Chapter 86 86

Chapter 86 86
Quinn's POV

"Look, I just need five minutes to check the layout guidelines for the upcoming sports column," I told the editor-in-chief, offering a smile that I hoped looked innocent.

He glanced up from his monitor, running a hand through his messy hair, clearly exhausted by the late-night editing cycle. "The print lab has the hard copies, Miss Eisenhower. I really don't have time to dig through the drive right now."

"Actually, I think the assistant left the physical binder on the back desk in the main media suite," I lied smoothly, pointing toward the hallway. "If you could just show me where she keeps the key to that filing cabinet, I can look it up myself and stay out of your way."

He sighed, standing up from his chair. "Fine. Let's just go look. But make it quick, I have a deadline in twenty minutes."

I followed him out into the corridor, heart hammering against my ribs. As we reached the split in the hallway, I dropped my notebook, sending loose sheets of paper scattering across the linoleum floor. "Oh, no. I'm so sorry!"

He stopped, looking down at the mess. "Just go ahead to the media room. The cabinet is unlocked. I’ll go grab the file from the print lab down the hall instead. It'll be faster."

"Thank you so much," I gushed as I gathered my papers.

The moment he turned the corner toward the printing lab, I straightened up and ducked inside the campus e-magazine office. The room was dark, illuminated only by the standby lights of a dozen desktop computers. And it was empty too—perfect.

I closed the door behind me and stood perfectly still for a second to listen. Nothing but the hum of the ventilation system.

My eyes roamed across the room, sweeping past the rows of empty desks and stacks of unread campus newspapers until they finally landed on the archive cabinets against the back wall. They were tall, industrial metal units, painted an ugly shade of office grey.

I hurried over, my sneakers squeaking faintly against the floorboards. I grabbed the handle of the top drawer and pulled. It resisted for a second, then slid open with a metallic groan that sounded deafening in the empty room. Inside, rows of thick, white plastic binders were lined up chronologically. Each one was labeled with a semester and a year.

"This semester," I muttered to myself, my fingers tracing the spines. "Come on, where is it?"

I found the one labeled FALL/WINTER ARCHIVE 2025 and yanked it from the drawer. I carried it over to the nearest desk, using the glow from a computer monitor to see. I flipped the cover open. The pages crackled as I turned them, full of glossy mock-ups, student profiles and opinion pieces that were irrelevant right now.

I turned the pages faster, my eyes skimming the headers. Campus Dining Reboots. The New Greek Life Regulations. Varsity Preview.

Then, I saw the headline: FRESHMAN PHENOM: CAN SASHA MILLMAN RECLAIM THE COURT?

There she was. The photo showed her standing by the net, tennis racket gripped tightly in both hands, a bright, confident expression on her face. She looked so young, so untouched by whatever darkness had swallowed her up over the last few weeks.

I skipped past the main body of the article. I didn't need to read about her training schedule or her hopes for the state tournament. My eyes dropped straight to the very bottom of the second page, looking for the small-print directory the magazine always included for its featured athletes.

LOCAL RESIDENCE: 1422 WEST PEACHTREE LANE, APARTMENT 4B.

A local residential address on the west side of town. It was not a university dorm like I thought it would be, but a real apartment, miles away from the campus bubble.

"Got you," I whispered triumphantly.

I pulled my phone out of my jeans pocket, my hands shaking slightly as I opened the camera app. I hovered the screen over the page, waiting for the lens to focus under the dim light of the monitor. The green box beeped, confirming the focus. I snapped a quick picture of the entire page, making absolutely sure the address was clear and readable.

After that, I closed the binder, shoved it back into the grey filing cabinet, and slid the drawer shut. I grabbed my backpack from the floor, swinging it over one shoulder as I checked the hallway through the small glass panel in the door. The corridor was empty. I slipped out of the office and walked briskly down the stairs, exiting the building before the editor-in-chief could ever return from the printing lab.

The cold autumn air hit my face as I stepped out onto the quad. I was walking fast, almost at a jog, heading toward the main library plaza with my eyes on my phone. Within seconds, I was calling Harmony. She picked up almost immediately.

"Quinn? Slow down, what did you find?" Her voice sounded strained, thick with anxiety. I could hear the background noise of students chattering and traffic moving behind her.

"Sasha Millman's address," I said, breathing heavily as I crossed the grass. "I got into the e-magazine archives. Sasha had a profile piece last semester, and they listed her local apartment address at the bottom of the page. It’s on the west side of town. West Peachtree Lane."

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. "Are you serious? You're sure it's her current place?"

"It’s the only place listed," I told her. "It’s a real address, Harmony. Apartment 4B. We can go and see her, talk to her, at least know why she hasn't called since last week."

"Okay, okay." Harmony replied, sounding relieved. "Okay, you're right, we need to go there right now. Where are you?"

"I just left the media building. I'm heading toward the student center."

"Change of plans," she said quickly. "Meet me at the old fountain behind the science pavilion. We can take the bus and head straight over to the west side. It’ll take us twenty minutes in this traffic."

"I'll be there in five minutes," I replied.

"Quinn, wait," Harmony called out before I could hang up. "Don't tell anyone else yet, okay? Not even Roman? Not until we see what's actually at that apartment. If Bennett is watching us, we can't draw attention."

"I know, I know." I said. "I'm keeping this between us. Just get to the spot."

I cut the call, dropping the phone back into my pocket. My stride elongated into a full run as I veered off the main path, cutting through the shadows of the old oak trees toward the science pavilion.

A mixture of excitement and dread settled deep in my gut. We were driving into the unknown, chasing a girl who had vanished without a trace, a girl who should have answered all our questions.

I reached the brick plaza behind the pavilion, the old stone fountain gurgling softly in the center of the square. Then I slowed down to a walk, looking around the space and waiting for Harmony to appear from the parking lot.

I pulled my backpack tighter against my shoulders, staring down at the brick ground. I only hoped we would meet Sasha alive and well.