The house was quiet when Amy got home.
Chloe was sprawled across the sofa, earbuds in, half-watching a show. Jamie was upstairs, probably "studying" — which meant tinkering with his laptop in the dark corner of his room.
Amy dropped her bag near the door and let out a soft sigh.
"Homework done?" Chloe asked without looking up.
Amy shook her head. "Not yet."
"Figures," Chloe muttered, scrolling. "You've been distracted lately."
"I've... been busy," Amy said carefully. She didn't want to mention Rowan. Didn't want to mention writing club. Not yet.
Chloe glanced at her then, still scrolling but now slightly attentive. "Busy with what?"
Amy hesitated.
"Rowan," she said finally. The name slipped out like she hadn't meant to say it.
Chloe froze, earbuds dangling. "Rowan who?"
Amy realized she'd said too much. But it was out. "Writing club. He... mentioned his sister. She had something happen at school, years ago."
Chloe frowned. "What kind of something?"
Amy shook her head. "I don't know. But it sounds like the same... pattern that's happening with me."
Chloe's brows knitted. "Pattern?"
Amy went to her room, dropping onto her bed. "Someone is... accessing my work. Editing it. Like they know it already exists."
Chloe followed, sitting on the edge of the bed. "That's insane. Who would—"
"Someone who's done it before," Amy said quietly. "Someone who had Rowan's sister in their sights. And now... it's me. Or could it possibly be the same person."
Chloe's mouth opened, then closed. "You're saying... It's the same person?"
Amy nodded. "It could possibly be. I mean if there is anyone that could do this to me, then why not whoever did this to Rowan's sister."
Jamie appeared in the doorway. "What's the same person?"
Amy repeated it, slower this time. "The edits. The access. The... almost stolen work. Rowan's sister had it happen years ago. Now it's happening to me."
Jamie's face grew serious. "That's... more than coincidence."
"Exactly," Amy said. "It's a pattern. And if Rowan's sister couldn't stop it... how can I?"
Jamie didn't answer immediately. He rubbed his temples. "We need evidence. Logs. Time stamps. Anything."
Amy felt a chill. "I already know it's during school hours. 3:17 p.m. last time. My file was clean before that. Someone accessed it. Someone watched. Someone... edited."
Jamie exhaled slowly. "We need to be careful. Whoever this is... they know how to stay hidden."
Amy clenched her fists. "Then we have to be smarter."
Later that evening, Amy sat at her desk, notebook open, fingers hovering over her keyboard.
She couldn't focus on writing club exercises anymore.
She could only think of what was going on.
She thought about Rowan. About the way he'd said it escalates. About how precise his explanations were. Not vague sympathy. Not guesswork.
Method.
Her mind traced timelines.
September — first logged access.
Before writing club.
Before she even knew Rowan's name.
November — second access.
Around the time Rowan started staying behind after sessions.
Around the time he'd asked oddly specific questions about where she saved drafts.
Yesterday — the breach.
3:17p.m.
She pictured the school at 3:17.
Corridors thinning out. Teachers in meetings. Club rooms unlocking.
Library computers are still logged in.
English department offices half-open.
Debate room.
Her thoughts snagged there.
Rowan had mentioned debate once. Casually. Said he used to spend time there after school.
Used to.
Her phone buzzed.
Jamie.
Found something. Meet downstairs.
Her pulse spiked.
Jamie had his laptop open on the kitchen table. The overhead light was off; only the screen lit his face like he was somewhat a secret spy trying to crack a case that was yet to be solved.
Chloe hovered beside him, arms folded tight.
"What?" Amy asked.
Jamie rotated the laptop toward her.
"I pulled the public version of your document. The one that was posted."
Amy's stomach turned.
"And?"
"There's hidden revision data embedded in the screen capture."
Her brain struggled to keep up. "But it was a video."
"Screen recordings still carry system artifacts," Jamie said. "Tiny overlays. Cursor telemetry. Window dimensions."
He zoomed in.
"This right here — see the flicker near the top bar?"
Amy squinted.
"That's not from your laptop," he said. "The resolution's different. Wider."
"So it wasn't recorded on a school Chromebook?"
"No."
Her heartbeat accelerated.
"It matches a personal laptop display ratio," Jamie continued. "And the timestamp overlay — it's offset by exactly four minutes from the school server clock."
Chloe frowned. "What does that mean?"
Jamie swallowed. "It means whoever recorded it wasn't on the school network at the time."
Amy's breath caught.
"But the file was accessed at 3:17," she said.
"Yeah," Jamie replied. "On the school server."
Silence crept across the kitchen.
"Someone accessed it at school," Chloe said slowly. "Downloaded or copied it."
"And then edited and posted it later," Amy finished.
Jamie nodded.
Amy's mind moved faster now knowing everything that was happening.
September access.
November access.
Yesterday's breach.
All school logins.
But the escalation — the posting — happened off-site.
Which meant—
Two locations.
Or two people.
Her throat tightened.
"What else?" she asked.
Jamie hesitated.
"There's a fragment of a username cached in the metadata. It's cut off. Probably from a local folder path."
Amy leaned closer.
"What does it say?"
"Just... 'rowa—' and then it truncates."
The room went very still.
Chloe blinked. "That could be anything."
"Rowan," Amy whispered before she could stop herself.
Jamie didn't respond immediately.
"It's incomplete," he said carefully. "Could be a coincidence. Could be a shared device. Could be an old user profile."
But the word hung in the air anyway.
Rowa—
Amy's thoughts spiraled.
Rowan, who knew the pattern too well.
Rowan, who said it escalates.
Rowan, who warned her to move files off the school system.
Rowan, whose sister had been targeted first.
Or—
Rowan, whose sister had access to the debate room last year.
Her stomach twisted.
"What if it's not him?" Chloe said quietly. "What if it's connected to him?"
Jamie nodded. "That's what I'm thinking."
Amy stepped back from the table.
Patterns weren't just coincidence.
Patterns meant repetition.
Repetition meant practice.
Whoever this was—
They'd been refining it for years.
And if Rowan was part of the pattern—
She didn't know yet whether he was warning her.
Or positioning her.