Chapter 5 First Solid Clue
The Black Box Theater sat behind the library like an afterthought—a plain, concrete building that looked more like storage than a creative space. Mia arrived at 3:55 PM, her nerves buzzing with a mix of anticipation and fear.
This was it. Her way into Silas Voss's world.
She pulled the heavy door open and stepped into the dark. As her eyes adjusted,she saw the room—all black walls and floors, with rows of seats facing a stage where a few students were already waiting.
“Mia! Over here!”
Elara waved from near the stage. She was wearing black leggings and a big, cozy sweater. As Mia walked down the aisle, people stopped talking. They turned to look. A girl with purple hair whispered something to her friend, who smirked as she looked Mia up and down with obvious judgment.
“Everyone, this is Mia Torres!” Elara announced. “She’s joining us for the play.”
A tall guy holding a clipboard stepped forward. “I’m Marcus, the stage manager. Any theater experience?”
“No,” Mia said. “None.”
“That’s fine. We’ll put you on props. Sarah…” he nodded toward the girl with purple hair, “…will show you what to do.”
Sarah’s smile was thin and fake. “Sure thing.”
Elara gave Mia’s shoulder a quick squeeze. “See? Easy. I have to rehearse with Silas, but we’ll catch up after, okay?”
Before Mia could answer, a door at the back opened and Silas walked in. He was in dark jeans and a black t-shirt. His grey eyes scanned the room and landed on her for just a second. She thought she saw a flash of surprise, but then his face went blank again.
“About time,” Marcus said. “Silas, you’re up with Elara. Act Two, Scene Three, centre stage.”
Silas moved toward the lights without looking at Mia again.
“Come on,” Sarah said flatly. “I’ll show you where everything is.”
Mia followed her down a narrow hall packed with costumes and props. The storage room at the end was small and messy—shelves were stacked with boxes, old furniture was piled up, and file drawers were left open.
Sarah crossed her arms. “Here’s the deal. We need someone to organize old production materials. Photos, programs, press clippings. Sort them by year and production.” She pointed to three dusty boxes in the corner. “Start with those.”
It was clearly busy work, the kind meant to keep someone out of the way. Mia nodded anyway. “Okay.”
“Great.” Sarah paused at the door. “Just so we’re clear? We all know you’re from some small town, here on scholarship or whatever. Elara might like taking in strays, but don’t expect the rest of us to roll out the red carpet. We’ve all earned our spots here.” She shrugged. “Nothing personal. Just how things work.”
The door clicked shut before Mia could respond, leaving her alone in the cramped storage room.
She stood there for a moment, fists clenched at her sides, fighting the urge to throw something. The casual cruelty shouldn’t have surprised her..she’d dealt with rich kids her whole life, but it still stung.
Through the thin walls, she could hear muffled voices and laughter from the theater. The rehearsal had started. She pressed her ear closer and caught fragments of conversation.
“…did you see what she was wearing? Like she raided a thrift store…”
“…Elara and her rescue projects. Remember that girl last year?…”
“…she probably can’t even afford the membership fees…”
More laughter. Sharp and deliberately loud for her to hear.
Mia pulled away from the wall, her face burning. They wanted her to hear… wanted her to know she didn’t belong.
Fine. Let them think she was just some poor scholarship kid they could dismiss and forget. While they were busy mocking her, she’d be searching for the truth about what happened to Ethan.
She took a deep breath, pushed her anger down, and turned to the boxes.
She dragged the first one to the center of the small floor space and opened it.
It was a mess inside—photos mixed with programs, newspaper pieces stuck in with handwritten notes. She started sorting by date, making neat piles on the dusty floor.
Most of it was ordinary. Students in costumes, group photos, good reviews from the school paper. Production after production, year after year, all carefully documented and then carelessly abandoned.
But she looked at every single picture, searching Silas’s face, for any connection to Ethan, for anything that felt off.
Halfway through the second box, her fingers closed around something different.
A photograph, slightly crumpled at one corner, tucked between programs from years ago like someone had hidden it there purposely.
It was a simple snapshot—Silas and Ethan, both younger, standing together. Just the two of them. No context, nothing that explained why or where. Their expressions were neutral, unreadable. Not smiling, not posed, just… there. Captured in a moment that gave nothing away.
Her heart pounded as she stared at it. Why did this exist? How did they know each other? The photo offered no answers, only questions that multiplied the longer she looked.
Her hands trembled slightly as she turned the photo over.
On the back, in angry handwriting pressed so hard it almost tore the paper, were three words:
“Mind your own business.”
Mia’s blood turned to ice.
She stared at the words, her heart beating loud in her ears. This wasn’t random. This was a warning. A threat. But from who? And why was it here, hidden in old theater stuff no one had seen in years?
She looked at the photo again. Silas and Ethan, standing together with no explanation, no hint of what connected them or why this moment had been captured at all.
The fight at the student union. The day before Ethan died. And now this—proof that Silas and Ethan had crossed paths somehow, hidden away with a threatening message written on the back.
What had happened between them? What was this connection that someone felt needed to be buried?
The rumors about Silas suddenly felt less like wild campus gossip and more like something real, something dangerous that everyone was too afraid to say out loud because he was rich and connected and untouchable.
Her hands were shaking now, the photo trembling between her fingers.
A sound outside the door made her freeze. Footsteps in the hallway, getting closer.