Lance paced quietly across the rooftop, each step landing with a kind of hesitance he couldn't shake.
The sky was overcast, smeared with silver clouds that threatened rain. Below him, the school's windows reflected a distorted version of the world—his world. Or at least, what he thought was his world.
But that was the thing, wasn't it?
It wasn't.
Not completely.
He leaned against the railing, fingers tightening slightly as he scanned the courtyard below. Students passed by in groups, laughing, talking, some absorbed in their phones. Everything looked normal. But the longer he stayed in this world, the more the details scraped against his nerves.
Too many things were wrong.
It started small.
His homeroom teacher was supposed to be Ms. Lenne—he remembered writing her, giving her a sharp tongue and no patience for nonsense. But instead, it was Mr. Caldon. Soft-spoken. Wore sweaters with elbow patches. Always smiled like he pitied you.
And the cafeteria didn't serve the same meals he wrote. There was a cat that roamed the hallway near the art wing, even though in his draft he made a point that animals weren't allowed on campus.
Then there were the characters.
Some acted exactly as he wrote them. Branley was still loud and obnoxious. Mara still laughed like everything was a game.
But others...
Some felt like they were living.
Like they had stepped off the page and started writing themselves.
Especially Kai.
Lance had written Kai as a supporting character with main character energy. He was the kind of person readers would gravitate toward—a thinker, a quiet strategist. He wasn't meant to be emotional, but he wasn't cold either. Just... focused.
And in the story, Kai had manipulated Reese. Gotten inside his head. Played the long game. Until eventually—he led Reese to his death.
A subtle, psychological defeat. A perfectly executed takedown.
Lance had thought it was poetic.
Now he was inside Reese's body. And Kai was watching him.
Like a hawk.
Like L.
Lance muttered under his breath, "No way I'm letting myself get played by my own creation."
If Kai had killed Reese in the book...
Then maybe he could change it.
Flip the narrative.
If manipulation was the tool Kai used—then Lance would beat him at his own game.
He started that afternoon.
Nothing too forward. Just... seeding doubt.
He caught Kai in the hallway, timing it so they bumped into each other right outside the computer lab.
"Hey," Lance said casually, slipping into Reese's voice more easily than he'd like to admit. "You've been staring at me a lot lately. Got something on your mind?"
Kai blinked once. Just once. But that was enough.
"No," he said. "Just noticing you've changed."
Lance shrugged. "Maybe I finally realized I don't need to be an asshole all the time."
"Hmm."
Kai didn't believe him. Lance could see it behind his calm expression, behind the mask of indifference.
"Want to come over later?" Lance added. "We could... study or something."
Kai tilted his head. "Study?"
"Yeah," Lance said. "Call it an olive branch. Or an apology."
Kai didn't smile. Didn't frown. Just stared.
Then: "Sure."
Lance walked away before he could overthink it.
That night, they sat in Reese's room—now Lance's.
Books Kai had never touched before were scattered on the desk. A chess board sat on the corner table, already mid-game.
Kai noticed.
"I didn't know you played."
Lance leaned back in the chair. "Learned a few years ago. Helps me think."
Kai looked down at the board. "You're playing white."
"Yeah."
"You're losing."
Lance grinned. "You want to fix that for me?"
Kai didn't reply. He simply sat down across from him.
Lance watched him carefully. The way he moved the pieces was deliberate. Measured.
He remembered writing that about Kai.
He calculates like a machine but speaks like a poet.
It was eerie watching his creation breathe.
Halfway through the game, Lance asked:
"Do you believe in fate?"
Kai didn't look up. "Only when people use it as an excuse."
Lance chuckled. "You'd make a good writer."
"I doubt it."
"You already know how to create tension."
Kai finally looked up. "Do you feel like you're being watched?"
Lance paused. "You mean... right now?"
"No." Kai set down his piece. "In general."
Lance didn't answer. He didn't have to.
Kai leaned back in the chair. "You're different, Reese. And I don't mean that as a compliment or an insult. Just an observation."
Lance tapped a pawn absentmindedly. "People change."
"Not like this."
There it was. The chess game wasn't about pieces. It was about positioning.
And Kai had just made the first real move.
***
Later that night, alone again, Lance scribbled notes in Reese's old journal. Not to vent. But to analyze.
Kai was more dangerous than he remembered writing. More adaptable.
If he wanted to win, he couldn't rely on the version of the story he once wrote.
This was a new narrative now.
A different structure.
And he was no longer the author.
But that didn't mean he couldn't rewrite his role.
If Kai thought he was L...
Then maybe it was time Lance started acting like Light.
He looked up at his reflection in the mirror.
"Let's see who writes the ending this time."