The cold never truly left Elara's bones that night. No matter how many blankets she pulled over herself, her fingers wouldn't stop trembling—not from the air, but from the thought that someone had written her into this mystery. She had gone from reader to character. From observer to target.
The envelope lay open on her desk, its words burned into her mind:
> "The watcher becomes the watched."
She hadn't told anyone. Not even Lia. A part of her knew she had crossed a line. If she pulled someone else into this, they might become the next victim. And now, it was clear—whoever was behind this wasn't just playing with letters. They were writing a narrative. A twisted one. And Elara's part wasn't over yet.
By morning, she hadn't slept.
Instead, she traced back the names. All six letters had one link—every victim had either studied under or worked with Professor Talren Evick at some point. That couldn't be a coincidence.
But the eighth letter—hers—didn't mention a name. It mentioned a role: the one who knows too much.
She opened her journal, flipping through the tangled mess of notes she'd written. Names, symbols, dates, quotes from the letters… and something clicked.
Six letters, six victims. Each letter followed by a death.
> What if the seventh letter hadn't been delivered yet?
She stared at the sealed envelope she still kept hidden in her drawer. The one that belonged to Emrick Thorne.
A student with a dark reputation, always quiet, always watching.
But… he was still alive.
Was that the delay? The reason the cycle hadn't moved forward?
And what would happen if she delivered the letter now?
Elara stood, heart pounding, and pulled the envelope out. Its wax seal was untouched. The symbol stared back at her—mocking, daring.
She left her dorm, hands trembling, and crossed the campus to the east dorms. It was still early. The corridors were empty, silent, save for the soft hum of heaters and distant footsteps. She reached Emrick's room.
Room 214.
She hesitated.
Then slipped the envelope under his door and walked away.
But she didn't return to her room. Instead, she waited at the far end of the hallway, hidden by the shadows, watching.
Minutes passed.
And then the door opened.
Emrick stood there, dark-haired, dressed in a black hoodie, looking down at the envelope. His expression didn't change as he picked it up. He turned it in his hand, then slowly tore the seal open.
He read the letter.
No shock. No fear.
Instead, he looked directly toward the hallway—toward Elara.
She stepped back instinctively. Had he seen her?
Emrick didn't move. Just stood there for a moment. Then, as calmly as if nothing happened, he closed his door.
Elara's breath hitched.
She walked back in a daze. Her mind raced with possibilities. Had she made a mistake? What if Emrick wasn't the next target?
What if he was part of this?
That night, she couldn't sleep again. And at 3:14 AM, her phone buzzed.
One message.
From an unknown number.
> "You gave it to him. That was brave."
Her throat dried instantly.
Another message followed.
> "Now you must watch what you've set in motion."
She jumped from her bed and opened her door. The hallway was empty.
But taped to her door…
Was a photo.
A new one.
It was a picture of her—standing in the hallway that morning, watching Emrick.
And behind her in the photo… was a figure.
Unclear. Shadowy. But there.
Watching her.
Elara's fingers shook as she held the photograph.
The grainy figure in the background was blurred by motion, but unmistakably human. No face. No detail. Just presence.
Someone had been standing behind her—close enough to reach out.
She stumbled back into her room and locked the door. Her thoughts spiraled. Was it Emrick? No, he'd been in front of her. This was someone else. Someone watching from the shadows. And whoever it was had a camera, access to her dorm floor, and her phone number.
She checked the message again. The number was still "Unknown." No ID, no trace.
Her phone buzzed once more.
> "What does it feel like to be hunted, Elara?"
Her breath caught.
> "You deliver letters, but who delivers yours?"
She stared at the screen, heart hammering. The letters… the deaths… and now, the photos.
It was no longer a game of riddles. This was personal.
She rushed to her journal again, flipping through pages until she landed on her notes about the seven letters. But something dawned on her—she'd been so focused on the victims, she hadn't analyzed the order. Was there a pattern? A sequence?
And then she saw it.
Every victim had interacted with the next.
Marla had covered up something in the greenhouse—something that Professor Evick had signed off on.
Professor Evick once mentored Emrick in an academic project two years ago.
The chain linked them. Each death a thread pulling toward something—or someone.
She highlighted the last three names: Evick, Emrick, and… Elara.
Her hand froze over the page.
> She was the final name in the chain.
And if the seventh letter had just been opened… the next target might not be Emrick.
It might be her.
A sharp knock on her door made her gasp.
She stared at the handle, frozen.
Another knock. Louder.
"Elara?" a voice called softly.
It was Lia.
She exhaled in relief and opened the door. "Lia, thank God…"
But Lia stepped in, frowning. "Are you okay? You haven't been in class. People are talking. Some say you've gone weird."
"I—Lia, listen." Elara grabbed her wrist, leading her inside. "I need you to see something."
She showed her the letter. The photo. The messages.
Lia stared at them all, lips parted. "Elara… this is insane. Someone's stalking you."
"It's not just stalking," Elara whispered. "It's a story. A cycle. I think I'm part of it. I think I'm the next one."
Lia's voice trembled. "Then we need to go to the police. Or the school dean."
But Elara shook her head. "No one would believe me. The letters, the riddles—they'd think I made them up. We need to find out who's behind this. Before the next letter is written."
Outside, the wind howled through the trees. Shadows moved across the courtyard.
And deep within those shadows, someone was watching.