I barely slept.
Not because of the new mattress that felt like it was stuffed with bricks. Not because of the unfamiliar noises echoing through the halls of the girls' dorm. Not even because I kept mentally replaying my awkward first day.
It was the note.
The one that somehow made its way into my room when the door had been locked.
"Lila wasn't the only secret Blackmere buried."
I'd read it at least fifteen times. Folded it. Unfolded it. Stared at it like it would bleed answers.
It didn't.
And that scared me more than anything.
By morning, the sky was the same bleak gray that seemed to permanently hover over this place. I tied my hoodie tight, shoved the note in the back of my literature book, and headed to the cafe across campus.
Blackmere was quiet at 7:30 AM. Just a few students shuffling around in hoodies and joggers, earbuds in, eyes dead. The coffee shop on the east quad, The Ink Well, was warm, quiet, and smelled like hope. Or at least caffeine.
I ordered the cheapest latte on the menu and took a seat near the window, flipping open my notes from yesterday's lecture.
But I couldn't concentrate.
Because there he was.
Killian Vale.
Sitting across the cafe.
Alone. Again.
He had one AirPod in, one out. A black hoodie pulled over his hair. One hand around a steaming mug, the other flipping pages in a worn-out copy of Crime and Punishment.
Seriously?
Who reads Dostoevsky before sunrise?
He hadn't seen me yet. His eyes were down. Focused. But the second I shifted in my chair, his gaze snapped up like a switch.
We locked eyes.
And for a second—just a second—I forgot what I was doing.
Because something about the way he looked at me made me feel like I was already caught.
Not in trouble. Just... exposed.
He didn't smile.
He didn't nod.
He just... looked away.
Like I didn't matter.
Like I wasn't even worth the effort of remembering.
I stood up.
Walked over before I could talk myself out of it.
He didn't flinch as I approached. Just turned another page, as if the universe didn't dare interrupt his rhythm.
"Hi," I said, carefully.
Nothing.
"I'm Zara. We're in Lit Theory together. Yesterday—"
"You sat two rows in front of me," he said, without looking up.
My throat tightened. "Yeah. That."
Another long pause.
Then: "Need something?"
That voice. Smooth and bored. Like silk with a tear in it.
"I just…" I pulled the note from my book and slid it across the table. "This was left in my dorm. Last night."
He looked at it. Blinked. Didn't touch it.
"Okay," he said simply.
"That's all?" I asked, heat rising in my cheeks. "You don't think it's weird?"
"I think a lot of things are weird," he said, finally meeting my eyes. "Doesn't mean they're my problem."
A sharp breath escaped me. "You knew Lila. My sister. I know you did."
He froze.
And that's when I saw it.
Not fear.
Not guilt.
Just... something flicker across his face like a shadow that wasn't supposed to be there.
"Everyone knew Lila," he said carefully. "She was loud. Loud people echo."
"And you were the last person seen talking to her."
He didn't respond.
Didn't blink.
Just closed the book, stood up, and left the note untouched on the table.
"You're looking for answers," he said over his shoulder, "in the wrong places."
And just like that, he walked out.
I stood there for a while. Silent. Shaking. Not because he scared me.
But because I was right.
He was hiding something.
And now I was sure of it.
Back in class, the tension in the room felt heavier than the books in my bag.
Killian didn't show up.
Instead, I got paired with a girl named Jules for a "compare and contrast" presentation. She was chatty, bright, and wore glasses too big for her face. She also talked with her hands so much I was worried she'd accidentally slap me.
"Is it true you're Lila's sister?" she asked halfway through our prep.
I blinked. "What?"
She chewed her pen cap. "Everyone's talking about it. Lila Monroe, class of twenty-one? Died on campus?"
"Yeah," I said, voice tight. "That was her."
She leaned in, lowering her voice. "People say it wasn't suicide."
I didn't say anything.
Jules frowned. "Someone told me she was dating Killian. That true?"
I flinched. "I don't know."
Because I didn't. Lila never told me about her love life. Or much of anything, in the last few months.
But I did remember the way she'd stopped coming home. The way she cried in the bathroom with the door locked. The way she looked the last time I saw her — like she was disappearing.
After class, I walked to the Faculty Memorial Wall.
The one with framed portraits of every professor Blackmere had ever lost.
I scanned it. Row after row of black and white faces, some smiling, some stern.
Then I saw it.
A frame.
Empty.
No nameplate. Just a space where someone's photo should have been.
Just like what I'd read in Lila's journal.
"They erased her."
My throat closed.
I took a shaky breath, reaching out, fingers brushing the glass.
Someone had tried to make her invisible.
But not me.
I wasn't leaving until every secret was uncovered — no matter who tried to stop me.
That night, another note appeared.
This one under my pillow.
Typed, again. No handwriting. No name.
Just four words:
"Stop digging, little sister."
[Creator's Note – Smith_10]
Okay. WHAT.
Zara's not even through her first week and she's already getting death threats 😭💀
Killian giving off emotionally constipated golden retriever energy — what's he hiding? And who is watching her this closely?
Things are gonna get darker from here.
See you in Chapter 3, besties 🖤
And as always… don't read alone 😉
xoxo