The Vanishing Act

Lia's POV The door clicked shut behind me with a soft, decisive finality that resonated like a gunshot in the sudden, echoing silence of the hallway. Each step I took, away from Brandon’s fevered room and Lucas’s frozen fury, felt less like walking and more like fleeing. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic, trapped bird, and the scent of antiseptic suddenly seemed overwhelmingly oppressive, stinging my nostrils. Aunt Susan’s concerned voice reached me as I reached the bottom of the stairs, "Lia, dear? Is everything alright? Lucas just went in, I hope—" But I couldn’t stop. I simply nodded curtly, not trusting my voice, and pushed through the heavy glass doors into the biting chill of the late afternoon. The cold air, usually a welcome shock, did nothing to clear the fog of confusion and shame that enveloped me. I fumbled for my car keys, the metal cold and insignificant in my trembling fingers. My reflection in the rearview mirror was a stranger – wide, haunted eyes, a pale fa