The nightmare felt too real. Blood, not her own, on her hands. Screams echoing through an endless corridor. A flame dancing in the dark, illuminating a boy's face—cold, bruised, haunted.
Zara sat bolt upright in her bed, drenched in sweat.
The room was dark but alive with quiet tension. A soft, metallic click broke the stillness—again, and again.
She turned her head. Cain sat on the edge of his bed. Shirtless. His pale skin dappled in moonlight, each muscle carved with bruises. Fresh ones, too—blue-black lines painted across his ribs. A silver lighter clicked open and shut in his hand, over and over.
"Cain?" she whispered.
He didn't move.
"Cain, are you okay?"
Click. Click.
"I said go back to sleep." His voice was low, tired, and cold.
Zara sat up. "You're bleeding."
"It's none of your business."
He stood, the lighter slipping from his hand to the floor with a muted clink. He pulled on a hoodie and left the room.
No slamming door. Just quiet detachment.
By sunrise, he still hadn't returned.
Zara's mind raced with questions, the worst of which formed only one word: danger.
She skipped her 8 AM and instead found herself in the library, digging through old forums, school archives, and obscure digital corners.
She found something.
A blog. Three years old. Written by a girl named Madeline Quinn.
The entries were disturbing:
"I wake up with scratches. Blood. Someone was in the room. They told me I was imagining things. But I hear footsteps when the lights go out. I see someone watching from across the hall."
Zara stared at the name.
Quinn.
Her name.
Her family never mentioned a Madeline.
The next blog post was cut off midway:
"If I disappear, I need you to know—"
A hand touched Zara's shoulder. She turned, startled.
A girl with pitch-black hair stood over her. Striking features, thin lips, dark eyeliner.
"You shouldn't be in that room," she said softly.
"Who are you?"
"Elise. I used to live in Dorm 304. One semester. That was all I could take."
"What happened?"
Elise stepped back. "You're in his room now? You're not safe."
"Who's 'his'?"
But Elise was already gone.
Back in her room, Zara found Cain's bed empty again. But on his desk was the silver lighter… and beneath it, a torn piece of notebook paper.
Don't ask questions you don't want answers to.
She pocketed the lighter.
Cain entered moments later. Their eyes met. Something unspoken passed between them.
"You went digging," he said.
"You're hiding something."
"You think this is a game?"
"I think someone died in this room."
He stepped closer. "More than one."
Zara didn't flinch. "Madeline Quinn. Who was she?"
"Don't."
"I have her last name."
He looked away. His fists clenched.
"She wasn't just a roommate. She was..." He stopped. "Someone I couldn't save."
The vulnerability hit her harder than a slap.
"She might've been my cousin," Zara whispered.
Cain nodded once, then turned away. "You need to leave this room."
"I'm not leaving you."
He looked back at her, his voice barely above a whisper. "You deserve someone who doesn't bleed in their sleep."
Zara reached out and touched his hand. "Then stop trying to bleed alone."
Their fingers laced briefly—then Cain pulled away, as if burned.
That night, something strange happened.
When Zara opened her backpack, she found a small USB drive and a folded note inside:
"Want the truth about Dorm 304? Watch alone."
She waited until midnight. Cain had left again.
She locked the door. Plugged in the USB. Clicked the only file.
The screen flickered.
A girl—barefoot, terrified—curled in the corner of what was unmistakably Dorm 304.
She sobbed. "Please… please don't—"
Then, into frame stepped Cain.
His voice was calm. Cold.
"Don't scream, Maddie."
The screen went black.
Zara's heart froze.