Chapter 27 The Tape

Chapter 27 The Tape


The file shouldn’t exist.

I know that the second I see the folder name glowing faintly on the computer screen, hidden behind layers of dull administrative documents and grade reports. It’s buried so deep in the system that it feels like stumbling on a locked diary—except this one doesn’t belong to me.

Carter, Noah.

My breath catches. My fingers hover over the trackpad, trembling.

Noah’s name has been erased from Blackridge before. His awards gone from the trophy cases. His photo missing from class archives. The teachers pretend they barely remember him. And now here it is—his file, hidden in plain sight but tampered with, like someone wanted it lost and found at the same time.

I click it open.

The screen fills with scanned documents—attendance sheets, disciplinary notes, counselor evaluations. None of it looks unusual at first, until my eyes snag on the dates.

The week Noah disappeared.

There are three separate reports logged. The first says he skipped classes two days in a row. False. Noah never skipped—ever. The second says he was caught trespassing in the records room. Also false. He’d told me he was close to exposing something, but he wouldn’t have been careless enough to get caught.

And the third…

My stomach knots.

The third is a disciplinary warning, signed by the assistant principal but co-signed by someone else.

Jace Langston.

The world tilts. My ears ring. Jace’s name sits there in digital ink, like a brand burned into the page. He was part of this. Maybe more than I ever guessed.

My chest tightens. I should feel vindicated, triumphant. Here’s the proof, right? Here’s the evidence that Noah didn’t just vanish—that Jace was tangled in it from the start.

But instead my heart lurches, heavy and confused, because I don’t know what it means. Was he ordered to sign it? Did he forge it to bury Noah deeper? Or was he already playing the part he swears he hates—his father’s shadow, a pawn dressed as a prince?

I scroll further down, and that’s when I see the video file.

Hidden among the PDFs, one small thumbnail. Untitled.

My hands sweat as I double-click.

The grainy footage flickers to life. It’s the school’s security camera feed, timestamped the night before Noah disappeared. The angle is skewed, but I can make out the back of the administration building, the faint glow of a streetlight.

Noah’s figure appears first, his stride tense but determined. He pauses at the door, looking around like he knows he shouldn’t be there. My throat closes at the sight of him—alive, real, captured in a moment I didn’t know existed.

Then another figure enters the frame. Taller. Broader. His face turns just enough for the camera to catch it.

Jace.

My body goes cold.

The two of them talk—or argue, really. Their movements are sharp, clipped. Noah points toward something off-screen, his shoulders stiff with conviction. Jace shakes his head, grabs Noah’s arm. Noah shoves him back. The footage skips, glitchy, but the last frame freezes long enough to sear itself into me: Noah’s face twisted in fury, Jace’s hand fisted at his side.

And then the tape ends.

No context. No audio. No aftermath.

But it’s enough.

Proof that Jace lied. Proof that Noah wasn’t alone. Proof that someone—maybe everyone—knew more than they ever said.

I sit frozen, my heart hammering, tears stinging the corners of my eyes. For years I imagined what Noah’s last days looked like. Now I’ve seen one. And Jace was there.

I yank a flash drive from my bag and plug it in, copying the files with shaky fingers. The progress bar crawls across the screen, tauntingly slow. Every second feels like an eternity.

Halfway through, the computer pings.

Another user has logged in.

I freeze.

Someone else is on the network. Watching. Maybe right now.

The hairs on the back of my neck rise. My pulse pounds as I yank the flash drive free, not even waiting for it to finish. I slam the laptop shut, shove it back into the drawer, and grab my bag.

I need to leave. Now.

The hallway outside is silent, too silent. The fluorescent lights buzz faintly overhead, but the air feels heavy, charged. I hurry toward the exit, each step echoing louder than it should.

That’s when I see it.

My locker door is cracked open.

I know I closed it this morning.

I approach slowly, every nerve in my body screaming. Inside, my textbooks are neat, untouched—except for one folded sheet of paper resting on top.

With trembling hands, I unfold it.

So you found it. Don’t get too comfortable. You’re not the only one who knows.

No signature. Just blocky handwriting in black ink.

My stomach drops. Someone knows I have the tape. Someone was waiting for me to find it.

I clutch the flash drive so tight it digs into my palm. The proof is mine now, but so is the danger.

I shove the note back, slam the locker, and bolt down the hall, my mind racing.

If Jace really was part of this, I need to know why. If he wasn’t, then someone’s playing both of us like pawns on a board neither of us can see.

Either way, one thing is clear: I’m not alone in this game anymore.

And whoever left that note—they’re already one step ahead.