The blue light from Amber's phone casts shadows across her silk pillowcase as she tries to focus on the latest episode of Lucifer. Tom Ellis's devilish charm usually captures her full attention, but tonight her mind keeps drifting to darker places. Her fingers hover over the messaging app, where Susan's latest text glows like an accusation:

  ??

  Amber's chest tightens as she types back: N

  She locks her screen, but the thoughts won't stop circling. The way Nate's eyes had shifted when Hannah's death was announced. Those hushed conversations with her father, thinking no one noticed them slip away. The carefully crafted alibis that felt too perfect, too rehearsed.

  "This is insane," she whispers to her empty room. "Nate wouldn't... he couldn't..."

  But the evidence keeps stacking up like a house of cards ready to collapse. Hannah digging into Hampton Beach. Hannah exposing Amber's diagnosis. Hannah ending up dead in what had to be the most unconvincing "suicide" in history. The timing was too perfect, the circumstances too convenient.

  Her phone buzzes again. Susan, trying to lift her spirits:

  A smile tugs at Amber's lips despite everything. Trust Susan to try making her laugh even now. But the moment of lightness evaporates as her mind circles back to Nate. If he was involved - if her suspicions are right - then wasn't it all because of her? Her boyfriend and her father, conspiring to protect her reputation at any cost.

  "Why won't you just tell me?" she asks her reflection in the mirror. "I can handle the truth. I can handle anything except this silence."

  A sudden explosion shatters the night, making her jump. Crimson light floods her bedroom, painting the walls like fresh blood. Another bang follows, this time bathing everything in electric purple.

  Amber's heart pounds as she scrambles out of bed, bare feet silent against the plush carpet. She yanks back the floor-length curtains just as another firework screams into the sky.

  And there he is.

  Nate Brooks stands in the center of her backyard, roman candle casting a golden glow across his features. His white t-shirt practically glows in the darkness, jeans hanging low on his hips in that way that usually makes her brain short-circuit. But it's his smile - that infuriating, beautiful, impossibly perfect smile - that makes her breath catch.

  Amber shakes her head, even as her lips curve upward against her will. She wants to stay angry. Needs to stay angry. But there's something about the way he's looking at her - like she's the only star in his sky - that makes her walls start crumbling.

  Damn him. Damn that smile. And damn her heart for still skipping a beat every time he calls her princess.

  Amber pushes her window open, the cool night air carrying the scent of gunpowder and jasmine. "Are you trying to wake up all of Riverside Heights? Because that's definitely one way to get my attention."

  "Let me in?" Nate's voice carries that perfect mix of charm and vulnerability that usually gets him exactly what he wants. "We need to talk, princess."

  "Oh, you want to talk?" Amber arches one perfectly manicured eyebrow. "After four days of radio silence? That's precious, Brooks."

  In response, Nate lights another firework. Purple sparks illuminate the perfectly manicured lawn as he grins up at her. "I've got a whole arsenal here. We can do this all night if that's what it takes."

  "You wouldn't dare." But even as the words leave her mouth, Amber spots Mrs. Peterson's lights flicking on next door. That nosy witch would have the police here in minutes if this continued. "God, you're impossible."

  Her bare feet make no sound on the marble stairs as she descends, her silk pajama set whispering against her skin. The kitchen's motion sensors bathe everything in soft light as she approaches the back door, where Nate's silhouette already waits.

  Amber throws open the door with perhaps more force than necessary, crossing her arms over her chest. "Congratulations. You've officially reached peak dramatics. I hope you're proud of yourself."

  "Always am when it comes to you." Nate's hands emerge from behind his back, presenting a single red rose with theatrical flourish. "I know I messed up, princess. The silence, the distance - you deserved better. But I needed time to figure out how to explain things. How to make you understand that sometimes protecting someone means..."

  "Means what?" Amber accepts the rose despite herself, its velvet petals soft against her fingers. "Keeping secrets? Shutting them out? Is that all you came here to say? Because one flower isn't going to fix this, Brooks."

  That infuriating smirk plays across his lips again as he reaches for something beside the door. "Good thing I came prepared then."

  Amber's eyes widen at the pile of presents wrapped in white and crimson paper - at least half a dozen packages of varying sizes. "Seriously? You think you can just... what? Buy your way back into my good graces?"

  "Not buying," Nate corrects softly. "Apologizing. Groveling, even. Whatever it takes."

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  She shakes her head, but can't quite suppress her smile. "You're ridiculous. Come on - let's take your little peace offering upstairs before someone sees you skulking around my kitchen at midnight."

  The journey back to her room feels endless, charged with everything left unsaid. Nate follows in uncharacteristic silence, his footsteps barely audible on the stairs. The weight of secrets hangs between them like smoke, choking all the words they can't quite voice.

  But as they climb, Amber can't help noticing how the moonlight catches his profile, highlighting the sharp edge of his jaw, the shadows under his eyes that speak of sleepless nights. Whatever darkness he's carrying, whatever truth he's hiding - it's clearly eating him alive too.

  Amber perches on her bed, legs crossed beneath her like a queen holding court. Her arms fold across her chest - a barrier between her heart and whatever game Nate's playing. He settles onto her plush carpet, surrounded by his carefully wrapped peace offerings like some kind of contrite Santa Claus.

  "I want to tell you everything," Nate breaks the silence, his voice carrying that earnest tone that usually makes her melt. "Every single detail."

  "Then do it." Amber's words crack like ice. "Right here. Right now."

  Nate's eyes dart to the corners of her room, a gesture that speaks volumes. "Not here. Not like this."

  "Oh please," Amber rolls her eyes. "Daddy had the whole house swept this weekend. We're clean."

  "I don't trust anything anymore." The raw honesty in his voice catches her off guard. "Tomorrow. Ridgeline Hills trail. Just you and me, princess. I'll tell you everything - I swear."

  Amber studies him, searching for any sign of deception. But all she sees is exhaustion, worry, and something deeper that makes her chest ache.

  His lips brush against her ankle - that spot he discovered years ago that sends electricity up her spine. "I promise," he whispers against her skin. "No more secrets."

  Damn him. A smile tugs at her lips before she can stop it.

  "There's my girl," Nate's voice softens as he catches her expression. "I've missed that smile."

  "Don't get cocky, Brooks." But the ice in her voice has started to thaw.

  "First things first." He hands her a perfectly wrapped package. "Open it."

  Inside, Amber finds a crystal cube, laser-etched with their very first text exchange. The messages glow softly in the dim light:

  "That's where it all started," Nate's voice is barely above a whisper. "Us."

  The next package reveals a framed photograph that steals her breath - the two of them under stadium lights after the state championship. Nate in his mud-stained Riverside blue and gold, Amber glowing with pride beside him. The roaring crowd creates a perfect backdrop of motion blur.

  "That night in my pool house," Nate smirks, "when you told me all your Stanford dreams. I knew right then we were on the same path."

  The smallest package holds a delicate necklace - a teardrop of white moonstone that catches the light like captured starfire. Beside it, a photo from Winter Ball: Nate looking devastatingly handsome in his white tuxedo, Amber radiant in white silk.

  "This moment," Nate's voice grows serious as he lifts the necklace. "This was when I knew I'd do absolutely anything to keep you safe. To protect your future. Our future." His fingers tremble slightly. "Sometimes that means making impossible choices."

  "Thank you," Amber whispers, running her fingers over the moonstone. "It's perfect."

  "Just like you," Nate murmurs, rising to fasten the necklace around her throat. His fingers brush against her skin, sending shivers down her spine. Their faces are inches apart now, his breath warm against her cheek. Amber's eyes drift to his lips, her heart racing with the memory of a thousand kisses. Why isn't he closing the distance?

  But Nate pulls away, settling back onto the floor. "Not done yet, princess." He retrieves another package, larger than the others. "Two more to go."

  Amber unwraps it carefully, revealing crimson fabric. She unfolds what appears to be a football jersey, confusion written across her features until she sees it - on the back, BROOKS 67 in bold white letters. The front bears Stanford's iconic cardinal red, the tree logo emblazoned proudly across the chest.

  "You..." Amber's voice catches. "You got in?"

  Nate's smile could light up the entire Heights. "Full ride. Athletic scholarship."

  Pride wells up in Amber's chest, threatening to overflow. All those mornings she'd watched him leave for 5 AM workouts, those nights she'd fallen asleep on FaceTime while he studied for yet another AP exam. Every sacrifice, every extra rep, every practice test - it had all led to this moment. Her golden boy had done it entirely on his own merit.

  She launches herself at him, lips finding his in a kiss that tastes like victory and promise and future. "I'm so proud of you," she breathes against his mouth. "So incredibly proud."

  "Got the letter this weekend," he murmurs, then pulls back slightly. "But wait - there's one more thing."

  Amber's feet dangle excitedly as Nate retrieves the final package. Inside, she finds soft grey and red fabric - another Stanford sweater. As she lifts it, papers flutter to the floor like autumn leaves.

  Nate catches them before they hit the ground, his face glowing with anticipation as he hands them back. His fingers brush against hers, sending electricity through her skin.

  Amber unfolds the crisp paper, her heart stopping as she reads the first line:

  "Oh my god," she whispers, her vision blurring with tears. Everything they'd dreamed about, planned for, worked toward - it was actually happening. Together. "Oh my god, Nate..."

  "So," Nate's voice carries that dangerous edge that makes her heart race, "have I earned back my kissing privileges, princess?"

  "I suppose," Amber tries to sound nonchalant, but can't hide her smile. "But you're still on probation."

  He rises in one fluid motion, pulling her against him with an urgency that steals her breath. His lips crash into hers, months of shared dreams and unspoken fears pouring into the kiss. One hand tangles in her hair while the other presses against the small of her back, holding her like she might disappear if he lets go.

  Joy bubbles up in Amber's chest, pure and bright - a feeling she'd almost forgotten existed amid the darkness of the past week. Stanford. Together. Just like they'd planned since freshman year.

  "Listen to me," Nate whispers against her ear, his breath sending shivers down her spine. "A few more months of this high school bullshit, then we're gone. California dreams, baby. Fresh start." His fingers trace patterns on her skin as his voice drops lower. "Everything that happened here - Hampton Beach, Hannah, all of it - stays buried in Riverside. At Stanford, we write our own story. No more drama, no more secrets. Just you and me, princess. The way it was always meant to be."

  Amber closes her eyes, breathing in the familiar scent of his skin - cologne and fresh laundry and something uniquely Nate. "Promise?" she whispers, hating how vulnerable she sounds.

  His only response is to kiss her again, softer this time but somehow more intense. And for a moment, Amber lets herself believe that they can really leave it all behind - the lies, the violence, the carefully maintained facades. That Stanford will somehow wash them clean of Riverside's sins.

  But as Nate holds her close in the darkness of her bedroom, the acceptance letter still clutched in her hand, a small voice whispers in the back of her mind: some secrets don't stay buried, no matter how far you run.