The morning started off like any other—or at least Isabelle tried to convince herself it did. Her mind was still stuck on the encrypted drive tucked safely in her bag, the events at the library playing over in her head like a broken record. It didn’t help that she hadn’t exactly slept well, her dreams haunted by flickers of distorted light and faint laughter that didn’t belong to Gastly.

  Sliding into her seat in homeroom, Isabelle sighed, propping her chin on her hand. The room buzzed with quiet chatter, the usual hum of students catching up before class. Then, like a spark lighting dry tinder, the atmosphere shifted.

  “Is that… Elliot Price?” someone whispered.

  Isabelle blinked and turned to follow the murmurs. Sure enough, standing in the doorway was Elliot Price, the legendary absentee who had seemingly decided to grace them with his presence. His ash blond hair was as messy as if he’d just rolled out of bed, and his signature headphones were slung casually around his neck.

  The boy moved toward the back of the room without so much as a glance at the growing stares. Clara, seated near Isabelle, stiffened at first, her sharp eyes narrowing. But then, as Elliot settled into his chair, her shoulders relaxed. A faint smile—if it could even be called that—tugged at the corner of her mouth.

  “Does he always make an entrance like this?” Isabelle asked in a low voice, leaning toward Clara.

  Clara didn’t look at her, keeping her focus on her desk. “He’s not a fan of crowds,” she said simply.

  “Seems like the crowd’s a fan of him,” Isabelle muttered, glancing around at the lingering stares.

  Before Isabelle could dwell on Elliot’s mysterious aura, Milo cleared his throat loudly from the front of the room. “Ms. Chambers, I have a request,” he said, standing stiffly with his hands gripping his messenger bag strap like it was a lifeline.

  Ms. Chambers, a petite woman with an uncanny ability to look both amused and unimpressed at the same time, tilted her head. “Go on, Milo.”

  “I’d like to merge the current duos into a single group,” Milo said, his words rushing out in a practiced tone.

  Several heads turned at once, Isabelle’s included. “Wait, what?” she blurted, but Milo didn’t falter.

  “Technically, I know this isn’t standard procedure,” he continued, “but given the collaborative nature of our topic, I believe it’s the best course of action.”

  Ms. Chambers considered him for a long moment, then smiled wryly. “Unconventional, but not unheard of. I’ll allow it.”

  Milo’s shoulders relaxed just slightly as he nodded. “Thank you.”

  Isabelle slumped back in her seat, groaning. “What did I just get signed up for?”

  The table in the back corner of the classroom was quickly claimed by Amélie, who waved the group over with the commanding energy of someone born to lead. Isabelle slumped into her chair next to Milo, her bag still slung over her shoulder, while Clara and Elliot took seats across from her. Elliot remained quiet, leaning slightly back in his chair as though he could physically distance himself from the growing energy at the table. Stefano plopped down at the far end with a grin, unbothered by the obvious lack of enthusiasm for his presence.

  “Alright,” Amélie began with a dramatic flourish, her hazel eyes sparkling. “What’s this all about? And why, Milo, do we suddenly have a secret group chat?”

  Isabelle blinked, turning to Milo with a sharp look. “A group chat without me?”

  Milo adjusted his glasses nervously, his hand gripping the strap of his messenger bag like a lifeline. “It’s not a big deal. You already knew about the encrypted drive, so I didn’t think to add you immediately.”

  “Uh-huh,” Isabelle said, crossing her arms.

  “I was going to make arrangements to add you,” he added quickly, then sighed. “Amélie, stop whatever you’re doing.”

  “Too late,” Amélie chirped, her fingers tapping rapidly on her VireBand. A second later, Isabelle’s VireBand buzzed with a notification.

  “Welcome to the party,” Amélie said with a grin, leaning back in her chair.

  Isabelle glanced at her VireBand and groaned. “Great. Another thing to mute.”

  “Oh, come on, Isa, it’s not that bad,” Amélie teased. “We’ve got important discussions in there. Strategy. Planning. Memes.”

  Milo sighed. “You’ve barely contributed anything productive.”

  “That’s your job, Stats Guy,” Amélie shot back.

  “Don’t get too comfortable,” Clara muttered, giving Amélie a pointed look. “If Stefano’s getting ideas about joining, we’re shutting this down immediately.”

  Stefano, who had been listening with an amused smirk, raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me? What makes you think I’d want to be in your little chatroom?”

  “Nobody wants you in the chat,” Clara finished coldly, not bothering to hide her disdain.

  Stefano leaned back in his chair, entirely unfazed. “That’s fine. I work better solo anyway. A group chat would just slow me down.”

  Clara rolled her eyes, muttering something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like delusional.

  “Can we focus?” Milo interjected, his tone sharper than usual. “We’re not here to debate chat membership. The encrypted drive is the priority.”

  “Right,” Amélie said, straightening up. “What’s so special about this thing, anyway? Aside from Isabelle dramatically pulling it out like it’s the key to the universe.”

  Milo placed his notebook on the table and carefully opened it, flipping to a page filled with diagrams and notes. “This drive is encrypted with a design that makes it physically secure. It can’t be hacked remotely, which means it’s meant to store highly sensitive information.”

  “Translation?” Amélie asked, tilting her head.

  “It’s old, important, and probably illegal,” Isabelle said flatly, resting her chin on her hand.

  “That’s an interesting combination,” Clara remarked, her tone dry. “Why didn’t you mention this sooner?”

  “I was a little preoccupied with running for my life,” Isabelle shot back. “You know, from a Gastly and an unhinged library card-carrying member? Priorities.”

  Amélie burst into laughter, her hazel eyes sparkling with amusement. “Library card-carrying? Now that is the villain origin story I didn’t see coming.”

  “It’s not funny,” Milo interjected, his tone clipped. “That ‘library card-carrying member’ was a Team Eclipse operative. They were stealing classified data, and that drive is likely part of their haul.”

  “Team Eclipse?” Isabelle asked, frowning. “What even is that?”

  Amélie’s grin faltered slightly, her expression growing serious. “You’re from Verdantia, right? Small town, small problems. But here in Lumora, people have been talking about Team Eclipse for a while. It’s mostly rumors—missing people, strange tech, shady activity in places where it shouldn’t be. Nothing concrete, but enough to get everyone on edge.”

  “They’ve been linked to illegal experiments and data theft,” Milo added. “There’s a lot of chatter on forums, but no one knows the full scope of their operations.”

  Amélie nodded, leaning back in her chair. “If they were willing to chase you through a library over that drive, it’s probably connected to something big. And dangerous.”

  Isabelle blinked, her grip tightening on her bag. “Great. I really know how to pick my moments, huh?”

  Amélie offered a small smile, though her tone was softer now. “You remind me of something my mom used to say—a French proverb: ‘Il vaut mieux prévenir que guérir.’”

  “And that means…?” Isabelle prompted.

  “It’s better to prevent than to heal,” Amélie said, her voice carrying a quiet weight. “In other words, it’s better to deal with a problem before it becomes something worse.”

  Isabelle glanced at the drive, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Yeah, well, I didn’t exactly have a choice.”

  Clara’s voice cut through the tension, sharp and direct. “She’s right, though. This isn’t just about you anymore. Whatever’s on that drive, we’re all involved now.”

  “I didn’t ask anyone to get involved,” Isabelle said, her voice quieter now, tinged with guilt.

  “No,” Clara said evenly, her gaze unyielding. “But Milo dragged us in. And let’s be real—you were never going to handle this on your own.”

  Isabelle opened her mouth to argue but stopped, the truth of Clara’s words settling heavily over her.

  A beat of silence passed before Elliot, who had been quietly observing the conversation, finally spoke. His voice was calm and measured, cutting through the air like a blade. “If it’s so important, they’ll come looking for it again.”

  Everyone turned to look at him, even Clara, who raised an eyebrow at the quiet certainty in his tone.

  “They’re not just going to forget about it,” Elliot added, his light brown eyes flicking briefly to Isabelle. “That’s not how people like them work.”

  The weight of his words hung over the group, pressing down like the tension before a storm.

  “Well,” Stefano said, breaking the silence with a grin that was painfully out of place. “Lucky for Isabelle, she’s got us now. Or me, specifically.”

  Clara groaned audibly, dragging a hand down her face. “Please stop talking.”

  “I mean it,” Stefano said, undeterred. “If anyone can handle a shady organization, it’s me. I’m practically built for this kind of thing.” He turned to Isabelle, flashing her what he probably thought was a charming smile. “And let’s be real—you were pretty amazing back there, dodging danger and keeping your cool. Not everyone could pull that off.”

  Isabelle blinked at him, her lips twitching as she fought to suppress a laugh. “Thanks, I guess?”

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  “Just saying,” Stefano continued, leaning back with a self-satisfied expression. “You’re lucky to have me on your team.”

  “You’re not on the team,” Clara snapped, her tone like ice.

  “Technicalities,” Stefano replied breezily, waving her off.

  Amélie sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Alright, enough. Can we all agree to stop bickering for five seconds and focus? We’ve got a drive to analyze, a conspiracy to unravel, and probably not enough snacks to survive the stress.”

  “Finally,” Milo muttered, tapping the table for emphasis. “Amélie’s boutique after school. Isabelle, bring the drive. We’ll figure it out there.”

  Isabelle nodded, though her fingers brushed the edge of her bag as doubt lingered in her mind. The drive wasn’t just a problem—it was a question, and the answer felt heavier with every passing moment.

  The faint chime of the boutique doorbell greeted Isabelle as she stepped inside, Azzy bouncing lightly in her arms. The shop was cozy and vibrant, sunlight streaming through wide windows to illuminate displays of handcrafted Pokémon accessories—everything from delicate Leafeon pendants to intricately beaded PokéBall keychains. It smelled faintly of lavender and polished wood, a comforting mix that immediately put her at ease.

  Madeleine Lévesque, Amélie’s mother, stood behind the counter, her hands busy threading a strand of colorful beads onto a necklace. Her sharp eyes, a warmer hazel than her daughter’s, immediately lit up when she saw Isabelle.

  “Ah, Isabelle! Tu es là!” Madeleine said brightly, switching seamlessly into English as her gaze dropped to Azzy. “And you brought your little one, of course. Azurill est si mignon! So adorable.”

  Azzy chirped in agreement, wiggling happily in Isabelle’s arms.

  “Hi, Mrs. Lévesque,” Isabelle said with a smile. “Is Amélie upstairs already?”

  “Oui, oui, she’s waiting with the others. Tous tes amis sont ici? All your friends showed up at once—it’s like a party!” She laughed, setting the necklace down. “Honestly, Isabelle, I’m not used to seeing the whole group here. Usually, it’s one or two of you. This is… a lot.”

  At that moment, a door behind the counter creaked open, and a tall, broad-shouldered man stepped through carrying a small crate of fabric rolls. His work-worn hands and the easy strength in his movements spoke to years of labor, though his warm smile softened his otherwise imposing figure.

  “Ah,” Madeleine said, straightening. “étienne, viens ici. Meet Isabelle.”

  étienne Lévesque set the crate down on the counter, brushing his hands off on his apron before turning to Isabelle. His dark eyes, steady and kind, scanned her for a moment before he offered his hand. “You must be Isabelle,” he said in a deep, even voice. “It’s good to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  Isabelle hesitated for a second before shifting Azzy into one arm and shaking his hand. His grip was firm but not overbearing, a testament to the balance of strength and care he exuded.

  “Good to meet you too, Mr. Lévesque,” Isabelle said, trying to sound confident despite feeling a little overwhelmed by his presence.

  étienne nodded, his expression thoughtful. “So, you’re the one who’s been keeping Amélie busy with all these stories about adventures. I take it you’ve got a knack for excitement?”

  Isabelle blinked, unsure how to respond. “I guess you could say that.”

  “She does,” Madeleine interjected with a knowing smile. “Toujours dans le chaos, cette fille. Always in the chaos, this one.”

  “I wouldn’t call it chaos,” Isabelle said, her voice defensive but laced with humor. “It’s more like… unplanned excitement.”

  étienne chuckled, folding his arms across his chest. “Sounds like chaos to me.”

  “Alright, alright,” Madeleine said, shooing Isabelle toward the staircase. “Upstairs. Amélie est en haut, waiting with everyone. Though how you’ll all fit in that tiny room, I have no idea. Bonne chance! Good luck!”

  “Thanks,” Isabelle said, adjusting her grip on Azzy as she made her way to the staircase. Behind her, she could hear étienne chuckling softly again.

  “She’ll fit right in,” he murmured to Madeleine, who responded with a knowing laugh.

  The space was small but bursting with personality, a clear reflection of Amélie’s vibrant energy. The bed was tucked against the wall, its quilt stitched with floral patches that carried the same charm as the boutique downstairs. A corkboard hung above the desk, cluttered with pinned drawings, ticket stubs, and faded photos of Amélie and her brother, A?mé, at various Pokémon events. Some of the pictures were old enough to have slightly curled edges, but the smiles in them were as bright as ever.

  Stacks of books were piled neatly on the floor, their spines ranging from League handbooks to whimsical storybooks about Pokémon legends. Next to them, a drawer sat slightly ajar, with the edge of a light denim jacket and a pastel scarf spilling out as if caught mid-rummage.

  “Cozy,” Isabelle said as she stepped inside, her voice tinged with amusement.

  “Cramped,” Milo corrected, already attempting to find a spot near the desk without stepping on anything.

  Isabelle glanced around, trying to figure out how six people—and a bouncing Azzy—were supposed to fit into a space meant for two at most.

  Where’s the personal space? Isabelle thought, pressing herself into the corner near the bed. Azzy chirped, her little blue tail bobbing as if she couldn’t care less about the spatial constraints. Even my mental projection would have a hard time squeezing in here, Isabelle thought dryly. The absence of her subconscious companion was a small mercy—one less person to take up room.

  Amélie, as usual, took charge with an effortless flair. She disappeared downstairs and reappeared minutes later with a tray laden with French pastries and a steaming pot of tea. The tray held a charming assortment: flaky croissants dusted with powdered sugar, buttery palmiers, rich chocolate éclairs, and delicate macarons in pastel colors. Small dishes of jam and butter accompanied the pastries, along with a teapot decorated with floral designs and an assortment of mismatched cups.

  “Et voilà!” Amélie said with a dramatic flourish, setting the tray on the bed. “Compliments of my mom’s impeccable taste—and her need to impress all of you at once.”

  “Your mom’s amazing,” Isabelle said, grabbing a croissant and tearing off a bite. It was impossibly soft and buttery, practically melting in her mouth.

  “C’est vrai,” Milo said, his usual stoicism softening as he reached for a palmier. “Your mom’s cooking is always perfect.”

  Amélie grinned. “She likes to keep us well-fed. And hydrated!” She poured tea into the mismatched cups and passed them around, moving with the ease of someone used to entertaining.

  Clara accepted her cup with a nod, leaning against the wall as she nibbled on an éclair. “I guess cramped spaces are just part of the vibe, huh?”

  “It’s the vibe,” Amélie confirmed, settling on the edge of the bed with her own cup. “Small spaces, close friends, good snacks. What more do you need?”

  “Air,” Isabelle muttered, sipping her tea.

  “Aw, come on,” Amélie said with a laugh. “You’ll survive.”

  Milo sat at the desk, his fingers flying over his laptop keyboard as he worked to decrypt the drive. Isabelle, perched on the floor near the bed, watched him with mild amusement.

  “You’re taking this a bit too seriously,” she teased, though the words lacked bite.

  Milo didn’t look up, his glasses slipping slightly down his nose. “It is serious,” he said firmly, pushing his glasses back up with a quick motion. “This drive didn’t just fall into your hands by accident. Team Eclipse is involved. You heard what Amélie said earlier—there are rumors.”

  Amélie nodded, setting her cup down. “It’s true. People have been whispering about them for months. They’re not exactly on the news, but everyone’s heard the stories—missing people, weird experiments, shady tech popping up in places it shouldn’t. It’s like they’re a ghost that nobody can prove exists but everyone knows is out there.”

  “Sounds like a horror story,” Isabelle muttered.

  “Maybe,” Amélie said, her tone softening. “But rumors don’t come from nowhere, Isabelle. If they were after that drive, it means something.”

  Isabelle shifted uncomfortably, her fingers brushing Azzy’s fur as her mind replayed the chase in the library.

  Meanwhile, Elliot leaned back in the desk chair, his headphones firmly in place, his gaze unfocused. Isabelle wondered what he was listening to—rock? Jazz? Or maybe just static? Whatever it was, she envied his ability to tune out the chaos. Right now, she would have loved to escape her own thoughts and the growing anxiety that came with being in such close quarters.

  This is a nightmare for someone who thrives on quiet, she thought, sipping her tea and trying to focus on the buttery croissant in her hand.

  Milo suddenly paused, sitting back in his chair. “Alright, we need to decide who’s doing what.”

  “Doing what for what?” Isabelle asked, raising an eyebrow. “We don’t even have a topic yet.”

  “Details,” Amélie said quickly, waving her hand as if to dismiss the problem entirely. “We’ll figure it out as we go. What matters is that we’re organized.”

  “You mean you want to be organized,” Clara muttered, setting her empty cup on the windowsill.

  “Someone has to keep this ship afloat,” Amélie shot back with a grin. “And that someone is me. Alright, listen up!” She clapped her hands, drawing everyone’s attention.

  “Isn’t it a bit early to assign roles?” Milo asked, frowning.

  “It’s never too early,” Amélie said brightly. “First, Milo, you’re obviously the researcher. You’ve already got your laptop out, so you’re halfway there.”

  Milo nodded, seemingly satisfied with this.

  “Clara,” Amélie continued, turning to her, “you’re our skeptic. You’ll make sure none of us get carried away with wild theories.”

  “Good,” Clara said. “Because I’m not here for conspiracy nonsense.”

  “Elliot,” Amélie said, glancing at the boy who was still leaning back with his headphones in. He didn’t respond.

  “Elliot!”

  Elliot blinked, pulling one headphone off his ear. “What?”

  “You’re… moral support,” Amélie said, laughing when Clara rolled her eyes.

  “That’s generous,” Clara muttered under her breath.

  Amélie turned to Stefano. “And you…” She paused, clearly struggling to assign him a task.

  Stefano leaned forward with a grin. “I’m the leader, obviously.”

  “No,” Clara said immediately.

  Amélie smirked. “You can be the… idea guy.”

  “Perfect,” Stefano said, completely unfazed.

  Finally, Amélie turned to Isabelle. “And you’re the brave adventurer who started this whole thing. You’re our field agent.”

  The room seemed to hold its breath for a moment, everyone looking at Isabelle as Amélie crowned her with the title.

  “Field agent?” Isabelle repeated, her eyebrow arching skeptically. “I don’t even know what that means.”

  “It means you’re the one who gets us into trouble,” Clara muttered, sipping her tea with an air of finality.

  “And out of it,” Amélie added with a grin, nudging Isabelle’s shoulder lightly. “You’re the reason we’re here in the first place, aren’t you? Plus, you’re the only one reckless enough to keep things interesting.”

  “Interesting?” Isabelle repeated, staring at her friend. “I think you mean ‘dangerous.’”

  Amélie shrugged, unapologetic. “Same difference.”

  “I feel like you’re all setting me up to take the fall when this inevitably goes sideways,” Isabelle muttered, brushing her fingers over Azzy’s head for comfort.

  “No one’s taking the fall,” Milo interjected, his tone clipped as he fiddled with the encrypted drive. “Because we’re going to do this smart. No recklessness.”

  “Isabelle doesn’t do ‘no recklessness,’” Clara said, her voice laced with sarcasm.

  “That’s what makes her perfect for the role,” Stefano added, leaning forward with his ever-present grin. “Bravery, quick thinking, a flair for the dramatic—you’ve got it all, Isabelle.”

  Isabelle paused, blinking at him, unsure whether to laugh or cringe. The way Stefano’s grin widened, as though he’d just delivered a flawless compliment, didn’t help.

  Her fingers brushed Azzy’s soft fur as she glanced away, her cheeks warming slightly—not because she was flattered, but because she genuinely didn’t know how to respond. Back in Verdantia, attention like this came in the form of awkward “you’re nice” comments at the Harvest Dance, not… this.

  Her mental projection chose that moment to appear, leaning against the wall with crossed arms and an unimpressed expression. “Oh, he likes you. You’re living the dream, Isabelle—if the dream is bad rom-com levels of obvious.”

  Isabelle stifled a groan. “Uh, thanks, I guess,” she said awkwardly, her tone so hesitant it made Amélie giggle.

  Clara rolled her eyes, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “She’s swooning, Stefano. Great job. Now can we move on?”

  Stefano, oblivious, shrugged. “Hey, I’m just saying it like it is.”

  Isabelle muttered under her breath, “You could also not.”

  Amélie gave her a sympathetic smile, patting her knee. “Don’t worry, Isabelle. We’re all just jealous of your natural chaos magnetism.”

  “You’ll love it eventually,” Amélie said brightly.

  “Doubtful,” Isabelle replied, though the corner of her mouth quirked upward despite herself.