The night of the LanVille Winter Art Showcase feels electric, laughter, and shimmering light.
The auditorium shines with silver décor, and the crowd hums with excitement.
For Alisson West, it's supposed to be the most important night of her college career. Her presentation, "Between Stillness and Storm," stands tall at the center of the exhibit.
Each stroke tells her story of heartbreak, healing, and the chaos between.
But beneath the beauty, something unseen lurks.
Backstage, Alisson adjusts her display lighting one last time. Kaitlyn hovers nearby, visibly nervous.
"You okay?" Alisson asks, tightening a screw on one of the light stands.
"Yeah. Just want tonight to go smoothly," Kaitlyn says quickly.
Alisson glances at her, noticing the tremor in her friend's voice.
"You've been tense all week. Are you sure...."
"I'm fine," Kaitlyn cuts in, too fast. "Really."
Before Alisson can press further, Professor Hale walkd by, nodding approvingly.
"Ms. West, your piece looks extraordinary. Prepare for questions, the sponsors are impressed."
"Thank you, sir," she says, forcing a smile.
As he leaves, Alisson exhales slowly. Her nerves are steady now. She's ready.
At least, she tells herself she is.
Outside, the main hall becomes occupied, students, faculty, and patrons filtering in with cameras and smiles. The sound of conversation echoes against the walls.
Stiles arrives quietly, dressed in a dark coat, hands buried in his pockets. He doesn't approach Alisson right away instead, he watches from a distance, admiration and worry mixing in his chest.
Ethan joins him, folding his arms.
"She looks incredible," he whispers.
"Yeah," Stiles says softly. "She does."
"You two back on?"
"Something like that."
Ethan grins.
"Just don't let any jealous art majors punch you this time."
"Not planning to" replied Stiles.
Across the room, Carter Allen stands by another exhibit, pretending not to look their way though his gaze flicks toward Alisson's display every few seconds.
The tension in the air is almost invisible but it's there. Like a ticking bomb.
Halfway through the showcase, the lights dim for the main highlight Alisson's presentation.
She steps onto the platform, voice steady, as she begins explaining her concept.
"This piece," she says, "represents the chaos of emotion, how we shatter, rebuild, and still remain beautiful."
The crowd listens in silence. Her confidence radiates until, out of nowhere, a faint click echoes behind the display.
Stiles notices it first. A sound too sharp, too mechanical. His gazes upward to the metal rigging holding the upper glass panel.
It's shaking.
"Alisson!" he calls out suddenly.
The words barely leave his mouth before it happens.
A loud crack is heard, the support cable snaps. One of the overhead glass structures was seen tilting above the crowd.
Alisson turns just in time to see it falling.
For one frozen heartbeat, everything slows the shatter of light, the rush of sound, her pulse hammering in her ears.
Then.....
Stiles is moving.
He runs forward, pushing through the stunned onlookers, reaching her just as the glass begins to fall. He grabs her by the waist, drawing her backward as the entire structure crashes to the floor, shattering into a thousand pieces.
The explosion of sound is deafening. Screams fill the hall.
They hit the ground hard, Alisson beneath him, his arms around her, shielding her from the flying debris. A piece of metal slams into his shoulder, sending a shock of pain through him, but he doesn't let go.
"Are you okay?" he gasps, breath ragged.
"Stiles…" her voice trembles. "You're bleeding."
"I'll be fine. Are you hurt?"
"No… I— I don't think so."
Security rushes in, followed by professors and students shouting. Smoke and glass dust fill the air. Someone cuts the power.
The room plunges into dim emergency light flickering red against chaos.
Minutes later, emergency crews flood the scene. Medics check Alisson and Stiles, ushering them outside where the air is cold.
Alisson shivers beneath a blanket, staring blankly at what's left of her masterpiece. Her pride, her soul lies in ruins.
Kaitlyn runs up, pale and wide eyed.
"Oh my God, Alisson! Are you—"
"I'm fine," Alisson whispers. "But someone loosened the rigging. It didn't just fall."
Kaitlyn freezes, her expression unreadable.
"You… you think someone did this on purpose?"
"It wasn't an accident," Stiles says. "I heard the latch snap. That was deliberate."
Carter approaches then, hands raised defensively.
"Don't look at me. I had nothing to do with it."
"Then who?" Ethan demands.
No one answers. Only the sound of distant sirens fills the silence.
As the crowd disperses, Alisson sits on the steps outside, trembling.
The weight of everything hits her, her work destroyed, her dream hanging by threads.
Stiles sits beside her, his shoulder bandaged, dust on his clothes.
"You saved me," she whispers.
"You would've done the same," he says softly.
"That's not the point, Stiles. You could've died."
"I didn't," he says, offering a faint smile. "Guess life's not done with me yet."
She lets out a shaky laugh, tears filled her eyes.
"I don't even know how to start over after this."
"You will," he says gently. "Because that's what you do. You take broken things and make them beautiful again."
She looks at him then. The exhaustion, the kindness, the unshakable steadiness in his eyes.
Something warm flickers inside her chest, fragile but real.
She leans into him, resting her head against his shoulder as the sirens fade.
For a moment, it feels like peace.
Later that night, after the scene clears, Stiles returns to the wreckage to retrieve her sketchbook, the one she left near the stage.
He finds it lying under a fallen spotlight, miraculously unharmed. As he picks it up, something else catches his eye, a small piece of black tape near the snapped cable.
He crouches down. On it, faint but visible under the light, are letters written in marker:
"K.R."
His stomach drops.
Kaitlyn Reeves.
Before he can process it, a sound echoes through the empty hall, the soft click of a door closing somewhere in the dark.
He turns sharply.
"Hello?"
No answer. Just the low hum of the exit lights and the sound of wind against the windows.
Then his phone buzzes. A new message.
"You can't save her from everything, Stiles. Some storms aren't meant to be survived."
The sender: Unknown number.
His breath catches and then, from the far end of the corridor, a shadow moves.