Chapter 19 Proof A Point
A small, squared box, tied with a red ribbon.
Lila froze. Her breath stuttered. She hadn’t put it there. And she had locked the door.
Very slowly, she reached for it. Her hands trembled as she picked it up. It was light.
The ribbon was smooth between her fingers, the bow was tied neatly and perfectly. She hesitated, then pulled it loose.
The lid lifted with a soft sigh.Inside were shiny, empty chocolate wraps, crushed as though someone had eaten every single piece.
Except one thing.
At the very center of the box, resting alone, was a damp, red rose petal. Damp at the edge.
She stared at it, her stomach twisting. Her pulse roared in her ears. She wanted to tell herself it was a prank, that someone from her dorm had snuck in but the door lock clicked every time it opened. She would’ve heard it.
She reached out and touched the petal.
Her fingertips became red.
Not chocolate red, but blood red.
A faint sound came from the corner of the room. A tick, like a camera shutter winding.
She jerked her head toward her desk.
Her camera sat there, the red light blinking once.
Then again.
She stood up, stepping backward until her spine hit the wall. “No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “No one’s here.”
The red light blinked a third time.
The lens moved like an eye adjusting.
Her phone buzzed on the bedside table, startling her. She lunged for it, nearly dropping it. A new message from an unknown number.
“You looked beautiful while sleeping.”
Her stomach dropped. She typed quickly. “Who is this?”
Three dots appeared. Then vanished. Then another message was sent to her. “Sweet dreams, Lila Rowan.”
Her hands went numb. She backed away until the bed frame hit her knees.
The air felt thick, humid, perfumed, and suffocating. She could barely breathe.
“Stop it,” she whispered. “Who are you?”
But the phone was silent now. And the camera stopped blinking.
The rest of the night passed in fragments.
Every sound made her flinch, the hum of the heater, the creak of the pipes, footsteps from the floor above. She sat curled up under her blanket, eyes wide open, staring at the door until dawn began to bleed through the blinds.
At some point, exhaustion dragged her down again. Her body surrendered before her mind did.
When the first light broke through her curtains, it felt like she hadn’t slept at all.Her reflection in the mirror looked foreign with pale skin, bloodshot eyes, and hair tangled at the ends. Her lips were cracked and colorless. She looked halfway between grief and exhaustion, like someone coming undone one quiet second at a time.
She pressed a hand to her chest. Her heartbeat was fast and uneven, the way it had been the night Serena died.
“I just need to see something real,” she whispered to herself. “Something I can prove.”
She grabbed her camera, the one Mercer had given her, the one that used to belong to Serena and shoved it into her bag.
The air outside was a bit cold as she made her way across the campus. Students laughed in groups, their voices rising and falling like waves she couldn’t reach. To them, Halden University was still beautiful with its ivy climbing old brick, sunlight spilling through autumn trees. To her, it was a crime scene that kept breathing.
Down in the media lab, the air smelled faintly of metal. Rows of computers hummed. Screens flickered.
A student assistant, he was lanky, with earbuds in and he looked up as she entered. “Hey,” he said. “You need something?”
“I…yeah.” Her voice came out hoarse. She cleared her throat. “I think I deleted some photos accidentally. Can you help me recover them?”
He shrugged and held out his hand. “Camera?”
She handed it over. Her palms were damp. He plugged it in, fingers flying across the keyboard. The screen glowed soft blue, reflected in his glasses. The files blinked into view dozens of them, dated over the last week. There were too many.
Then, thumbnails began appearing, grainy at first, then clearer. He clicked one open. The image filled the screen.
Lila frowned. It was her dorm room. Her desk, her bed, her window. Taken from the far corner, like someone had set the camera down and aimed it at her life.
“I didn’t take that,” she murmured.
The student gave her a sideways glance but said nothing. He clicked another photo.
Same room. Different angles. This time, there was someone in the frame.
A figure stood beside her bed. The light caught part of his wrist, the glint of a silver watch.
The student took a small step back from the monitor. “That’s... creepy.”
Lila leaned closer, unable to breathe. The world tilted slightly. Her mind screamed to look away, but her body wouldn’t move.
The man’s face was shadowed, out of focus but that watch. Rectangular face and black strap. She’d seen it before. So many times, resting against the edge of a lecture podium, flashing under the fluorescent lights.
Professor Beckett.
Her breath hitched. The air suddenly felt too thin.Her mind spun in circles. It could be anyone, maybe a coincidence, maybe someone else had the same watch but she could still hear Beckett’s voice, cool and sharp, warning her to stay out of the photography wing at night.
“Can you delete these?” she whispered.
The student blinked. “Are you sure? I can print copies if…”
“Delete them,” she said again, louder. Her throat burned. “All of them.”
He hesitated, then nodded. “Okay.”
Lines of code filled the screen. She stared as the images vanished one by one little ghosts dissolving into pixels.
But even when the last one was gone, the image burned behind her eyelids. That wrist. That watch. That feeling of being seen.
When she stepped outside, sunlight struck her like a slap.She blinked against the glare, her hands shaking, her pulse erratic. Every sound felt louder, footsteps, voices, laughter all of it distant, and unreal.
She crossed the walkway, staring at the ground, until a familiar voice cut through the noise.
“Lila!”
She froze.