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NINE

FREYA

I’d watched enough true crime shows and YouTube deep dives to know one thing, and that is that stalking always leads to murder. I wasn’t just some random girl anymore; I was already his victim in his twisted game of predator and prey. And if I didn’t play by his rules, things would only get worse.

I ended the call the second Grandma walked in, gripping the phone so tightly behind my back that my fingers ached. I wanted to tell her. I wanted to say he called. But the words wouldn’t come.

Secrets had a way of breaking people, but the truth? The truth could destroy them. And I couldn’t let that happen to her.

She stepped closer, saying something I barely registered. Her voice was background noise to the storm inside my head.

Him.

Even with fear coiling in my chest, I couldn’t ignore the way he made me feel alive. And I hated that. Hated myself for it.

But somewhere, buried deep in my mind, a part of me wanted to see the face behind the mask.

“Freya,” Grandma’s voice softened as she sat on the edge of my bed. “I never wanted to keep things from you, but I had to.”

“Let’s not do this,” I muttered, turning away toward the window. My eyes searched the night outside, desperate to catch even a part of him. But he was already gone.

“My grandfather was one of the founders of Blackthorn. You have every right to go,” she said, “but Blackthorn tore our family apart. I don’t want it to do the same to us.”

I faced her. Her eyes were already glassy with unshed tears. “Blackthorn takes,” she whispered, “it never gives. Remember that.”

“Places don’t take people,” I said, my voice quieter now. “Bad decisions do. And if going there is a mistake, I want it to be my mistake. Not yours.”

A sharp breath hitched in her throat. She took a hesitant step forward, but I lifted my hand between us before she could close the distance.

“Don’t,” I said. “Nothing you say will change my mind. I’m going to Blackthorn with or without your approval.”

She let out a slow breath. “Okay,” she murmured. “I thought I’d try.”

A single tear rolled down the side of her face before she brushed it away, stood upright once more, and approached the door. She didn’t look back as she pushed through it.

I lay back on the bed, resting on my back with the ceiling looming above me. The walls closed in on me uncomfortably, pressing hard. The only thing that was keeping me together was the fact that two days hence, I’d be gone—far away in Blackthorn.

And then, I could forget.

Forget the stalker who wouldn’t find me because I’d be out of reach. Forget the secrets Grandma kept locked away, the ones that had started to feel like chains. Forget my stepfather—the man I’d barely seen five times in my life. Forget the number of times Mom had left me here, alone, waiting for her to return.

I clamped my eyes shut, willing my mind to go blank. But sleep never came, it didn’t come easily anymore. Nightmares intruded during the night, invading my mind even when I was awake.

Sighing, I turned to look at the nightstand where the book he’d given me rested.

I hesitated briefly, then took it up, my fingers brushing the cover as I opened it. There was a note scribbled on the front page.

“The faster you run, the harder I’ll chase. But in the end, you’ll always be mine, Little Star. —L”

My breath caught. My fingers clutched the sides of the paper, the letters digging into my skin like they wanted to trap me.

Biting my lip to steady myself, I made myself turn the page.

And then I began to read.

A cold chill woke me up at around 4 a.m.

The lights were off. The window was closed. And the air inside the bedroom was colder than the night air outside. I was observing my breath curl within the darkness, my skin already starting to acquire purple and blue undertones from the icy bite.

Shivering, I pushed the covers away from me and sat up, heading to the center of the room where the suitcase was. My fingers fumbled to get a sweater that was inside it. Putting it on didn’t help. The cold clung to me through the fabric.

Then, the door creaked.

Not fully open but just enough. Ajar, like something had slipped through.

But the cold… it wasn’t coming in. It was spilling out.

A slow, uneasy breath left my lips as I stepped closer. The moment I did, the same icy air brushed against my cheeks, whispering past me like it was alive. My gaze darted toward the hallway. Was a window open out there? Had my stalker somehow found a way inside again?

I had to check.

Steeling myself, I stepped into the hallway. The wooden floor was cool beneath my bare feet, the silence pressing against my ears. But the windows were shut, locked. No sign of forced entry.

I turned back, a sharp pulse of unease twisting in my gut. Then I felt it.

The cold was slipping back into my room.

As if something wanted me to follow.

A chill went down my spine. My hands instinctively folded together on my chest as my eyes scanned the other end of the hallway. The bedroom where I’d found the letters was open.

“Nana?” I whispered. No one replied.

The door creaked open a fraction further as if responding to my voice.

My heart was racing, beating wildly within me. My natural reaction was to spin around, to go back. But something pushed me forward. I didn’t understand why, but I went inside.

The door swung shut behind me with a click. The cold brushed around me, surrounding me, watching me. I swallowed hard, glancing around the space to see what was drawing me to this spot. My gaze rested on the other wall. The pictures. They had fallen on the floor, scattered as if placed there with purpose.

I crouched beside them, my fingers hovering over the images. Faces stared back at me. I didn’t recognize a single one. But the places in the background? Those I knew.

And then, my eyes locked on one photo.

Two girls stood in front of an old castle, both dressed in uniforms, both smiling as if the world belonged to them. One had long blonde hair pulled over her shoulders. The other wore her jet-black hair in a high ponytail.

They looked… happy.

I hesitated, then reached out, fingers brushing against the castle in the picture. Carefully, I took it from the floor, holding it in my hands.

The cold pressed closer, like a whisper against my skin.

Something about this picture mattered.

I just didn’t know why.

As I pulled the picture closer, something knocked it from my hands. It slipped through my fingers, tumbling to the floor, skidding just beneath the bed.

I froze.

It had landed face-down, just far enough that I could see the writing scrawled across the back.

Blackthorn, September 2007.

A chill crawled up my spine. My pulse pounded so hard I could hear it in my ears, feel the icy grip of something unseen tightening around my skin.

I spun around.

Nothing.

No one was there.

The silence stretched until a sound broke through—a faint, distant lullaby coming through the walls.

Music. I knew this song.

I swallowed hard, my breath coming faster. The melody was slow, each note clicking like the teeth of a metal comb. The sound swelled, filling every inch of the room, pressing against my skull. But there was nothing around.

I’m losing it.

This isn’t real.

But it was happening.

I clamped my hands over my ears, but the song came through. My chest tightened, panic seeping into my bones. I squeezed my eyes shut, digging my nails into my palm, desperate to wake up if this was just another nightmare.

But I felt the pinch.

And the music played on.

I searched the room, pleading for an answer. And then I saw it—on the table near the closet.

A music box.

A tiny ballerina spun in endless circles, locked in with the haunting tune.

I took a step closer, hesitating before I reached for it. As soon as my fingers curled around the wooden edges, the music stopped.

Silence crashed down like a wave.

The box was light brown and simple, except for the small heart carved into the lid. Inside, two initials were carved into the wood: A + L.

I swallowed hard.

I tried to close it, but the ballerina blocked the lid. As I nudged it open again, something caught my eye.

A folded slip of paper, nestled inside.

I reached for it.

But before I could pull it free, the door creaked open.

My stomach dropped.

I grabbed the box and ran, slipping out of the room and into mine, shutting the door behind me. My breath came in ragged bursts as I hurried to my bed, hands shaking as I pried the box open again.

The paper was old—yellowed with crumbling at the edges. I unfolded it carefully, my heart slamming against my ribs as I began to read.

“Dear Adeline,

I am so sick and tired of watching you from afar. I can’t stand the ten feet between us, the three rows that separate us in class when all I want is to be next to you.

But I know that’s not what you want. And I understand that.

Still, I will keep trying.

I wish we could just tell the world—let everyone know that I am yours and you are mine. But your mother would never accept me. My father would never accept me.

We could change that.

We could run.

Far away, where it’s just you and me.

A and L forever, right?

I will come for you on November 21st, the night of the Blackwood party—when everyone else will be out. You know I won’t be there. Parties have never been for me. You have always been my celebration.

I will knock twice. Then once more.

When you open the door, have your suitcase ready.

Because we won’t be coming back.

You are my heart, my stars, my everything.

Love, your L.”

L?

My pulse stuttered.

I scrambled for the book on my nightstand, flipping to the handwritten note inside. My eyes moved from note to letter, scanning, searching. My stomach flipped. Could it be...? No. It couldn’t.

The handwriting was different. But handwriting could change. Right?

Some secrets were meant to stay buried. Some people were meant to remain lost.

But something, or someone, had led me to this tonight.

I was meant to find this letter. I was meant to see that picture of Blackthorn before I even set foot there.

Is this some sick play from Grandma, a desperate attempt to keep me away from the academy? Or was I being haunted by something that refused to be forgotten?

I didn’t have the answers.

But I did know one thing.

If I stayed, I would be trapped in this never-ending cycle, drowning in questions without ever reaching the truth.

If I left, there was no telling what I might find.

But at least I wouldn’t be left wondering.

And for now, that was enough.