Someone had been in my room.
That fact sat heavier than the threat itself.
The note hadn't come under my door. It hadn't been slipped between textbooks. It was under my pillow.
"Stop digging, little sister."
I didn't scream. I didn't cry. I sat completely still in the center of my narrow twin bed and stared at the paper like it might set itself on fire.
Whoever wrote this didn't just know who I was.
They knew where I slept.
And they wanted me scared.
I didn't tell anyone. Not my RA. Not campus security. Not even Jules, who'd started texting me memes like we were best friends.
Because I didn't need them to protect me.
I needed them not to see me coming.
If someone here wanted me silent, they'd have to do a hell of a lot more than leave paper threats.
The next morning, I went back to the Memorial Wall.
Same empty frame.
Same hollow ache.
Only this time, I wasn't alone.
"Creepy, isn't it?" a low voice said beside me.
I turned, already knowing.
Killian Vale.
He stood like he wasn't really standing. More like leaning against the world and not trying that hard to stay in it.
Black coat. Hoodie. Rings on two fingers. No backpack.
Of course.
"Don't you have class?" I asked.
"Already been," he said, eyes locked on the frame. "Professor Renaud. That's whose spot that is. Used to teach Political Ethics. Vanished two weeks before graduation last year."
I stared at him. "Vanished?"
He nodded once. "Faculty said she took a leave of absence. Students said she checked into a clinic. No one's seen her since."
"And they left her picture frame?"
He smirked faintly. "This school has a habit of forgetting people who become inconvenient."
I crossed my arms. "Like Lila."
His jaw tensed.
There it was again. That flicker. That barely-there shift that told me he knew more than he'd ever say out loud.
"You should be careful," he said instead. "Poking around here gets people noticed."
"Is that what happened to you?" I asked. "You poked around too much?"
He didn't answer. Just pushed off the wall and walked away, hands in pockets, head low.
I didn't follow.
But I didn't stop watching him either.
Later that afternoon, I met with my professor for a routine elective check-in.
Professor Mace.
She was younger than I expected — maybe late twenties, sharp blazer, scar over her brow that made her look like she'd walked through fire and lived to teach about it.
Her office was small but clean. No clutter. No warm touches. Not even a photo frame.
"Zara Monroe," she said, flipping through my file. "You've transferred in late. High marks, good record… but a little disruptive in class?"
I blinked. "Disruptive?"
She shrugged. "It's what some professors wrote in their notes."
Already?
It had barely been 72 hours and people were taking notes on me?
She leaned forward. "I don't care if you ask questions. In fact, I encourage it. But here's something you need to know about Blackmere."
I waited.
"No one here is interested in the truth. They're interested in survival. That's why they keep smiling."
I stared. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because you looked at the empty frame," she said. "And you looked like you recognized it."
That night, I went back to my dorm early and locked the door with the chain.
Double-checked the windows.
Shoved a chair under the knob, because paranoia had officially taken the wheel.
I sat cross-legged on my bed, journal open in front of me, flipping through Lila's old pages.
Some of them were smudged. Others torn out.
But one caught my eye.
"V. S. isn't who he pretends to be. Can't trust him. But he knows."
I stared at the initials.
V. S.
None of the professors I'd met had those initials.
But faculty rosters… that might tell me more.
The next morning, I skipped breakfast and walked straight to the old records building.
No one really went there anymore — just dusty shelves, locked archives, and two senior librarians who looked like they didn't believe in sunlight.
"I'm looking for faculty rosters," I said.
The older one blinked. "For which year?"
"Class of 2021," I said quickly. "Lit and Ethics departments."
She gave me a hard look. "What's your project on?"
"Legacy of vanished faculty," I lied.
She seemed to like that. Gave me a small nod, then disappeared into a back room.
I waited.
And waited.
Until someone else entered the archive.
Black boots. Gray coat. Headphones hanging around his neck.
Killian Vale.
Again.
I didn't speak. I didn't have to.
He just walked over and stood beside me.
Like we did this all the time.
"You're not good at being subtle," he said.
"I'm not trying to be," I replied.
The librarian returned with a file.
"Sign here."
I signed. Took the folder. Walked to the nearest reading table.
Killian sat across from me, uninvited.
"V. S.," I murmured, flipping through pages. "Do you know who that is?"
He didn't blink. "You don't want to find him."
"I do."
He leaned back in his chair, watching me like I was a fire someone forgot to put out.
"V. S. is Vincent Soren," he said eventually. "He used to be the Dean of Student Life."
"Used to be?"
"Resigned after Lila died," Killian said flatly. "No one asked why."
I stared.
"And what about Professor Renaud?"
He met my eyes, slowly.
"She was investigating him."
I barely remembered leaving the records room.
Everything blurred — Killian's stare, the old file, the faint scent of aged paper and danger.
I just kept hearing one sentence in my head on repeat:
She was investigating him.
Which meant Lila might have been too.
Which meant whatever she found… got her killed.
That night, my dorm door rattled.
Just once.
Just enough to hear.
I sat frozen, heartbeat thudding in my ears.
When I opened the door the next morning, there was a flower outside.
Black rose. Real. Fresh.
Taped to the stem?
A photo of my sister.
Smiling.
On this campus.
And written on the back?
"She smiled too much. You don't."
[Creator's Note – Smith_10💀🖤]
Okay but WHO TF is sending flowers and threats in the same package!? 😭 This campus is NOT giving normal.
Zara's putting the pieces together — Killian clearly knows more than he's saying, and now we've got a vanishing dean, a buried professor, and someone who definitely does NOT want the truth out 😵💫
Drop your theories below. Who's watching Zara? Who's V. S. REALLY? And is Killian friend, foe, or something in between?
Buckle up for Chapter 4… It's about to get dangerous.
xoxo
–Smith_10