THE GLUCOSE

Rosalind didn’t stop at building her image.

She started watching me more closely — not out of concern, but the way a hunter studies prey, searching for the next weak spot.

I realised this one afternoon, walking past the sports equipment room and hearing Rosalind’s voice drifting out from behind a row of lockers, talking to Genevieve — one of her closest friends.

“That girl acts like she has to carry that gel tube around like some treasure, as if she’d just drop dead without it,” Rosalind said, her voice carrying a trace of mockery and contempt I’d never once heard in public.

“I just want to see how she’d react without it.”

“What are you planning?” Genevieve asked, sounding hesitant.

“After what happened last time, people are watching you a lot more closely now, be careful you don’t cause more trouble.”

“Don’t worry,” Rosalind laughed softly.

“I’ll be careful about it. No one can blame an act that comes from kindness.”

I stood frozen behind the row of lockers, my heart racing, not from fear — but because I knew what I’d suspected all along was finally about to come true.

I quietly pulled out my phone, catching the last few seconds of the conversation before the two of them walked off.

That night, I told Amelia every word.

“She’s planning something,” Amelia said, her voice tense.

“I think we should warn Miss Whitfield in advance.”

“Not yet,” I shook my head.

“If we warn her now, she’ll just delay it, wait for a quieter moment. I want this to happen right in front of the person with the clearest authority to confirm it — Dr. Hartley.”

“What if it’s too dangerous?” Amelia gripped my hand tightly.

“I don’t want to gamble your life just to expose someone like Rosalind.”

“I’ll always carry a backup tube,” I reassured her, though I wasn’t entirely certain of that myself.

“You just need to stand close enough, and film the right moment.”

What I hadn’t anticipated was just how much more careful Rosalind would be than I’d given her credit for.