LOGINPOV: Claire Desmond
The ceramic mug in my hands was losing its battle against the chill.
The steam from the hot chocolate had thinned to a ghostly wisp, leaving behind a sweet, cloying scent that felt hollow. I sat rigid on the charcoal sofa, my eyes fixed on the dark, still surface of the liquid.
Anything was better than meeting the gaze of the man sitting opposite me.
Gareth leaned forward.
POV: Claire DesmondThe clink of silver spoons against bone china echoed through the Palm Court like the ticking of a countdown. It was a sharp, clinical sound that bounced off the gilded ceilings and the towering marble pillars of the Plaza.The hotel’s AC bit through my thin blazer, but my palms were slick with a cold sweat that wouldn't quit.Across from me, Shannon sat with her back like a steel rod. Her eyes hadn't strayed from the entrance for a single second, tracking the room like a hawk scouting prey in tall grass.She hadn't touched her coffee; she just let the bitter steam of the brew wash over her rigid features."Stop twisting that napkin, Claire. You’re going to shred it," Shannon remarked without looking at me.My hands froze. She was right—I had mangled the linen into a wrinkled mess. Camille’s sobs from our earlier phone call
POV: Claire DesmondShannon didn't let go. Her grip was iron, her fingers digging into my shoulder through the thin fabric of my t-shirt with a heat that felt like a brand. Her eyes—those sharp, detective-grade eyes—seemed to be dissecting the layers of doubt piling up in my skull like a car wreck."Listen to me, Claire," she said. Her voice dropped to a low, intimidating vibration. It wasn't a scream, but it hit harder. "You're not backing down for Alana’s sake. You're doing it because you're insecure. You're terrified of competing with a ghost you think has more of a right to be here than you do."The words stung more than the flick to my forehead she’d given me five minutes ago. I tried to look away, but Shannon moved with me, refusing to let me find a corner to hide in."But Camille is her mother, Shan! Her own flesh and blood!" My defense came out as a broken, pathetic whisper.
POV: Claire DesmondSuddenly, the sound of my bedroom door being flung open with a violent jerk shattered the quiet.BANG!I jumped, nearly toppling over.Shannon stood in the doorway.She was still in her professional blazer, the back soaked with sweat from the subway humidity. Her hair was sticking out in every direction where her headphones had been. Her face was flushed, her breath coming in ragged gasps like she’d just sprinted through midtown traffic."Are you... out of your damn mind?" Shannon marched in, slamming the door behind her until the frame rattled.She unslung her bag and threw it onto the leather sofa with a heavy thud."The whole school is losing it! Claire Desmond—the woman who is more punctual than the bells—suddenly vanishes without a word! Principal Wilfred is grilling me, and t
POV: Claire DesmondThe ten o'clock sun cut through the gaps in the silk curtains of my old bedroom.It cast arrogant golden streaks across the floor, highlighting the fine dust dancing in the stale air of the Desmond Estate.I didn't move.I stayed curled under the heavy duvet, burying half my face in the silk pillowcase. This room was spacious, ivory-cold, and technically perfect.But today, every corner felt like a silent witness to my cowardice.I was playing hooky.For the first time in my teaching career, I’d left my classroom at St. Jude’s empty.I could almost see Toby’s confused face when a substitute walked in. I could see the empty chair in the middle row where Alana usually sat, her gray eyes scanning the door, waiting for me.The thought hit my gut like a sledgehammer
POV: Shannon ParkerI stared at the phone as the screen dimmed, feeling dazed. I grabbed the edge of my face mask and peeled it off with a rough motion, ignoring the sticky residue. I tossed it into the trash can with a single, aggressive throw."Tired?" I whispered to the empty room.My mind raced. Claire never got tired of teaching. She only felt "tired" when there was a heartache so heavy it paralyzed her logic.I stood up and began pacing the narrow living room—a space barely three strides wide. My gut was screaming that the world had just tilted off its axis. She’d just been welcomed back by her parents last night; everything was supposed to be looking up. Why would she suddenly entomb herself in the Desmond Estate and abandon her kids?Before I could form a theory, the phone in my hand vibrated again. A long, urgent vibration.I snatche
POV: Shannon ParkerThe Arctic bite of the sheet mask I’d just slapped on stung my pores—a sharp, bracing contrast to the humid air trapped in my cramped Astoria living room.I let out a long, jagged sigh. I leaned back against a fortress of pillows on a faux-fur rug that had seen better, fluffier days.In front of me, my laptop screen was frozen on a dramatic scene of a lead actor sobbing in a New York downpour. I hit pause. The room plunged into a sudden, vacuum-like silence, broken only by the rhythmic creak-creak of the standing fan as it swung lazily from left to right.My hand drifted to the side, tearing open a bag of extra-toasty Cheez-Its with a loud, crinkling snap. The salty, artificial aroma hit my nose instantly, jumpstarting a dinner appetite that was way behind schedule."The nightly ritual of a girl living solo begins," I muttered. The mask made m







