????????. | Z.M

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I know it's stupid, and we shouldn't be doing this, but what other choice do we have? 

"See you dressed the part," he says, a small smile tugging at his lips as he looks me over.

"Better?" I ask, signaling to my outfit, trying to mask the nerves that are starting to creep in.

"Much," he laughs, the sound light, but there's something in his eyes that makes my heart beat a little faster.

Zayn falls into step beside me as we make our way across campus, the dim glow of the lampposts casting long shadows around us.

"You know," he says casually, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets. "For someone who claims to hate breaking rules, you sure cave easily."

I scoff. "Oh, please. I wouldn't even be here if you weren't so insistent."

"Ah, so it's my fault now?" He grins, side-eyeing me.

"Absolutely."

Zayn chuckles under his breath, shaking his head. "Well, if we get caught, just tell them I dragged you here against your will."

I roll my eyes. "Like anyone would believe that."

By the time we reach the library, the building looms before us, dark and silent. Police tape still stretches across the entrance, but Zayn makes quick work of slipping underneath it. I hesitate for just a moment before following.

Inside, the air is thick, heavier than before, like the library itself is aware we shouldn't be here. Our footsteps are nearly soundless against the carpet as we weave through the rows of bookshelves, heading straight for the painting.

"There it is," I whisper, my eyes locking onto the massive portrait of the founders. The flickering emergency light above makes it look even more eerie—Zayn's grandfather's painted eyes seem to follow me as I step closer.

Zayn exhales beside me. "I hate this thing."

"Yeah, well, it might just be hiding the answer we need," I mutter, reaching out to touch the edge of the frame.

A sudden prickling sensation crawls up my spine. I freeze.

"Did you hear that?" I whisper.

Zayn goes still, listening. The library is silent—too silent. But the feeling doesn't go away. Someone is watching us. I can feel it.

Zayn shakes his head, but I see the way his jaw tightens. "Just open it. Fast."

I nod and help him search for the hidden latch, my fingers fumbling over the worn edges of the frame. The feeling of unseen eyes lingers, but I force myself to focus. If we're being watched, we don't have much time.

Then, finally—I feel something shift beneath my fingertips.

"Zayn," I whisper urgently. "I think I found it." With a quiet click, the edge of the painting shifts. Zayn and I exchange a glance before he presses against it, and slowly, the massive frame swings open like a hidden door. A narrow passage is revealed behind it, the darkness inside stretching endlessly.

I swallow hard. "Of course, it's a creepy, tiny tunnel. Why wouldn't it be?"

"Would you rather stay out here and wait for our mystery stalker to make a move?" Zayn murmurs, peering into the darkness.

I glare at him but say nothing. With a deep breath, I step in first. The passage is unbearably tight, the walls rough against my shoulders as we squeeze through. The air inside is stale, thick with dust and something else—something that makes my stomach turn.

"Charming place," Zayn mutters behind me, his breath warm against my neck. "Definitely worth sneaking in for."

"Shut up and keep moving."

The cramped tunnel twists and turns before finally opening into a small, dimly lit room. The glow comes from a single, half-dead bulb hanging from the ceiling, casting long, jagged shadows. I pull out my flashlight, clicking it on, and Zayn follows suit. The beams of light cut through the darkness, revealing what's inside.

My stomach drops.

The walls are covered in papers—newspaper clippings, handwritten notes, photographs of students. Some are crossed out with thick, red slashes. Others remain untouched. My eyes land on one toward the center, my breath catching in my throat.

It's a photo of Alicia.

Zayn steps forward, his face darkening as he scans the wall. "These... these are plans." His voice is low, careful, like speaking too loudly might set off something. He traces a finger over one of the notes. "This isn't random. Whoever's behind this, they have a system."

I exhale sharply, trying to steady my shaking hands. "These are the students they've already killed." I motion to the crossed-out faces. "And these—" I point to the untouched photos. "These are the next targets."

Zayn's jaw clenches. "We need to get out of here."

But before I can respond—

SLAM.

The sound ricochets through the small room, and both of us whip around. The passage we came through—our only exit—has been sealed shut.

For a second, neither of us move. Then—

"Shit." Zayn rushes forward, shoving his shoulder against the hidden door. It doesn't budge. His hands scramble over the edges, searching for a latch, a lever—something—to pry it open. He presses, pushes, slams his fist against the wood. "No, no, no—" His breathing grows heavier, more erratic.

"Zayn—"

He doesn't stop. His fingers curl around the edge of the frame, knuckles turning white as he tries to force it open. "It's not—it won't move—" His voice is strained, panic creeping in.

"Zayn, stop!" I grab his arm, but he yanks away, slamming his shoulder into the painting again. It doesn't so much as creak.

"Come on!" His voice cracks, frustration spilling over as he pounds his fist against it.

"Zayn!" I step in front of him, forcing him back. He's breathing hard, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his fingers twitching at his sides like he's ready to tear the whole damn wall down.

I take his face in my hands, making him look at me. "We are trapped, Zayn." My voice is steady, but underneath it, fear coils tight in my stomach. "We're trapped."

His dark eyes search mine, wild and unhinged, like a caged animal desperate to escape. For a second, I think he's going to push past me, keep fighting the inevitable—but then his breathing slows just a fraction. His hands clench, then relax at his sides.

I drop my hands, stepping back.

A thick silence settles between us, only broken by the distant hum of the flickering light above. The realization sinks in, suffocating.

No way out.

Someone locked us in here.

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