The Lie Beneath

Rhianne

I stared at his outstretched hand for a moment longer before finally clasping it. His palm was warm and dry, too steady for someone standing next to a body just minutes cold.

"Welcome to the dance," Lazarus said, smiling like a madman. "Shall we paint the crime scene with truth?"

I didn’t bother replying. My thoughts were racing.

I turned back to the fourth floor hallway, letting the world blur for a second as I breathed in the air. sterile, cold, but underneath it, the faint scent of chalk and old paper. Still, something was off. Something hidden in plain sight.

“Let’s play a game,” Lazarus said, spinning in a slow circle as if admiring a gallery. “I’ll say what’s wrong with this scene, and you correct me if I’m off. Fair?”

“You’ll get tired before I do.”

“Oh, I never get tired,” he replied brightly. “Only bored.”

I ignored him and crouched low near the railing. The dust. The scuff marks. The way the victim walked into that corner in the footage. slow, uncertain, almost like she knew what would happen.

That’s what haunted me.

"Her bag," I said suddenly. “She brought it with her. Why? If she planned to jump, she wouldn’t bring everything.”

"Unless it was staged," Lazarus chimed. “But what if she did plan to die? What if, it was the only way to get us looking?”

I froze. "What?"

He twirled on his heel. “Rhianne, my brilliant almost-partner, consider this. What if our girl knew she would die? knew someone was after her, and decided, rather than running, to leave us a trail?”

I hardly can't believe what this man just said, but i looked at the hallway again. The glint of metal. The scratch on the floor tiles. The missing watch. The unnatural placement of the bag was right claiming his statement true.

“She wasn’t trying to escape,” I murmured. “She was leading someone here. She knew we’d investigate.”

“Suicide by necessity,” Lazarus whispered, eyes sparkling. “Death as a message. That’s... twistedly poetic.”

My chest tightened. “You’re saying she used her own death as evidence?”

“Not just evidence. A spotlight.” His eyes snapped toward the wall across the hallway. “Look there.”

I followed his gaze and stepped closer. It took me a few seconds to see it—barely visible scratches, like someone etched a shape into the painted concrete.

I pulled out my phone to use a flashlight and angled the beam.

It looks like a symbol, Circular, sharp and looking intricate. It wasn't random. It was obviously a deliberate.

Strange, a logo?

I glanced at Lazarus. His grin slowly stretched ear to ear. “I know this, Logo." I said.

His gaze instantly shift on me. “You recognize it, Rhianne?"

I nodded, dead serious. “Andrew told me a story once. There's a organization each club and it was Arts and design, a secret art collective specifically. hidden behind every normally ones. And they assumed that their organization is dealing like a cult."

His smile grew even wider. “A cult?”

I notice something written also in the logo, i was having a hard time to read it at first because of how small the lettering was. “Ars Moriendi. That means the Art of Dying.” I explained once i read it.