Evette wakes up in her own bed, the familiar warmth of her blankets offering little comfort after the events of the night before. Her body feels heavy, exhaustion clinging to her muscles like a weight she can't shake. She blinks a few times, adjusting to the dim morning light filtering through the curtains, then reaches for her phone on the nightstand. The screen lights up, 7:00 AM.
Her heart sinks. Class starts in an hour. As much as she wants to stay buried in the safety of her room, she knows she has to go. She sits up slowly, running a hand through her tangled hair, when a sudden knock at the door makes her freeze.
Her breath catches in her throat. She grips the edge of her blanket, her pulse quickening. There is no way she is opening that door. Not after last night.
Then, a familiar voice comes through.
"It's me. Open the door," Lydia calls, her voice softer than usual.
Evette hesitates, her fingers hovering over the door handle before finally unlocking it. The door swings open to reveal Lydia, standing there with her arms crossed, concern etched across her face.
"Evan told me everything," she says quietly. "Are you okay?"
Evette looks away, unsure of what to say. The weight in her chest feels suffocating, but before she can respond, Lydia steps forward, reaching for her phone.
Without hesitation, she scrolls through Evette's messages, finds the unknown number, and blocks it. "There. You don't need this kind of stress," Lydia mutters. Then she looks back up at Evette, her expression softening. "I'm here if you ever need anything. Okay? No matter what."
Evette nods slowly, swallowing the lump in her throat. For the first time since waking up, she feels just a little bit safer.
Lydia's concerned expression suddenly shifts into a smirk, her eyes glinting with mischief. She crosses her arms and leans against the doorframe, tilting her head slightly.
"I wonder…" she drawls, dragging out the words. "Did something else happen when you and Evan were alone?"
Evette's eyes widen, and a deep blush creeps up her cheeks. "W-What?" she stammers, looking away as if that could hide the obvious heat rising to her face.
Lydia gasps dramatically. "Oh my god, you're blushing! Something did happen!"
Evette groans, burying her face in her hands. "Nothing happened," she mumbles, but the pink staining her face betrays her.
Lydia just grins. "Mhm, sure."
Lydia steps closer, eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Tell me," she presses, her voice playful yet insistent.
Evette shakes her head quickly. "Nothing happened."
Lydia narrows her eyes, scanning Evette's face like a detective piecing together a mystery. Then, as if a lightbulb flickers on in her head, she gasps. "Wait, did he kiss you?"
Evette's breath catches, and that moment of hesitation is all Lydia needs. "Oh my god! He totally did!" Lydia squeals, grabbing Evette's arm. "I knew it! You're blushing like crazy!" Evette groans, covering her face. "Lydia, stop." But Lydia only grins wider.
Lydia flops onto Evette's bed, stretching lazily. "Anyway, I'll help you pick out your clothes," she announces, already rummaging through the closet with an appraising look.
Evette watches her, warmth creeping into her chest. It's strange how easily Lydia has become a part of her life, they've only known each other for about twelve days, yet she already feels like someone Evette can rely on.
While Lydia is busy sifting through outfits, Evette hesitates before reaching for her phone. Her fingers hover over the screen as she stares at the blocked number. A deep breath steadies her. There's no point in hiding from whatever is going on, no point in pretending she can ignore it forever.
With a firm decision, she unblocks the number and quickly types out a message:
"I'm not scared of you."
She presses send.
Days pass normally, blending into a routine of classes and late-night studying. The air grows crisper, a chill settling over Westgate even though October has only just begun.
Despite everything, the strange messages stop. Sometimes, she wonders if the person behind them only wanted to kidnap her—that maybe their plan had failed, and they had given up. But something about that thought doesn't sit right.
One afternoon, she sits in the library,
The Westgate library is vast and elegant, its high ceilings lined with intricate wooden beams. Rows of tall, mahogany bookshelves stretch across the space, packed with worn leather-bound volumes and crisp modern textbooks. Soft, golden lamps cast a warm glow over the long study tables, where students sit hunched over their notes, lost in quiet concentration.
Massive arched windows line the far wall, allowing slivers of pale autumn sunlight to filter in, though the glass is slightly fogged from the chill outside. The faint scent of old paper and polished wood lingers in the air, blending with the occasional whiff of coffee from a student's thermos.
A few scattered whispers break the silence, but mostly, the only sounds are the rustle of pages turning and the soft clack of laptop keys. A librarian stands near the front desk, flipping through a catalog, while a few professors skim books in the history section.
It's a place that should feel safe—peaceful, even. But as Evette reads the message on her phone, the library suddenly feels too big, too open. The towering shelves seem to close in, shadows stretching between them.
She scans the room again. Three teachers. Ten students.
Anyone could be watching.