coffee between classes. Leo wouldn't let it go, though—he never did. "What's up? That barbecue—your mom's on some next-level control thing. Telling you to cut Tim loose? That's cold, even for her."

The ring box had shifted in my pocket, a reproachful silence. "She's always like this," I snarled, voice flat. "You know her."

"Yeah, but this is different." He hesitated, pulling on my arm to stop me as well. His eyes narrowed, piercing under the brim of the cap. "She's serious, isn't she? About Emma. About cutting him off."

I released my arm, glaring back at the cleanup crew. A girl who wore a scarf was now beaning Red Beanie with leaves, their cackles a hum in the distance. "She's lying," I murmured more roughly than I'd meant to. "She never does." Leo whistled low, hunching forward on his heels. "So what? You're just gonna be nice? Let her get away with it?

"What choice have I got?" I snapped, the words spilling out before I could check myself. They lingered in the air, and I massaged my face, trying to push them back in. "She's got me trapped, Leo. Emma, the ring, the whole bloody charade. If I don't cooperate, she'll—"

"Her what?" he cut across, advancing on me. "Suspend you? Ground you like you're sixteen? You're not a kid, Mo. You have options—you just don't like them." I glared at him, chest clenched, the wind knotting my hair. He was right, and I resented it. To tell Timothy the truth—Loved you since the day you swiped my pen and added a smiley face to my notes—I risked his laughter, his trust, his ability to make everything sparkle a little bit brighter. S silencing him would mean losing him anyway, but slower, a slow draining instead of an instant slash.

Either way, I'd be the one that would end up empty.

"Come on, you don't get it," I said finally, glancing down the path behind me. "It's not that easy."

"It never is with you." He stepped close, putting a hand on my shoulder, hard but not punishing. "Now, I'm not telling you to barf your guts tonight. But don't let her bury you without a fight in the ground. You're better than that ring."

"Easy for you to say." I shooed him off, the words bitter on my tongue. "You're not the one with her on your neck." He opened his mouth, then shut it, his head snapping back like he'd collided with a wall he couldn't climb. We walked in silence after that, the campus rolling out before us—weathered benches vacant from too many winters, trees stripped bare like they'd lost the battle too. The laughter of the cleaning staff faded behind us, replaced by the rustle of leaves and the far-off hiss of traffic beyond the gates. I felt my phone buzzing in my pocket, and I pulled it out, expecting Timothy's standard "Where you at?" But it was Sarah, her text concise and icy: "Emma's coming over tomorrow.

Be ready."

"Great," I muttered, stuffing it back into my pocket. The ring box weighed like lead in my palm, dragging me down.

Leo's eyebrow went up, palms shoved deep into his jacket. "Additional orders from the queen?" "Always." I ran harder, boots thudding more forcefully on the gravel, as if I could outrun her words, her plans, the whole suffocating mess. Leo did not come with me this time, simply remained, standing, as I vanished from sight, his shadow receding as I rounded the corner past the dorms. The wind screamed louder, lashing at my hair and sending it into my face, and I let it blind me, let it wash the world away so that all that was left was me and the road. The silence at home was worse than the gusts of wind. Walls closed in, album posters that Timothy liked to reminisce about—Radiohead, The Killers, nights spent arguing over words. I fell onto the bed, extracting the box from my pocket. It lay in the palm of my hand, little and black, a Pandora's box which I did not want to have opened.

But I did, prying open the lid with a sharp gesture of my thumb. The silver ring caught the light from the desk lamp, metallic and cold, a promise which I had never made but could not abandon. Emma's face emerged—soft brown eyes, that worried smile she'd worn at the café. And Timothy's—blonde hair blown in the wind, that smile which could light up a storm. My chest caved in, a slow unfolding, and I shut the box hard, leaving it on the desk. It came down, landing on top of a heap of abandoned notebooks, and I stared at it, gasping in short bursts.

She'll make me do it, I said to myself.

She'll take him away, and I'll let her.

A knock rattled the door, . "Mo, open the door!" Timothy's voice cut through, desperate, with a tone that I couldn't place. "I need you!"undefinedI looked at the door, the ring box glinting in the corner of my eye, and my world crumbled. He was here. Now. And I had no idea what to say.