### Vale
The morning after Celeste Marrow's funeral was a fucking nightmare.
Blackthorn Academy smelled like wet stone and guilt. Half the school strutted around in black as if it made them **morally superior**, the other half like they were on spring break—smirking, laughing, whispering. Everyone's gaze felt like a knife, and I was the damn target.
I tugged my hoodie tighter, shoved my hands into my pockets, and tried to disappear. Didn't matter. Eyes still tracked me down the hall like I was a goddamn circus freak.
"Vale."
Tessa's voice barely cut through the buzzing in my skull. She slid next to me, her hand brushing mine. "Ignore them. They're fucking vultures."
I laughed, sharp and humorless. "Yeah, sure. I'm just the lucky one who gets to be blamed for someone else's death."
"Exactly." She squeezed my arm. "You're convenient."
I didn't argue. Convenient, guilty, terrified—felt like a checklist of how everyone at this godforsaken school saw me.
---
Celeste's locker stood like a shrine. Fake flowers, printed photos of her perfect smile, taped and curated like some **sick museum exhibit**. My stomach churned. The girl had been a nightmare, but she'd been alive once. Now she was just… this.
A folded piece of paper slipped from the top of the locker like it had been waiting for me. Red ink scrawled across it:
**SHE KNEW. NOW YOU DO.**
My pulse spiked. Hands shaking, I turned to Tessa, but she was already looking the other way, pretending she didn't see.
"Fucking hell…" I muttered.
I didn't open it yet. Didn't want to know. But the curiosity gnawed at me until I couldn't resist. Inside was a **grainy photo** of Celeste behind the gym, the night she died. And me. Standing there. **Except I'd never been there.**
My stomach flipped. My knees wanted to buckle. "Oh, fuck…"
---
The corridors were nearly empty. A few latecomers, a janitor muttering under his breath, the sound of heels clacking against the tiles. I moved fast, heart hammering, the envelope crumpled in my fist.
"You're a mess, Vale."
I spun. Lucian Draven, leaning against a locker, tie loose, hair wet from the rain that clung to the hall like a second skin. That smirk of his—**the one that could make you want to punch him and kiss him in the same heartbeat**—was in full effect.
"Draven. Fucking hell, you scared the shit out of me."
"Good." He straightened slightly, dangerous and lazy all at once. "You should be scared."
"What the fuck do you want?" I snapped, my voice louder than I meant.
He tilted his head, eyes dark and unreadable. "To make sure you're not dead yet."
"Thanks for the reassurance, asshole."
He smirked, reached past me to close my locker. "There's a list, Vale." His voice dropped, almost too quiet to hear. "People she… protected. People who'd kill for it. You're standing in the middle of their fucking crossfire."
I wanted to scream, to throw the envelope at him, to run. But I couldn't move. Because when he leaned in—just close enough to smell the smoke and wet rain on his coat—my chest hitched.
"Stay the hell alive," he murmured. "Or you're not walking out of this school again."
And then he was gone, leaving a trail of heat and danger and the unmistakable warning: **you're next if you fuck up.**
---
By lunch, the gossip had metastasized. Someone swore the police found a flash drive in Celeste's dorm. Someone else swore it had **video**. None of it mattered—everyone assumed I knew something, everyone assumed I had killed her.
I tried to eat, but the food stuck in my throat. Tessa grabbed my wrist. "Breathe, damn it."
"I can't," I whispered. "Feels like the walls are listening."
"They probably are. This is Blackthorn, Vale."
Doors slammed open. Detective Monroe. His coat flared behind him like a shadow with teeth. Conversations stopped mid-laugh. Eyes turned. And then he was walking straight for me.
"Vale. We need to talk. Now."
Tessa tried to protest. "She's done nothing—"
"Then she has nothing to worry about," Monroe interrupted, cold.
I didn't protest. Didn't argue. My stomach turned over as he led me out, every pair of eyes burning a hole in my back.
---
The office was cold. The blinking red light on the recorder seemed louder than my heartbeat.
"Celeste's phone was recovered," Monroe said, sliding it across the table. "There are messages—one sent to you, never opened."
I froze. My hands shook.
> **From Celeste:** *Meet me behind the gym. We need to talk about Draven.*
The timestamp was **twenty minutes before she died**.
"I… I didn't see this," I stammered.
"Maybe someone wanted her dead," Monroe said, leaning forward. "And used you to do it."
"Fuck…" I whispered.
"Don't leave town, Vale."
---
Back in my dorm, I couldn't stop shaking. I scrolled through unread messages. The last one? Unknown number.
> **SHE TRIED TO WARN YOU. NOW IT'S YOUR TURN.**
Another buzz:
> **TICK TOCK, VALE.**
"WHAT THE FUCK!"
I went to the window in shock. Rain-slicked courtyard. Shadows moving. A figure standing just out of reach, watching. Waiting.
Heart pounding, I whispered to no one, "Fuck me… who the hell is doing this?"
And I knew one thing for sure: this was just the **beginning of the nightmare**.