The house smelled like garlic.
And something slightly burnt , a smell that felt too familiar.
Reminding Amy of the days when Amy and Chloe used to bake with her mum before everything happened.
Amy noticed that first.
Normal.
That was good.
Normal meant the world hadn't completely tilted.
Mrs Carter stood at the stove, wooden spoon in hand, squinting at a recipe on her phone propped against the kettle. She glanced up as the front door clicked shut.
"You're back," she said, smiling. "How was writing club?"
Amy paused just long enough for it to matter.
"It was fine."
Chloe came in behind her and dropped her bag with a thud. "It was weird," she corrected. "But fine-weird. Not bad-weird."
Mrs Carter raised one eyebrow. "That's... almost comforting."
Upstairs, a door opened.
Jamie's footsteps came down fast—thud, thud, thud.
He appeared in the doorway, hoodie half-zipped, hair flattened on one side like he'd been lying down but also looking like he had just woken up from a nap.
"You went?" he asked Amy.
"Yeah."
He studied her face carefully, like he was checking for fractures.
"And?"
"It was quiet."
His jaw tightened. "Are people still talking?"
Amy shrugged. "Some."
Chloe folded her arms. "Some people don't know how to mind their own business."
Mrs Carter turned the stove down. "Okay. That's enough of that tone. What's happening?"
Silence.
Thin. Stretching.
Amy stared at the kitchen tiles, at a tiny crack near the cupboard that hadn't been there last year.
Jamie spoke first. "Someone posted her writing online."
Mrs Carter blinked. "Where?"
"School group chat," Jamie said. "Then it spread."
"Spread how?"
He hesitated. "Screenshots."
The word settled heavily into the room.
Mrs Carter slowly set the spoon down.
"Is it still up?"
"I don't know," Amy said quickly. "It doesn't matter."
"It does," Mrs Carter said gently. "If something of yours was shared without permission, that matters."
Amy swallowed. She hadn't realised how much she didn't want to say it out loud until now.
"It's not even the whole thing," she muttered. "Just parts. Out of context."
Jamie rubbed a hand over his face. "That's worse."
Mrs Carter stepped closer, lowering her voice. "Amy. Did you give anyone permission to share it?"
"No."
"Did you send it to anyone?"
Amy shook her head.
Mrs Carter nodded once. Calm. Measured. "Then we deal with it properly."
Chloe leaned against the counter. "How?"
"We start by not panicking," Mrs Carter replied. "And we make sure it stops."
Jamie's expression shifted—subtle, but sharp.
Mrs Carter caught it. "What?"
"Nothing."
"Jamie."
He glanced at Amy. Then on the floor.
"I saw some of the comments," he admitted. "Before it got bigger."
Amy turned toward him. "What comments?"
"People arguing," he said. "About whether it was copied from somewhere."
The room seemed to tilt.
"Copied?" Amy repeated.
"Copied from what?" Chloe demanded.
"I don't know," Jamie said quickly. "That's the point. Someone said it sounded like something they'd
read before."
Amy's hands curled into fists at her sides.
"That's not true."
"I know it's not," Jamie said. "I'm just telling you what they're saying."
Mrs Carter's arms folded now—not stern, protective. "Who started that?"
"The original post came from an account with no profile picture," Jamie said. "No name. Nothing."
Anonymous.
Deliberate.
Amy's pulse thudded in her ears.
Chloe swore under her breath. Mrs Carter didn't correct her this time.
"Alright," Mrs Carter said carefully. "Tomorrow, I'll speak to the school."
Amy's head snapped up. "No."
"Yes."
"No, please. That'll make it worse."
Mrs Carter softened. "Amy—"
"It'll look like I can't handle it," she rushed. "Like I'm guilty of something."
"You're not guilty," Jamie said firmly.
Amy didn't answer.
Because that wasn't the fear.
The fear was that someone wanted her to look guilty.
Jamie shifted his weight. "Do you think it's someone from the club?"
Chloe answered instantly. "No."
Too fast.
Amy noticed.
So did Mrs Carter.
"Why not?" Jamie asked.
Chloe shrugged, too casual. "Because that would be stupid."
"That doesn't mean it's not possible."
Amy drifted.
Back to the walk.
The hooded figure.
The shredded paper outside the club.
Rowan's unfinished sentence about his sister.
Her chest tightened.
"What if," Jamie said slowly, "it wasn't someone trying to hurt you?"
All three of them turned to him.
"What does that mean?" Amy asked.
"What if it was someone trying to prove something?"
The kitchen shrank around them.
"Prove what?" Chloe said.
Jamie swallowed. "That they had it first."
Amy's breath caught.
I had it first.
Like ownership.
Like a claim.
Mrs Carter saw the change in her face.
"Okay," she said gently. "That's enough for tonight. We're not solving this on empty stomachs."
She turned the stove back up.
The normal sounds returned.
Spoon against pan.
Plates stacked.
Water running.
Comforting. Familiar.
But something had shifted.
Amy looked toward the kitchen window.
The streetlights flickered outside.
For a second—just a second—she thought she saw someone across the road.
Standing still.
Watching.
Her heart stuttered.
A car passed. Light swept the pavement.
Empty.
"Eat," Mrs Carter said softly.
Amy sat down at the table.
She picked up her fork.
But she kept thinking about Jamie's words.
I had it first.
And somewhere, not far away, someone might be thinking exactly the same thing.