Page 22

TWENTY-ONE

FREYA

I feel so used.

I couldn’t stop the tears from falling. Two hours had passed, and I’d missed all my classes. By the time I got dressed and made my way to the furthest corner of the library, it was already too late.

He knew. He knew I wouldn’t make it to him in time.

It was as if he was building his walls while tearing mine down. I hated that. Hated the way he made me feel. Helpless. And yet, I still wanted him.

My gaze fell on the mask, its tinted glass staring back at me. First, he didn’t want me to breathe. Now, he didn’t want me to see. And worst of all? I didn’t even mind being trapped behind this plastic. I didn’t mind the chase. It thrilled me. It made me feel alive.

If this was trauma, I’d be scarred for life. But if this was love, I wasn’t sure I’d survive it.

I stood, smoothing the wrinkles from my skirt, and made my way back to the square, then to my dorm.

My fingers tightened around the doorknob. A quiet hesitation gripped me, a whisper at the back of my mind telling me not to go inside. But as always, I ignored it.

I stepped in and rushed to my bedroom. The moment I opened the door, my stomach dropped.

My room was in chaos. My heart pounded as I looked around it. My clothes were ripped and scattered all over the floor. The closet mirror was in pieces, glass shards glinting with broken pieces of the room. Silk sheets were ripped from my bed. And in red smudges scrawled across the wall was a game of tic-tac-toe, with A’s and O’s . There were three A’s in a row crossed.

Someone had won.

And I had lost.

There was a note on my bed. If A and O left this for Stella, they must have thought we were connected. I didn’t like where this was going.

I picked up the note and unfolded it with shaking fingers.

I patted my blazer, searching for my phone. I needed to call Stella. But before I could dial, she was already at my door.

Her breaths came in sharp gasps, her forehead damp with sweat. Her hair was tangled, her eyes wide.

She stepped inside and slammed the door shut. “They found me,” she panted. “They know I was digging through Adeline’s files.” She bent over, hands braced on her knees, struggling to catch her breath. “They know.”

Wordlessly, she handed me another note.

My pulse hammered as I read:

I swallowed the lump in my throat. My hands trembled while I clutched the paper. “I...” My voice broke. “I have to break into his office?”

Stella nodded. “No, both of us.”

I shook my head, words catching in my throat. “H-he already hates me.”

She moved in close to me, resting her hands on my shoulders. “I don’t want to end up like Adeline.”

I met eyes with hers. Fear stirred in them, mirroring my own.

“Since he hates you,” she exhaled, “you can distract him. Get him out of the office.”

I paused. “But...”

She interrupted. “And I’ll go in and get the damn disk.”

“Ask him about the test, about anything—just get him out,” she said.

I exhaled. “Okay.”

I didn’t have the chance to shower; I still felt his smell on me. No matter how hard I tried not to, I still felt him all over my body.

I walked to the door, with Stella close behind. When we were passing through the hallway, she bent toward me and whispered, “I’ll call you when I return to your dorm.”

I nodded and moved toward the hallway where his office was. The wooden door towered in front, the shiny placard reading: Professor Lucius Lockwood. My blood ran cold. My heart pounded in my ears as I kept my hand inches from the door.

I hesitated. Looked around to see if anyone was watching. No one was.

One tap. Then another.

The sound of his voice came from inside. “Who’s there?”

I swallowed hard. “Freya,” I cleared my throat. “Freya Sinclaire.”

There was a brief pause. Then the door opened. He was standing in the doorway, propped against the frame, with arms crossed against his chest. His intense gaze pinned me to the spot. “Yes, Miss Sinclaire?”

“Professor.” I let one tear drop on my cheek. “Someone—“ I sniffed, letting my voice shake.

His brows were furrowed. He cocked his head, looking at me. “Yes?”

“Someone came into my room,” I said.

“What?” his body tensed. “Who would—“ he stopped mid-sentence.

“All my belongings. They’re ruined,” I whispered. “Cut into little pieces.” I bit my lip, trying to stifle further tears.

Before I could say another word, his hand flashed out, catching my arm. He pulled at me down the hallway, moving with a quick and purposeful stride.

“Show me,” he snarled, grinding his teeth.

Did he care? Why does he care?

I nodded when he released me, his strides lengthening toward my room. He didn’t even bother to lock his office. He only wanted to see it for himself.

I opened the door, and he stepped inside, looking around at the chaos. His gaze swept across the ripped clothes, the overturned furniture, the broken glass. Then his eyes fixed on the red-scrawled tic-tac-toe on the wall.

His fingers pushed into his temples, exhaling. Then his eyes snapped to me.

“Do you know who did this?” he asked quietly but firmly.

I shook my head, looking down.

I didn’t expect that he would trust me, but I didn’t expect this, either. In one swift motion, he bridged the space, pinning me against the wall. My wrists were trapped by his hands, his face against my skin.

“Tell me,” he ordered.

“P-Professor, I don’t—“ I managed to stammer, my heartbeat racing.

He snorted, stepping back. “Fine.” He turned around and gave the wall one last glance at the message scrawled on it.

“Was anything else left behind? Other than that?” He nodded towards the red symbols.

I shook my head, my shaking hands.

His hand wrapped around my wrist, unexpectedly gentle. “I’m sorry,” he told me, exhaling. “You must’ve been so scared.”

I nodded, another tear rolling down my cheek.

His jaw was set hard, his eyes locked on to me. “Fuck,” he uttered under his breath.

Then, without hesitation, he pulled me even closer, his arms wrapping around me. And I just broke. My face pressed against his chest, and I let go. Tears soaked into his shirt as silent screams tore from my throat. I had no control, no strength left to hold anything in.

I didn’t know why he held me, but he didn’t let go. The man I thought hated me, the one I believed wanted nothing to do with me, was the same man holding me the tightest. And I let him. Because the truth was, I didn’t hate him either. Maybe I even liked him.

My fingers pulled his shirt as I fell apart completely, and he stood there, collecting every tear his fabric could absorb. Then, gently, he pushed me away, his hands framing my face. His thumbs brushed away the wet streaks on my cheeks, his touch warm, pleasing.

He leaned in, his face inches from mine. His eyes—softer now, less guarded—held something I couldn’t quite name. And still, the tears wouldn’t stop.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he said, silently promising.

Guilt twisted in my stomach. Stella was in his office, stealing the disk, and yet, all I wanted was for this moment to last longer. For him to hold me just a little more.

But he stepped back. His hands slipped from my face, one rubbing his jaw as he took another glance around my wrecked room. Then he turned back to me, his fingers grazing mine.

“I promise,” he said again.

My phone buzzed. My stomach dropped. Stella.

He waited for me to answer, but I didn’t move. I couldn’t. My heart pounded, and his gaze dropped to my lips. He wanted the same thing I did.

But instead, he stepped past me, walking out the door.

I exhaled shakily, another tear slipping free. My palm clamped over my mouth, muffling a scream. I was losing control.

A moment later, Stella walked in, holding the disk in her hand, with a grin lighting up her face. “We did it.”

But the second she saw tears on my face, her expression shifted. She rushed to my side, wrapping her arms around me. “What did he do to you?”

I shook my head, pressing my forehead against her shoulder. My voice was barely above a whisper. “He was... nice.”

She pulled back, blinking in surprise. Then, a soft chuckle slipped past her lips. “And that’s why you’re crying?”

I nodded, meeting her amused gaze.

“Sis, you need to chill.” She laughed, clapping the disk against her palm. “We won this round.”

“Then why doesn’t it feel like we did?” I murmured, wiping away the lingering tear as I stepped back into my room.

Stella sighed. “We have to celebrate the small victories.”

“We still have to watch the video,” I reminded her, grabbing my laptop from the nightstand and handing it over. “The disk slot is on the side.”

She grinned. “I know.”

Sitting beside me on the bed, she slid the disk in. The laptop whirred to life, the screen flickering as the video began to play.

A man appeared, wearing black jeans, a black shirt, and a leather jacket.

He turned slowly in the square, the camera capturing his face.

A younger version of Professor Lockwood.

I held my breath as he plucked a dark red dahlia from the garden in front of the tree. Then, without hesitation, he turned and walked toward Corvus House.

“He’s holding a red dahlia, Freya,” Stella’s breath quickened. “This is from the night of the murder.”

I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t move.

The video played on. He walked back minutes later, his hands covered in blood, his movements frantic as he rushed toward the dorms. He looked scared.

Could he have killed her?

No. He couldn’t have.

I turned to Stella, my pulse hammering, but then—there he was again.

This time, dressed in black jeans and a hoodie. As he stepped inside, he pulled a gas mask over his face.

My stomach twisted. My hands trembled. I shot up, snatching the laptop from Stella, my breath caught in my throat.

And then I saw it.

Him. In my room.

Touching me.

Watching me.

His lips against my neck while I gripped the knife in his hands.

It was him.

He was my stalker.

L stood for Lucius Lockwood.

I slammed the laptop shut, placing it on the small table near the closet. The walls of my room seemed to close in again, my vision blurring. I barely registered Stella’s voice. All I could hear was the rapid, deafening sound of my breath.

All this time.

It was him.

He was the shadow haunting me. The man who made me feel like I was suffocating.

Stella pulled me down onto the bed, her hands gripping my shoulders. She hadn’t seen the rest of the footage—I had shut the laptop just in time.

“We have to tell someone,” she urged, her voice sharp. “He killed her. He killed Adeline.”

I shook my head violently. “N-no,” I whispered. “We can’t.”

“We have to, Freya! Who’s next? You?”

“Stop,” I said, standing up abruptly. “A and O made us watch this for a reason. What if we tell someone? Then what? They win? He wins? What if he never even touched that girl?”

“That girl is your aunt!” Stella’s voice shook with fury. “And that man is a murderer.”

“Stella, please,” I pleaded. “We have to dig deeper. He couldn’t have—“

“Give me one reason,” she challenged, throwing her hands up.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I found the letter L wrote to Adeline… confessing his love for her.”

“Love turned deadly,” she shot back. “Take a hint.”

“You saw the note,” I reminded her. “Bitch. Buried. I don’t think he’s A or O. I don’t think he—“

“Stop,” she cut me off. “Do what you want, but I’m taking that disk to Blackthorn in the morning.”

She snatched the laptop, pulled the disk out, and slipped it back into its case. Then, without another word, she stormed to the door.

“You should do the same,” she said before slamming it shut behind her.

Tears slipped silently down my cheeks. Chaos spiraled inside my head like a storm I couldn’t control. Everything around me shattered, falling apart.

My gaze landed on the shards of glass scattered across the floor.

Maybe this was my way out.

I stood, my feet carrying me toward the broken mirror. My fingers closed around a jagged piece. The sharp edge bit into my skin, slicing deep, but I didn’t let go. I watched as my blood dripped, pooling in the cracks of the wood. I hissed, silently screaming, the pain dragging me somewhere else. I knelt. My breath came in ragged gasps as I did it again to my other arm.

Pain.

I let it in. Let it drown out the noise in my head.

Thoughts.

Gone. The chaos, the screaming—it all faded into nothing.

Darkness.

It wrapped around me, soft and quiet. And then, fireflies—tiny blinks of light flickering behind my eyelids.

Life has no real beginning or end. We exist in this in-between, and sometimes, it just isn’t enough. I was the one standing on the edge. At the border of the end. And in the silence, I felt like nothing. Like no one.

Blood.

My blood.

Spilling freely, but my lips wouldn’t form the words to call for help.

But I lied.

I could scream.

And I did.

I screamed, desperate for someone to hear me.

I wanted to feel the pain. But this time, I was terrified I had taken it too far.

That’s the thing about dying; you never appreciate life until it flashes before your eyes. You spend your whole life thinking you aren’t afraid of death. That it doesn’t scare you, but when the light starts to fade, all you want is to live.

And sometimes, you just can’t.