Page 7

I swallow hard, forcing a calm expression as I turn back. Cassidy watches me, eyebrows raised, but I give her a small wave and gesture for her to go ahead.

“I’ll meet you outside,” I mutter, trying to keep my voice light. She glances between me and the professor before nodding and walking out.

As the door swings shut behind her, I take a deep breath and step closer to the podium, anxiety twisting in my gut.

I walk up to Professor Jennings as he descends the podium, slinging his bag over his shoulder. I try to keep my nerves in check as I stop in front of him and watch him adjust his glasses, looking at me with an expression that’s hard to read.

“Rhea, you seemed…distracted today,” he says, his voice calm and probing. “Is everything alright?”

I force a smile, my mind racing. “Yeah, I’m fine,” I reply quickly. “Just you know, late night studying. I didn’t get much sleep.”

“Studying?” He nods slowly. “Last time I checked, studying doesn’t involve alcohol.”

My stomach drops. My heart races as I replay his words in my head. How could he possibly know?

The shock must have plain on my face because he chuckles. “I can practically smell the alcohol on your friend Cassidy from here.”

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, forcing a relieved smile. My pulse slows just a bit, but the tension in my shoulders doesn’t fully ease. “Yeah, she went a little hard last night,” I say, trying to keep my voice light.

“Seems like she’s not the only one who went hard.” He gives a short, knowing smile. “Party last night?”

My heart skips a beat at his words. I try to keep my face neutral, but the knot in my stomach tightens. I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. I can’t answer. I refuse to confirm that I was there.

He says, “Well, I hope it wasn’t the Delta Sigma Rho Fraternity party.” Leaning back, he frowns. “I hear there was an unfortunate incident there last night.”

My stomach drops again, this time even deeper. Delta Sigma Rho . I grip the strap of my bag tighter, forcing myself to stay calm, to stay transparent.

I blink, feigning confusion. “An incident?”

Professor Jennings raises an eyebrow. “Yes,” he adjusts his glasses, his gaze careful.

“Something about a fight and someone ending up dead…it isn’t all clear at the moment.

” He shrugs, as if it is not a big deal, but I can feel the weight of his words pressing down on me.

My pulse quickens, and the room feels smaller all of a sudden.

“A fight?” I echo, trying to keep my voice steady, but it feels too light, too forced. “I didn’t hear anything about that.”

He looks at me confused, like he can’t believe it. “Really? I imagine you would have. It’s what you kids call trending.” His voice is casual, but there was a sharpness in his voice that unsettles me.

I force a small laugh, shrugging as nonchalantly as I can manage. “I’ve been kind of out of the loop with campus gossip.” My hands tighten around the strap of the bag, my knuckles probably turning white from strain. “Just focusing on school.”

He tilts his head slightly, studying me for a second too long, then finally nods. “Good,” he states sharply before letting out a small grin. “I would hate for my TA to be mixed up in trouble.”

I try to match his amused grin, but it feels forced, like my facial muscles had turned to stone. My smile is brittle, barely holding up under the weight of my panic. “Yeah, definitely wouldn’t want that,” I murmur, hoping he doesn’t notice my anxiety. “I probably can’t be your TA anymore.”

He glances up at me. “Really?”

I nod. “Yes. Something else came up. I’m sorry.”

“Careful where you tread,” he says, returning the paper to the stack. “This place has long memories.”

I blink. “What?”

He smiles like it’s nothing. “The Reapers don’t like loose ends.”

I freeze.

Reapers?

What the hell is he talking about?

“Excuse me?” I gasp.

But he’s already moved on—calling the next name, like he didn’t just say something that made my stomach drop.

“You’re excused,” he says to me before launching into another conversation with another student. My mind is racing, the lump in my throat swelling until it’s choking me.

By the time I step into the hallway, all I want is to hide away and disappear.

Cassidy stands just outside the door, a few of our classmates surrounding her. They were having a hushed conversation, but a few words reached me as I approached.

“Shit went down with the Reapers.”

The Reapers?

“The cops say he was found dead in his room last night.”

I stop dead in my tracks, my heart thudding painfully in my chest. The words hit me hard in the gut.

The cops…

His room? That was his room!?

I can’t breathe for a second, the hallway seeming to tilt. My mind struggles to catch up to what I’m hearing.

Cassidy notices me. Her eyes widening slightly as she waves me over, but I can’t move. My legs feel like lead, rooted to this spot.

“Rhea, you okay?” she asks, her voice suddenly distant, muffled by the rush of blood in my ears.

I killed Jack.

“I…um…” The lump in my throat starts choking me, so I cough. “I just…I don’t feel so great.” My voice comes out shaky, barely above a whisper.

Cassidy frowns, her concern deepening. She takes a step closer, but I take a step back, needing distance, needing air.

My mind races. They found him. This isn’t a secret.

My stomach churns, and I feel like I might throw up right here in the middle of the hallway. Jack is dead because of me, and now the cops are involved. How long until they connect me to it? How long until everything comes crashing down?

“I think I need to go,” I mutter, my voice strained. I don’t wait for her to respond before turning on my heel and walking away, my legs shaking with every step.

“Wait!” I hear Cassidy call out as she hurries after me. I don’t stop, my breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. My vision blurs around the edges, the hallway suddenly too bright, too crowded. I need space, I need to think— God, I need to breathe.

Cassidy catches up, grabbing my arm gently but firmly, forcing me to stop “Rhea, what the hell? You’re freaking me out.” Her voice tight with concern.

I want to tell her everything—the party, the masked guy, the blood—but the words are trapped, buried under layers of panic and fear. I shake my head.

“I’m fine,” I manage, though we both know it’s a lie. “I just… I need to be alone.”

She blinks at me “You do remember we’re supposed to have that group study meeting right?”

“I…I can’t today…I just can’t,” I struggle out, my voice faltering as I speak.

Cassidy steps closer, her eyes filled with worry. “Is everything okay babe? You’ve been acting strange all morning.”

I swallow hard, feeling the lump in my throat tighten. My mind is spinning, my heart racing. I can’t tell her. Not now, not like this. “Yeah, I’m just…” I trail off, searching for an excuse, anything that doesn’t sound like the lie it is.

Cassidy doesn’t buy it, her gaze hardening as she steps even closer. “Rhea, you can talk to me, you know?”

I bite my lip, tears threatening to spill over.

She’s pushing, but I can’t let her in. Not when I’m barely holding it together myself.

“I’m okay, Cass. I just need some space, okay?

Please.” My voice cracks at the end, and I can see the frustration building in her eyes, but she sighs and lets it go.

“Alright,” she says softly, placing a hand on my arm. “But you’re telling me eventually. I mean it.”

I nod weakly, grateful that she’s giving me space but terrified of what I’ll have to face when that space runs out.

Cassidy hesitates for a moment longer, clearly torn, before finally stepping back.

She gives me one last searching look, then turns and heads toward our group of friends gathered down the hall.

I watch her go, feeling the weight of guilt settle deeper in my chest. She wants to help, but if she knew the truth, she’d never look at me the same.

For the longest time, my room had been my sanctuary, the one place where I could let my guard down and feel safe. But now, as I sit on the edge of my bed, staring at the familiar surroundings, it feels like the walls are closing in on me.

Every shadow seems darker, every sound more sinister. The events of last night hang over me like a storm cloud, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t shake the suffocating feeling of dread that’s taken root in my chest. My mind keeps circling back to the party, the masked guy, the blood.

I want to forget, to pretend none of it happened, but how can I when the weight of it is crushing me from the inside out?

I bury my face in my hands, feeling the pressure build behind my eyes. I want to scream, to cry, but neither will help. I need to figure this out. I can’t keep running or hiding. Whoever this masked guy is, he knows everything.

And if he goes to the police…

No.

I can’t let him.

I need to find out who he is before he ruins my life.

My mind drifts back to the tattoo I saw on his arm—the strange band of words. It wasn’t something common. I have to figure out what it means or at least find someone who can. Maybe that will lead me to him. I dig out my phone with trembling hands. It’s not much of a plan, but it’s all I have.

The pictures…

I remember Cassidy taking some photos during the party last night, her phone always out, snapping away.

There’s a chance, a slim chance, that she caught something in one of the pictures–maybe the masked guy, or at least the tattoo.

My heart pounds as I unlock my phone, my fingers shaking as I click open her social media profile.

Cassidy always posts everything, even mid-party, so there’s a chance she’s already shared something, my breath catches as I click through her profile, skimming past selfies, blurry group shots and dance videos from her dad’s studio.

The familiar faces of my classmates blur together as I hunt for any sign of him–of the masked guy or the tattoo.

I swipe faster, the anxiety building in my chest, but then I pause on a photo from last night.

The neon lights from the party casting a strange glow over the crowd.

In the center of the photo, Cassidy is smiling rather goofily, wrapped in the arms of some shirtless frat guy but my focus isn’t on them.

I squint, my heart hammering. In the background, standing at the edge of the room, right in front of the stairs…

A shirtless figure, wearing the same mask I remember.

My stomach twists as I zoom in, my breath catches in my throat.

The mask’s expressionless face, blank and haunting, stares straight ahead.

The figure stands stiffly, one arm raised, gripping the stair railing as if he was debating whether to go up the stairs or not.

My pulse quickens as I trace the faint outline of the words circling his bicep, barely visible but unmistakable. This is him. The masked man. He’s right there, lingering in the background, just a few feet from where we all danced, laughed, and drank, completely oblivious to him.

I stare at the image, my heart pounding in my chest.

What do I do now?

Panic bubbles up inside me as I stare at the photo, the realization sinking in. This masked man, the one who was there that night—the one who knows everything—is right in front of me, and I have no idea who he is. I try to steady my breathing, forcing myself to think logically.

I save the image to my phone, my fingers shaking. I can’t let this go. I need to figure out who he is. Maybe someone in the frat would know—someone must recognize the tattoo or have seen him without the mask. But how do I even begin asking without drawing attention to myself?

Cassidy. Maybe she noticed him. Maybe she remembers something. I glance at her contact in my phone, my thumb hovering over the call button. But can I ask her without raising suspicion? I bite my lip, torn between dragging her into this mess and needing answers.

Before I can overthink, I type out a quick message, attaching the photo.

Hey Cass, Do you know the guy in the mask in the background?

As soon as I press send, a wave of regret crashes over me.

What if this makes her suspicious?

What if she asks too many questions?

I clench my phone in my hand, watching the screen, waiting for those three little dots to pop up. My heart races with every second that passes, my mind spiraling with possibilities.

Finally, the dots appear, and I hold my breath. The reply comes quickly.

Uhh. No clue. Why? Something happen with him?

I stare at the message, my pulse quickening. I should have expected that.

Now what?

My fingers hover over the screen, debating my next move.

Do I come up with an excuse? Brush it off? Or do I dig deeper, risking more suspicion?

I tap out a response, trying to sound casual.

Nah, just thought he looked familiar. Probably nothing.

Cassidy doesn’t respond right away, and I take that as a small relief. I go back to the photo, scrolling through it again, and my gaze catches on the comments underneath. There’s a mix of inside jokes and compliments but one comment stands out.

Saw you there last night, Rhea. Crazy night, right? #secretsdontsayburied

I freeze, staring at the words, my breath catching in my throat. My heart pounds in my chest as a wave of nausea rolls through me.

Who wrote this?

What do they know?

My hands tremble as I tap on the profile of the person who left the comment, but it’s private. No posts, no profile picture—just an empty, faceless account.

The knot in my stomach tightens. Someone knows.

Panic surges through me as I stare at the screen, the cryptic comment looping in my mind like a broken record. “Secrets don’t stay buried.” My mouth feels dry, and I can hear the thudding of my own heartbeat in my ears. Who could this be?

Is it the masked guy?