Chapter 28: The Walls Have Eyes
Paranoia is a quiet thing at first.
It creeps in like a draft under a locked door, too subtle to notice until it’s inside you—coiling in your gut, whispering behind your ears, making you look over your shoulder even when you’re alone.
Evelyn had never felt it this sharply before.
Not even when she realized she’d been murdered in her first life.
That was fear.
This was something else.
It started with the texts.
Not threats. Not warnings.
Nothing.
The sudden lack of messages from Clara. No word from Liam. Hours without updates from Ezra. Even the usual anonymous tips her blog used to receive had gone completely silent.
Too silent.
She sent three messages to Clara in one afternoon.
Evelyn: You good?
Evelyn: Need to meet. Urgent.
Evelyn: Please respond.
No reply.
She tried Liam next.
Evelyn: I need to see you.
Evelyn: Something’s not right.
Still nothing.
By evening, her fingers trembled around her phone like it was glass.
She tried to focus.
She laid out all the evidence again—files, photos, notes, voice recordings. The exposé was nearly ready. The Winter Gala was days away. They were so close to setting everything into motion.
But the silence was louder than any secret she’d uncovered.
What if someone had gotten to Clara?
What if Liam’s past had finally pulled him back in?
What if Ezra had lied about ever leaving the Hall?
Her mind spun with possibilities.
Every one worse than the last.
The next morning, her locker had been rearranged.
Not vandalized.
Worse.
Someone had moved things around—just enough for her to notice.
A single pen was missing from its usual spot. Her notebook was opened to a different page. Her mirror was wiped clean.
And there was a sticky note left on the inside of the door.
Not signed.
Just one word:
"Paranoid?"
Evelyn slammed the locker shut, heart thudding.
She scanned the hallway, searching for familiar eyes.
Nothing.
That afternoon, she waited at the usual bench behind the science wing, where she and Clara always met before club meetings.
Five minutes passed.
Then ten.
Then thirty.
Still no Clara.
Evelyn stood and started pacing.
What if Clara had been caught?
What if the Hall was using her silence to isolate Evelyn?
Divide and conquer. It was in their playbook.
Maybe this was all a distraction—make Evelyn feel alone, afraid, so she’d second-guess herself before the final strike.
And the worst part?
It was working.
She headed to Liam’s locker after school.
Waited.
Nothing.
Eventually, she slipped a note under the door:
“If you’re not with me anymore, at least say it to my face.”
Then she walked away.
Fast.
Because her chest hurt too much to breathe properly.
At home, her mom knocked gently on her door.
“Honey, is everything okay? You’ve been quiet.”
Evelyn stared at the ceiling, her heart a hollow drum.
“Just tired,” she lied.
“Want some tea?”
“Later.”
Her mom paused. “I’m here if you need to talk.”
“I know,” Evelyn said.
But she didn’t open the door.
She couldn’t.
Because what if even this—this sense of comfort, of safety—was a lie, too?
She’d read it in the ledger.
The Society could plant people.
Offer fake mentors. Whisper encouragement while steering their victims into traps.
Had they done it before?
Could they have done it to her?
Had they used her mother once?
Evelyn clutched her pillow, eyes burning.
I’m unraveling, she thought. And I don’t know where the thread began.
The next morning, she woke up with one thought thudding in her mind like a heartbeat:
Don’t trust. Verify.
She checked every message she’d ever received from Ezra.
Pulled them up on her laptop. Ran them through a reverse number search. Traced IPs from the encrypted files he’d given her.
One location pinged back to the library.
Another to the west hall server room.
But the third—his earliest message—was routed through a faculty access point.
Faculty?
She dug deeper.
The device used to send it was registered under a shared user profile.
But one recent login belonged to a name she didn’t recognize.
"R. Garrison"
She froze.
That name was familiar.
She flipped open the ledger again.
Middle of the Hall’s administration tree.
“Rutherford Garrison – Protocol Advisor – Role: Risk Containment.”
Ezra’s first message to her had been rerouted through Garrison’s system.
Had it been copied?
Had it been approved?
Her phone buzzed.
It was Clara.
Clara: Sorry. Phone died. Just saw your messages.
Clara: What’s going on?
Clara: You okay?
Evelyn stared at the screen.
Relief surged first.
Then doubt.
What if it wasn’t Clara?
What if the Hall had her phone?
What if they’d cloned her number?
Or worse—what if Clara had been turned?
A few hours later, Liam finally responded.
Liam: I’m okay. I promise. Was pulled into something with my uncle. No signal.
She read the message.
Reread it.
Then deleted it.
Because trusting it felt like walking off a ledge.
That night, Evelyn didn’t sleep.
She sat on her floor, surrounded by printouts and evidence and fear, waiting for something to give.
She didn’t cry.
She didn’t break.
But she hardened.
And when the sun rose, she pinned her map to the wall with a note scrawled in red ink:
“If I fall before the gala, don’t let it end here.”
She wasn’t sure who she was writing to.
Maybe Clara.
Maybe Liam.
Maybe whoever would come next.
But one thing was clear.
If this paranoia was the price of knowing the truth...
Then so be it.