Chapter 7 Shadows in the Stacks
The script had become Mia’s constant companion over the past two days, its pages filled with lines about betrayal, stolen thrones, and family secrets that hit uncomfortably close to her reality.
She’d thrown herself into rehearsals with an intensity that surprised even her, standing opposite Silas and delivering accusations disguised as dialogue while he responded with the kind of cold authority that seemed far too natural.
Elara watched from the director’s chair, beaming with approval at their “chemistry.”
But Mia wasn’t there to act. She was there to observe, to study, to find cracks in Silas Voss’s carefully constructed act.
Thursday afternoon’s rehearsal was running long. Ben, the director, had made them repeat the confrontation scene four times, pushing for “more emotional rawness.” By the time he finally called for a break, Mia’s throat was raw and her nerves were frayed.
Elara’s phone rang, the shrill tone cutting through the theater. She glanced at the screen and frowned. “I have to take this—it’s the costume designer having a crisis. Take fifteen, everyone!”
The other cast members scattered immediately, some heading for coffee, others disappearing outside for fresh air and cigarettes. Within moments, the Black Box Theater was nearly empty except for Mia and Silas.
He leaned against the edge of the stage, scrolling through his phone with that same detached boredom he wore. The stage lights carved sharp shadows across his face, making him look even more dangerous than usual.
Mia’s heart kicked into overdrive. This was it—her chance to test him, to see how he’d react when she dropped Ethan’s name into casual conversation. She took a steadying breath and walked toward him, clutching her script like a lifeline.
“The dialogue in this scene is really sharp,” she began, keeping her voice light and conversational. She stopped a few feet away, not quite meeting his eyes. “It actually reminds me of a project I did back at my old college. I had this scene partner—Ethan Sullivan. He was really good at getting into character, understanding motivation.”
She let the name sit in the air between them, watching his face from the corner of her eye.
Silas didn’t even look up from his phone. His thumb continued its lazy scroll. “Is that so?” His voice was flat, utterly uninterested.
The calmness was somehow worse than anger would have been. It felt rehearsed, controlled.
“Yeah,” Mia pressed on, her pulse racing. “He actually transferred here. To St. Augustine’s. Small world, right? I was kind of surprised he never mentioned it.”
This time, Silas did look up. His grey eyes met hers, cold and unreadable. “Lots of people transfer here,” he said evenly. “It’s a big campus. Easy to lose track of people. Students come and go all the time.”
He pocketed his phone and straightened, and Mia was suddenly very aware of how much taller he was, how the empty theater seemed to shrink around them. He wasn’t threatening her—not overtly but his presence felt like a wall of ice closing in.
“You know,” he said, his tone shifting to something that might have been concern if it weren’t for the coldness in his eyes, “it’s not exactly smart for a new student to go wandering around asking random questions. Especially alone. Especially after dark.” He tilted his head slightly. “This campus has its shadows. Bad things can happen to people who go poking around in places they shouldn’t. Just some friendly advice.”
He held her gaze for one more beat, letting the warning sink in like a knife sliding between ribs. “Just looking out for you. Since you’re Elara’s friend and all.”
Then he turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing in the empty space, leaving Mia standing alone under the harsh stage lights with her hands trembling and her heart racing.
He hadn’t flinched at Ethan’s name. Hadn’t denied knowing him. He’d simply sidestepped the question entirely and issued a threat wrapped up as friendly concern.
Bad things can happen.
The fear that had been sitting in her chest transformed into something harder, colder. He was involved. He had to be. And now he was warning her off.
Well, too bad. She wasn’t going anywhere.
From that moment, Mia’s investigation became a careful, obsessive routine. She started tracking his movements, learning his patterns like she was studying for an exam. His 10 AM literature seminar in Harrison Hall. His habitual stop at the student union for black coffee at exactly 2 PM. His tendency to eat lunch alone, usually with a book propped against his plate.
But the most interesting pattern was his frequent visits to the old library.
Not the modern glass-and-steel facility that most students used, with its study pods and coffee bar and floor-to-ceiling windows. No, Silas went to the original campus library—a crumbling Gothic building on the far edge of campus that looked like it belonged in a horror movie. Most students avoided it entirely, creeped out by its dark corners and musty smell.
But Silas went there at least three times a week, always alone, always empty-handed. He’d stay for anywhere from twenty minutes to over an hour, and he never seemed to carry out any books. He was searching for something.
On Friday afternoon, after rehearsal ended early because Ben had a faculty meeting, Mia saw Silas heading across the quad toward the old library again. This time, she didn’t just watch from a distance.
This time, she followed.
The old library was like stepping into another century. The air was thick and stale, heavy with the smell of decaying paper and old wood polish. Dim green-shaded lamps cast weak pools of light across long wooden tables scarred with decades of carved initials. The ceiling disappeared into shadows above, and the silence was so complete that Mia could hear her own heartbeat.
She spotted Silas’s dark figure disappearing between two towering shelves in what looked like the history section. Moving as quietly as possible, she crept after him, keeping to the shadows between the stacks.
She peered around the corner of a shelf. He was there, his back to her, running his fingers along the spines of books with methodical precision. He’d pull one out, flip through it quickly, then shove it back with a soft sound of frustration before moving to the next.
What was he looking for? What could possibly be hidden in these dusty old books?
As she watched, a prickling sensation crept up the back of her neck—the distinct, unsettling feeling of being watched. She spun around, her eyes scanning the gloomy reading room behind her.
Nothing. Just rows of empty tables and chairs shrouded in shadow. Not a soul in sight.
She shook her head, trying to dismiss it as paranoia, as the natural jumpiness of someone doing something they shouldn’t. But the feeling didn’t go away. If anything, it got stronger.
She turned back to watch Silas, but the aisle was empty. He was gone.
Panic flooded through her. Had he seen her? Heard her? Was he circling around behind her right now, ready to confront her about following him?
She stood frozen, listening hard. The silence pressed against her ears like cotton.
Then—there. The faint creak of a floorboard somewhere in the darkness behind her.