The news spread before the first bell.
"Crestwood Student Found Dead — Local Teen Dies in Mysterious Accident."
Rick's face filled every phone screen, frozen forever in his yearbook grin. Groups of students whispered in corners, their voices sharp with fear. Some cried. Some muttered rumors about curses. Others exchanged nervous glances, too afraid to say the word: murder.
Emily sat apart, silent, hands folded on her tray. She read the article once, twice. "Severe cranial trauma." "Body unrecognizable." The words carved themselves into her mind like scripture.
The diary in her bag vibrated softly, a pleased hum against her spine. And for a moment — just a flicker — Emily smiled.
Lily caught it. Her fork clattered against her tray. "Emily… you're not happy about this, are you?"
Emily blinked, face smoothing instantly. "No. Of course not."
But the seed of doubt was already there, burning in Lily's eyes.
By afternoon, Crestwood was drowning in chaos. Parents flooded the office, demanding answers. Students staged a walkout, chanting on the lawn.
And the police spread out like vultures.
Detective Reynolds led the charge. The decision was made: four deaths from one school in less than a month wasn't coincidence anymore. It was a pattern.
One by one, officers knocked on doors across town. They sat in the living rooms of Jake Harper's friends, Jason's crew, Rick's teammates, pressing them for answers.
"Did Jake ever fight with anyone?" Reynolds asked.
Heads shook. Voices broke. "Jake was the chilliest guy. Never fought. Everyone liked him."
Jason was different. Some kids called him a good guy, mischievous but harmless. Others told the truth: a bully. They mentioned how he and his friends cornered Emily. How Lily had shoved one of them into a locker, punched Jason in the chest, left him wheezing. Hours later, Jason was dead.
The stories tangled — some defending Emily, some accusing Lily. All of them whispered that whoever crossed the two girls ended up in the ground.
Rick's friends told the same. "She hit him. Swung at him. Took down his buddy. You think it's coincidence he's dead now?"
The police wrote everything down.
Then came the grieving homes.
Parents clutched framed photos, voices breaking as they described their children: Jake, the golden boy. Jason, misunderstood. Rick, stubborn but loyal. They swore their sons were innocent, never violent. And in return, they demanded justice. "Find who did this. Don't let my boy's death be for nothing."
When the officers showed them the rooftop footage — a "shadow" lingering moments before Jake fell — the parents stared, baffled. None recognized the figure. Their grief only sharpened into rage.
That evening, Reynolds knocked on Lily's door.
Inside the living room, Lily sat stiffly between her parents as officers questioned her.
"Are you aware of the deaths?" Reynolds asked.
Her parents nodded grimly. "The whole town is."
"We have testimony," Reynolds continued, "that you attacked Jason and Rick. Beat them. Hours later, both were dead. How do you explain that?"
Lily's fists tightened in her lap. "They were bullies. Jason shoved Emily. Rick humiliated her in front of the cafeteria. I fought back, yeah — but I didn't kill anyone. I was home when it happened."
Her parents confirmed it. "She was here all night."
Reynolds didn't argue. He simply pulled out his tablet and pressed play. The rooftop footage flickered on screen. A lone shadow standing still, moments before Jake's fall.
Lily leaned forward, eyes wide. Her skin drained pale. "What… what is that?"
"That," Reynolds said, "is the only proof we have someone was there. Whoever it is, they're hiding in plain sight."
Lily shook her head violently, horrified. "That's not me. I swear to God."
The officers searched her home but found nothing. As they left, Reynolds gave one warning: "Don't leave town. Don't even think about it. Until further notice, you're under watch."
It was nearly midnight when Reynolds reached the Carters' house.
Inside the living room, Emily sat between her parents, her pulse thrashing as Reynolds paced.
"Three deaths in one week," he muttered, flipping his notepad. "Jake Harper. Evelyn Carter. Rick. And one more still critical — Jason. All four connected by your school. All linked by proximity. And in every story, one name keeps repeating."
He turned, eyes sharp. "Emily Carter."
Emily's fists tightened. "That doesn't mean anything."
"Patterns mean everything," Reynolds countered. "Some students say anyone who crosses you ends up in a body bag. Others point to Lily — since she struck Rick in public, hours before his death. Either way, I need answers."
"Lily didn't do anything!" Emily snapped, voice cracking. "Rick was—he was—"
"A bully?" Reynolds finished for her. "Maybe. But bullies don't usually end up with their skulls crushed."
Her father stood abruptly. "Officer, my daughter was home. We were all here. She didn't hurt anyone."
Reynolds nodded slowly, though his eyes never left Emily. "Then explain this."
He pulled up the rooftop footage again — the shadow by Jake. Her parents leaned forward, squinting. Emily's chest tightened.
She knew instantly. The Watcher.
But she forced her face blank. "I don't know who that is. And at the time, I was walking with Lily. School was over."
Reynolds' eyes narrowed. "Then you won't mind if I look around."
Emily froze. "You have no right—"
Her mother's hand squeezed her arm. "It's fine, sweetheart. We have nothing to hide."
Her pulse thundered as Reynolds searched the house. The kitchen. The bathrooms. Every corner of her parents' room.
Then he stepped into hers.
Her chest clenched so tightly she could barely breathe.
Reynolds scanned the posters, opened drawers, tapped on walls. Finally, his eyes landed on the desk. On it lay the diary, black leather faintly gleaming.
He frowned. "Strange thing. Looks… old. Doesn't belong in a kid's room."
His hand reached toward it.
Emily's vision tunneled. Sirens, cuffs, the book torn away. She didn't even think. She lunged, snatching it off the desk.
"It's private," she hissed. "You don't get to read it."
The silence stretched. Reynolds studied her — not angry, not surprised. Just suspicious.
"Private, huh?" he said finally. "You guard that thing like it's more than paper."
Then he left, but not before throwing one last warning over his shoulder: "You and your friend are still under suspicion. Don't leave the county. Understand?"
The door shut.
Her parents bombarded her with questions, but Emily only smiled thinly, muttered, "It's fine," and slipped upstairs.
In her room, the diary pulsed. The mirror cracked.
And this time, she saw him.
The Watcher's hood hung low — but now his jaw was visible, his mouth curved in a familiar grin.
Her breath caught. That smile. She knew it.
The diary flipped open by itself. New words burned across the page, ink still wet:
"Your debt has only begun."
Emily's chest heaved. Then, slowly, she began to laugh. Low, broken, rising into something sharp, dangerous.
She pressed the diary to her chest, eyes glowing with madness.
"Now nobody can stop me," she whispered. "Now I have the control."
(Fade to black. Chapter ends with Emily's reflection in the cracked mirror — her smile stretched wider than her own lips.)