Chapter 16 – Spying on the Bullies
Sam's POV
The walls in Dorm 9 talk.
Not literally, of course. But if you listen hard enough, you’ll catch whispers in the cracks, secrets slipping out when the boys think no one’s listening.
And tonight, I’m listening.
It starts after lights-out, when the hallways go quiet except for the occasional laugh that dies off too fast. I should be in bed, wrapped up in blankets pretending to be one of them. But my mind won’t shut down, not with that paper still tucked in my notebook: Locker 7C.
And not with Elias’s words gnawing at me.
Secrets don’t last long in Dorm 9.
He was right about one thing. If I keep sneaking around without answers, I’m going to get caught. So I need to move faster, riskier.
That’s how I end up barefoot in the hallway, pressed flat against the wall as a group of boys shuffle past.
They’re whispering. Not the usual dumb jokes or trash talk. This is lower. Darker. Urgent.
Ward is in the middle of them. Of course he is. The dorm’s king, the one who walks like he owns the place. Declan’s there too, hulking shadow just behind him. The rest—two more from Ward’s crew—flank them like bodyguards.
They don’t see me. Not yet. I stay tucked in the shadows until they turn the corner and head toward the east wing—the one no one uses at night.
My pulse quickens.
I shouldn’t. I should go back. But curiosity is louder than caution, and revenge is louder than both.
So I follow.
The east wing feels colder, emptier, like even the air knows it’s off-limits. The boys stop near one of the old rec rooms, a place we’re not supposed to hang out in after curfew. Ward glances around once, then pushes the door open.
I slip closer, careful, each step slow.
The door shuts behind them, but not all the way. Just enough for me to catch the glow of light and the low rumble of voices inside.
I press my ear to the crack.
“…too many questions already,” Declan mutters, his voice thick with annoyance.
“We handle it,” Ward says. His tone is sharp, controlled. “We’ve handled everything else.”
“Not like this,” one of the others argues. “If the wrong person digs—”
“They won’t.” Ward cuts him off. “You think anyone here has the guts? They’re all sheep. No one’s going to step out of line.”
My stomach knots.
They’re talking about it. About her. About my sister.
I know it in my bones.
I push closer, trying to make out every word. The wood smells old and damp, my breath hot against it.
Declan snorts. “Still. Hale’s death made a mess.”
My chest goes rigid.
Her name. My sister’s name.
They said it.
Ward’s voice drops low, a hiss. “Don’t say her name.”
“Why not?” Declan snaps. “She’s dead, isn’t she? Buried. Done.”
Something slams inside the room—maybe a fist against the table. The sudden noise makes me flinch back, heart pounding.
Ward snarls, “Do you want to get us all killed? Keep your mouth shut.”
Silence stretches. Then, softer, Ward adds, “We can’t afford another slip. Not with eyes on us. You saw what happened when the cops poked around. One mistake, and we’re finished.”
My blood turns to ice.
They know. They know exactly what they did. And they’re afraid of it surfacing.
Proof. If I can just keep listening—
The floor creaks beneath me.
I freeze.
Inside, voices pause.
My throat tightens as I press back against the wall, praying they didn’t hear.
Then Ward’s voice cuts through the silence, colder now. “What was that?”
Declan grumbles, “Probably nothing. Rats.”
Ward doesn’t sound convinced. “Check it.”
My heart lurches.
Heavy footsteps approach the door.
Panic floods me. If they find me here, it’s over. My whole cover, my whole plan—it’ll all collapse.
I scramble backward, searching for shadows deeper than the ones I’m already in. My foot catches on a loose tile, and I barely bite back a curse as I sink into the corner beside an old vending machine.
The door swings open.
Light spills into the hallway.
Declan’s bulky frame fills the doorway, eyes scanning the dark. He steps out, slow, listening.
I hold my breath until my lungs ache.
He looks right past me, mutters something under his breath, then heads back inside.
The door shuts.
I don’t move. Not yet. Not until their voices start again, muffled but still sharp enough to slice through.
“…paranoid,” one of them says.
“Paranoid keeps us alive,” Ward snaps. “We do this clean, or we don’t do it at all. Got it?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Declan grunts. “So what’s next?”
There’s a pause. Then Ward’s answer, deliberate, deadly.
“We find out who’s sniffing around. And we shut them up.”
A shiver rips down my spine.
They know. Not about me—not yet. But they know someone’s watching, asking, digging.
And they’ll kill to keep their secret.
I back away, slow and careful, until the voices fade. My legs want to sprint, but I force them to tiptoe, silent, every step pulled tight with terror.
When I finally round the corner into the safer halls, my knees almost buckle.
They said her name. They admitted it. Ward knows exactly what he did.
But it’s not enough. Words through a crack won’t hold up. I need proof. Evidence. Something that ties them, unshakable, to what happened to my sister.
And I need it fast—before they sniff me out.
By the time I slip back into my room, my hands are shaking. Elias is sitting up in bed, eyes sharp even in the dark.
“Where were you?” he asks.
My throat is dry. “Nowhere.”
His gaze lingers on me, too sharp, too knowing.
“You’re going to get yourself killed,” he says flatly.
I swallow hard, clutching the doorframe for balance.
Because he’s not wrong.
And if Ward’s words are true, someone’s already marked for silence.
What if that someone is me?