Chapter 40 The invitation from Beckett
The walk back to campus felt longer than usual.The clouds hung low, pale gray against the late afternoon sky, and a chill wind slipped through the bare trees. Lila kept her hands in her pockets, fingers wrapped tightly around her phone, the last text still glowing on the screen like a wound she couldn’t hide.
She’d read it at least ten times. The words had lost none of their weight.
Asher walked beside her, silent but aware. Every now and then, she could feel his eyes flick toward her, the kind of worried glance someone tries to hide. He didn’t ask what the text said. Maybe he already knew she wouldn’t tell him.
“Do you want to grab something to eat?” he finally asked, breaking the silence.
Lila shook her head. “No, I’m not hungry.”
“You haven’t eaten all day.”
“I’m fine,” she lied, eyes fixed on the cracked sidewalk. She could still smell the faint trace of roses from somewhere, maybe just her imagination. It clung to her mind like a ghost.
The campus gates came into view, the tall arch casting long shadows over the path. Students passed them, laughing, carrying notebooks, calling out to friends. It felt like another world, one she didn’t belong in anymore.
She envied how normal they looked. How safe.
Asher slowed his steps as they reached the courtyard. “You sure you’re okay?”
He asked it quietly, but his voice carried that same edge of worry.
Lila forced a small smile, hoping it would be enough. “Yeah. Just tired. Detective Mara asked a lot of questions.”
“About Beckett?”
She nodded. “And Mercer. And Serena. And Ruby.” Her voice trembled slightly on the last name. “She told me to dye my hair. Maybe then I won’t fit the killer's type.”
“That’s…” Asher frowned. “That’s ridiculous.”
“I thought so too,” she said softly. “But she looked like she meant it.”
They walked the rest of the way in silence. The late sunlight stretched thin across the campus lawn, painting the buildings in dull amber.
When they reached the philosophy building, Lila stopped. Her stomach tightened. She didn’t know why the thought of walking in made her chest hurt.
“Text me when you’re done,” Asher said. “I’ll wait outside if you want.”
She shook her head. “I’ll be fine.”
He didn’t look convinced, but he nodded anyway. “Alright. Don’t make me come in there after you.”
That earned a tiny smile from her. “Deal.”
Then she turned away, her steps slow, steady, each one echoing a little loudly in her ears.
The philosophy lecture hall was dim, half the blinds drawn. The air smelled faintly of dust and chalk. Professor Beckett stood at the front, his voice steady and low, the kind that filled a room even without effort.
“The measure of morality,” he said, “is not in what we claim to believe, but what we’re willing to sacrifice.”
Lila sat in the back,notebook open but blank. Her pen hovered over the page. Words blurred into one another; sentences faded into the sound of her own heartbeat.
She wasn’t really there, not in the way that mattered. Her thoughts moved in circles from the roses, the chocolates, the texts, and the faces of everyone she’d lost. Ruby’s laugh still echoed in her head sometimes, sharp and bright, like a bell from another life.
Beckett’s eyes swept the room, pausing just briefly when they landed on her.
That familiar flicker again almost like recognition, or maybe curiosity. She looked down quickly, pretending to write.
When class ended, the shuffle of students filled the room. She was almost at the door when he called her.
“Miss Rowan. A moment, please.”
Her stomach dropped. She turned slowly, clutching her notebook tighter.
Beckett was collecting papers, his movements unhurried. “My office,” he said, not looking up.
She hesitated just for a second then followed.
His office was warm, dimly lit, and still as usual. The faint smell of old books and something metallic filled the air. Shelves climbed up the walls, filled with worn spines and labeled folders. On the desk sat a lamp, a half-empty cup of tea, and a small vase with a single rose dried now, its petals dark and brittle.
Beckett gestured to the chair opposite him. “Sit down.”
Lila obeyed, her heartbeat a steady pulse behind her ribs.
He flipped open a thin folder on his desk. Her essay sat on top, covered in notes with red marks in the margins, a few sentences underlined twice. He tapped one with his finger.
“You’ve always had potential,” he said. “Sharp reasoning, careful phrasing. But your last submission…” His voice softened. “It didn’t resonate with the topic.”
She nodded slowly, eyes fixed on the desk. “I know. I was distracted.”
“Distracted,” he repeated. “Yes, I suspected as much.”
She didn’t answer.
Beckett leaned back in his chair, studying her in silence for a few seconds. “It wasn’t just weak writing,” he continued, his tone thoughtful now. “It felt like the writer was tired. Like someone who’s stopped believing in the question she’s trying to answer.”
Lila blinked. That was too close to the truth. She swallowed hard. “I’ll do better next time.”
“I don’t doubt that,” he said. Then, after a pause, “But you seem far away lately.”
She stared at the floor. “Maybe I am.”
His expression softened, the edges of his usual sternness fading. “You’ve been through a great deal, haven’t you?”
Lila hesitated. She didn’t want to talk about Serena. Or Ruby. Or how every corner of this campus felt like a grave. She didn’t want his pity but part of her wanted someone to ask.
“Yes,” she said finally, her voice barely a whisper.
He leaned forward slightly. “Then tell me, is something bothering you?”
The question hung in the air.
For a long moment, she didn’t answer. The silence between them stretched, thick and heavy.She wanted to say everything. About the roses left on her bed. About the chocolate boxes. About waking up to find someone watching her sleep. About how she was sure she was next.
But her mouth wouldn’t move. She stared at her notebook, at her hands, at the cracks in the desk. “I….”
The door opened.
Lila flinched, turning in her seat.