Chapter 3

The second the car pulled into our driveway, Natalie claimed she had plans to discuss college options with a classmate and hurried away.

Mom yelled after her to come home early, but Natalie merely waved without looking back.

The floating chat provided a live GPS update:

*[She’s heading east. Cole’s apartment is in that direction.]*

*[Her luck drain is already showing—she can barely walk straight! Did you see her stumble getting out of the car?]*

I walked up to my bedroom, pulled out my phone, and shot Cole a message on Snapchat:

*Do not give that pen to anyone. Especially a girl named Natalie. No matter what she tells you, do not hand it over.*

Five minutes passed. Marked as read, but no reply.

Ten minutes later, Cole finally sent back a single word: *Got it.*

The floating chat breathed a collective sigh of relief.

*[The bad boy might have an attitude, but he’s shockingly dependable.]*

*[Natalie won't go down without a fight though. The system backlash is kicking in, and the luck drain is going to break her.]*

Sure enough, twenty minutes later, another message from Cole popped up:

*Your sister is downstairs at my place. She brought some guy she claims is her boyfriend. Demanding the pen back, saying it was a birthday gift from her mom.*

I let out a cold laugh and typed furiously:

*Don’t buy it. It’s an ordinary dollar-store pen. She’s completely making that up.*

Just as I hit send, the front door slammed open downstairs. Mom’s loud, frantic voice echoed through the hallway.

"Why isn't Natalie back yet? Dinner is getting cold!"

I stepped to the top of the stairs and saw Mom on the phone. After a few seconds, her face turned pale.

She hung up and looked up at me.

"Chloe, your sister is at the police precinct."

The chat exploded again.

*[Wait, what happened? Did she get into a fistfight with Cole over the pen?]*

*[No way, she probably got desperate and tried to force her way in, so someone called 911.]*

I put on a face full of concern. "What happened?"

Mom grabbed her coat and rushed toward the door. "They said Natalie got into an altercation with some boy, and the police were called. Your dad already went over. Stay here and wait."

I nodded, watching her hurry out into the night.

The instant the front door clicked shut, I dialed Cole on FaceTime.

It rang three times before he picked up.

"Are you at the police station?" I asked.

"Yeah," he answered, his voice somewhat muffled. "Your sister showed up with some dude and tried barging into my apartment. I blocked the door, and the guy shoved me. So I dialed 911."

"Where's the pen?"

"In my pocket. She didn't touch it."

I exhaled a long breath.

A comment scrolled by:

*[That was close! If she got that pen back, the system would re-bind to her, all the luck would flood back, and Chloe’s eighteen years of suffering would be for nothing.]*

I hung up, locked my bedroom door, and checked the floating chat log for the crucial timer:

*[Luck Transfer Countdown: 47 minutes. Once complete, Natalie will lose every ounce of boosted luck granted by the system, and her college exam results will undergo an official automated recalculation.]*

I stared at those glowing words, my pulse quickening.

Forty-seven minutes.

As long as Cole held onto that pen until then, everything Natalie had stolen from me over the last eighteen years would be stripped away.

My phone vibrated again.

A voice memo from Mom, filled with frantic rage:

"Chloe! Get down to the precinct right this second! Natalie says you took her pen on purpose and gave it to that boy! She says you're jealous of her good grades and trying to ruin her! Get over here and explain yourself right now!"

I switched off the screen and took a slow, deep breath.

A single line floated quietly before my eyes:

*[She’s pinning the blame on Chloe again. That’s the exact trick she’s used for eighteen years, and it never fails.]*