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I sit at my desk, textbooks open, pretending to study—but my mind refuses to focus. The murders, the stares in the hallway, the way Ali barely lasts a minute in our dorm before finding an excuse to leave—it all clings to me like a shadow. But what I can't shake the most is my conversation with Zayn.
I never realized just how much these past few days have affected me. And the worst part? The only person I feel like I can rely on is Zayn. Fucking. Malik. I sigh as I hear Alicia walk back into our dorm, every nerve in my body hyper-aware of her presence. I stay quiet, listening as she drops her colorful tote onto the floor.
"I'm going to lunch with Harry," she mumbles.
I turn to look at her, forcing a small smile. "You two seem awfully cozy lately." The words come out lighter than I feel. I remember all the nights she kept me awake, rambling about her crush on Harry.
She shrugs, awkward. "With everything happening, we just... gravitated toward each other."
I nod, but before I can say anything else, she cuts through my thoughts. "And you and Zayn?" She's trying, I can tell, but the way she barely meets my eyes stings.
I frown. "What about him?"
"Who would've thought being partners in crime—no pun intended—would make you two so buddy-buddy." Her smirk is sharp, but her words bite deeper than she realizes.
"Really, Alicia?" I exhale sharply, my patience fraying. "We've been roommates and best friends for four years. I'd expect you, of all people, to believe me before Zayn." My voice is rougher than I intended, but I don't take it back.
She looks past me, her expression unreadable. "Whatever." She sighs, already heading for the door. "I'm leaving. And your puppy's waiting for you outside." She bumps my shoulder as she passes, and I follow behind her opening our door and watching her disappear down the stairs before turning to the familiar weight of a stare.
I don't have to look to know who it is.
"What are you doing here, Zayn?" My voice is softer than I meant for it to be. I wish it still held the sharp edge it used to. "I didn't even know you knew where my dorm was."
"Harry told me," he says simply, leaning against the wall like he has all the time in the world.
I close the door behind me, pressing my back against it, my hands clenched behind me. "I'm sorry—the whole thing with Ali is taking a toll on me," I admit, rubbing my tired eyes. I don't need to open them to know he's stepped closer. His presence is overwhelming in a way I refuse to acknowledge, especially with those deep brown eyes watching me too closely, like he's trying to uncover something I'm not ready to face. A warm hand lands on my shoulder, and when I finally look up, his gaze is already there—steady, searching, and far too knowing.
"I get it," he says, voice low, steady.
I hate how easily he draws me in. I clear my throat, silently willing him to step back, but he doesn't. Instead, he leans in, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"I found something."
I swallow hard, my pulse quickening. "What?" I murmur.
"Let me in." He nods toward my dorm.
My eyes widen. "You know boys aren't allowed in the girls' dorm—"
"You always have to be such a rule follower?" he scoffs. "We've already broken enough rules by now."
I inhale sharply, hesitating for just a second too long. His eyes flicker with something—amusement, challenge, something else I don't want to name.
"Fine," I mutter, stepping aside. "But make it quick." I open the door and let him in. He looks around as If my room was the most interesting thing ever. He studies the pictures on my desk—family, friends, mostly with Ali—his fingers grazing the edge of one frame like he's memorizing the details. The way he looks at them, at this small glimpse of my life, makes something uneasy stir in my chest. He shouldn't be seeing this, not like this.
I linger in the doorway, my pulse unsteady. This feels more personal than it should. He moves slowly, only looking at my side of the room, as if the rest of it doesn't exist. His presence feels too big for the room, for me.
"What?" I ask, my voice quieter than I intended.
His eyes flick back to me, dark and unreadable. "Mhm?" His head tilts slightly, like he's leaning in without moving at all.
"What are you looking at?" I hate how breathless I sound.
"Just your room," he says, shrugging, but there's something knowing in his smirk. His gaze drags over my walls one last time before he adds, "And how it's much smaller than mine."
I exhale a quiet laugh, grateful for the shift in mood. "I bet you don't even have to share a room."
"You are extremely correct," he says, unapologetic.
I shake my head, a reluctant smile tugging at my lips. "What did you find, Zayn?"
He moves toward my bed, sitting down without hesitation. I hesitate, just for a moment, before following. His knee brushes against mine as he pulls a book from his backpack, the warmth of that small touch lingering longer than it should.
"Look." Zayn hands me the book, his fingers brushing mine for just a second too long.
I glance at the cover. The Making of Blackthorn Academy. My brows furrow as I read the title aloud, looking up at him for clarification.
"Turn to the first page," he urges.
Flipping it open, my breath catches. Staring back at me is the same painting from the library—the one that hides the secret passage. But something's different. There are more people in this version than I remember. I blink, shaking off the unease. Maybe it's just a mistake.
"I know... your grandfather," I say, already assuming the connection, but Zayn just rolls his eyes and points to the edge of the painting.
"Read the inscription," he instructs.
My gaze follows his finger, tracing over the neatly printed names beneath the figures. One stands out like a warning sign.
"Victor Madden."
I feel my stomach drop. "As in Professor Madden?" My voice is barely a whisper as I turn to Zayn, eyes wide.
Zayn lifts his brows, watching as realization sets in.
I whip my head back to the picture, heart pounding. Now that I'm looking closer, the resemblance is unmistakable. Zayn watches me closely, gauging my reaction. I can feel the weight of his stare, but I can't pull my eyes away from the name.
"Why haven't we heard of him before?" I murmur, flipping through the pages, searching for any mention of Victor Madden. The book is filled with stories of Blackthorn Academy's founders—their legacy, their wealth, their power—but every time Zayn's grandfather is mentioned, Victor Madden is either absent or barely acknowledged.
Zayn leans in, scanning the text with me. "It doesn't make sense. My grandfather—he's everywhere in this book. But Madden? It's like he's been erased from history."
I shake my head, pressing my finger against the name in the painting. "And yet, he was there. He was one of them." I glance at Zayn. "Why would they erase him?"
Zayn exhales, dragging a hand through his hair. "Maybe he wasn't erased. Maybe someone wanted to forget him."
I close the book, my mind racing. "And the secret society? Every rumor about this school talks about them like they were some grand force controlling everything. But if Victor Madden was so involved and no one talks about him... maybe the society was never real. Maybe it was a lie, something to cover up whatever really happened."
Zayn's jaw clenches. "And someone wants us to believe it exists."
I nod, my chest tightening. "Someone is setting us up, Zayn. They want us to chase shadows—to waste time on something that isn't even real." My hands grip the book tighter. "But why us? Why now?"
Zayn doesn't answer right away. His gaze flickers to the book, then back to me, his expression unreadable. "Because we're looking too closely."
A shiver runs down my spine.
The painting in the library flashes through my mind—the way it had moved, revealing the hidden passage. "Zayn," I whisper, "the painting—what if Victor Madden is the key?"
He tilts his head. "What do you mean?"
I inhale sharply, piecing it together as I speak. "The version in this book has more people than the one in the library. What if the real painting—the one in the library—was altered? What if someone removed Madden from history on purpose?"
Zayn's eyes darken. "And what if whatever is behind that painting holds the truth?"
I swallow hard, gripping the book like it might keep me grounded. "Then we need to go back." A sharp knock at the door makes me jump, and before either of us can react, it swings open.
Alicia steps inside, muttering, "Forgot my—" but stops mid-sentence. Her gaze flicks from me to Zayn, sitting way too close on my bed, a thick book between us.
She exhales through her nose, her expression flattening. "Of course," she mutters, tossing her hands in the air. "Should've known he'd still be here."
I stand up quickly, as if putting space between us will somehow make this look less suspicious. "Ali, it's not—"
"Not what?" She slings her tote bag over her shoulder, arching a brow. "Not you and Zayn whispering over some book like it's some big secret?"
Zayn shifts beside me, slipping his hands into his pockets. "We found something," he says, ignoring the look she throws him.
Alicia scoffs, shaking her head. "We? Oh, so now you two are just... partners in crime, huh?"
Before I can respond, another presence looms in the doorway. Harry. His expression is unreadable, but the way his gaze flickers between me and Zayn makes my stomach knot.
"Alicia," I say quickly, trying to ignore the weight of their combined stares, "when we snuck into the library we found—"
"Oh, fantastic." She crosses her arms. "Because that's exactly what you needed—more reasons for people to think you're guilty."
"Alicia, just listen," Zayn cuts in, his voice sharp. "We found a passage behind the painting of the founders. It opened when I pulled it."
She pauses, her brows knitting together. "You pulled it?"
"Not the point," I say quickly, flipping the book open. "The point is, Zayn found this—" I tap the page showing the original painting. "Victor Madden was in the original version. He's not in the one at the library. He was one of the founders, but it's like someone erased him. Why?"
Harry steps further inside, arms crossed. "If that's true, how does sneaking around help you? You two are just making yourselves look worse."
Zayn exhales sharply. "We're being set up. You know that. Why else would someone want to erase part of the school's history?"
Alicia rubs her temple, looking from me to Zayn like she's debating whether this is even worth her energy. "So let me get this straight," she says finally. "You two, in all your infinite wisdom, decided that the best way to handle being framed... was to sneak off together and open a hidden passage?"
I fold my arms. "Ali—"
"God, whatever," she cuts me off, turning toward the door. "I don't have the energy for this."
She brushes past me, grabbing what she came for, and heads straight for the door.
Harry lingers a moment longer, glancing between us. "Be careful," he says quietly before following her out.
The door clicks shut.
A tense silence settles between me and Zayn.
"Well," he says after a beat, running a hand through his hair. "That could've gone worse."
I let out a short, humorless laugh. But my chest feels tight. Because no matter how I spin it, I know Alicia is pulling away.
And I don't know how to stop it.
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i hate this chapter more than most