EIRA'S POV
Oh God, I'm late again.
I hurried out of my room, still trying to gather my thoughts after a rushed shower. Yesterday's warning from Mr. Robert echoed in my mind, reminding me that I couldn't afford another late arrival.
But the moment I stepped into the corridor, my attention caught on something unexpected.
A police officer stood outside Andy's room.
My steps slowed.
A strange uneasiness settled in my stomach.
Why would the police be here?
The officer noticed me and turned in my direction.
"Miss Eira Bain?"
I stopped.
"Yes?"
"I'm Inspector Cole Smith. Could I ask you a few questions?"
The seriousness in his voice immediately made me nervous.
"Of course."
His gaze shifted briefly toward Andy's closed door.
"How well did you know Miss Andy?"
Her smile flashed through my memory, bringing with it the words she had spoken the last time we met.
Then I already like you.
An unexpected pang of guilt tightened my chest.
"Not very well," I admitted. "We only spoke once."
The inspector nodded.
"Miss Andy has been missing for five days."
My heart dropped.
Missing.
Not absent.
Not away.
Missing.
The word felt wrong, carrying a weight that made my stomach twist with unease.
The inspector studied my expression carefully.
"Did you notice anything unusual on the night she disappeared?"
My mind immediately returned to that night.
The sound.
The shattered glass.
The hooded figure.
The phone call.
And those two words that had refused to leave my memory.
Work done.
I hesitated.
Every instinct urged me to remain silent.
Not his name. Not Adrian.
But what if Andy was in danger? What if she needed help and I was the only person who could provide a clue?
Taking a shaky breath, I told the inspector everything I had witnessed and heard.
He listened without interrupting, his expression growing more serious with every detail.
"And you recognized the voice?"
My throat tightened.
"Yes."
"Whose voice was it?"
For a moment, his name caught in my throat.
Then I forced myself to answer.
"Adrian Blake."
The inspector's eyes sharpened.
"Are you certain?"
"Yes."
"He comes from a respected family."
"So?"
The word escaped me more sharply than I intended.
The inspector looked mildly surprised.
I swallowed and met his gaze.
"I know what I heard."
For several seconds, he studied me as though trying to determine whether I was frightened, mistaken, or concealing something.
Then he nodded.
"Thank you, Miss Bain."
I gave a stiff nod and continued toward the stairs, my thoughts considerably heavier than they had been moments earlier.
I was already late for college.
Yet as I hurried away, one thought overshadowed everything else.
Adrian.
He hadn't appeared at college for five days.
For five days, I had found myself looking toward the entrance, searching for a face I kept insisting I didn't care about.
I had told myself it was curiosity.
Nothing more.
But now the police were investigating Andy's disappearance, and I had just given them Adrian's name.
Had I made a mistake?
I remembered the voice I had heard that night. I remembered how certain I had been when I recognized it.
And still, something about the situation refused to make sense.
Why had Adrian disappeared from college?
What was his connection to Andy?
And if he was involved, why did the thought leave me with such an uncomfortable ache in my chest?
I didn't know what to believe anymore.
All I knew was that I needed answers.
And somehow, every question led me back to Adrian Blake.
ADRIAN'S POV
Photographs covered the desk before me.
The broken window.
The scattered books.
The overturned chair.
Every detail of Andy's room had been captured, examined, and studied until the smallest fragments of the scene seemed capable of revealing a truth that continued to elude me.
A red marker rested between my fingers.
I circled one detail, crossed out another, then returned to a photograph I had already examined a dozen times.
Nothing.
The evidence offered fragments, not answers.
Something was wrong with the scene. I could feel it with the same instinctive certainty that warned me of danger before it surfaced.
The problem was that instinct alone wasn't enough.
I needed something concrete.
Something that would expose the flaw hidden beneath the scattered evidence.
A sharp knock interrupted my thoughts.
My jaw tightened.
I ignored it.
The knock came again, harder this time.
My fingers stilled around the marker.
Whoever stood outside had either mistaken my silence for an invitation or possessed an extraordinary talent for irritating me.
I dropped the photograph onto the desk and rose.
The scattered images remained behind me, their unanswered questions waiting patiently for my return.
I left my room.
The scent of a human reached me almost immediately.
Another knock.
Persistent.
Unwelcome.
I opened the door.
Two police officers stood outside.
I looked at them with undisguised irritation.
"What?"
The taller officer stepped forward.
"I'm Inspector Cole Smith."
"And?"
"I need to speak with you."
Before I could respond, he stepped inside.
My expression hardened.
"Do you make a habit of entering people's homes without permission?"
"Adrian, that's no way to address an officer."
Mike's voice came from behind me.
I glanced over as he descended the stairs, his expression composed and his movements unhurried.
The atmosphere changed the moment he appeared.
Mike Blake had never needed to raise his voice to command a room. His quietness possessed its own authority, the sort that made people reconsider their words before speaking them.
I had watched grown men lose their composure beneath that calm, unwavering gaze.
Mike and Elisa had been part of my life for as long as I could remember. They weren't my parents, but they were the closest thing I had ever known to family.
"Good afternoon, Inspector," Mike greeted him. "Please, have a seat."
"We're fine standing, Mr. Blake," the inspector replied. "I need to speak with Adrian."
His attention returned to me.
"Do you know Miss Eira Bain?"
At the sound of her name, something dark stirred beneath my ribs.
Eira Bain.
Those innocent, stubborn eyes flashed through my mind, along with the image of that foolish girl who seemed to believe she could help everyone she came across.
Always asking questions. Always chasing trouble. Always sticking her nose into things she barely understood.
As though the entire world were hers to save.
Stupid girl.
My jaw tightened.
What had she done now?
I buried the thought before it could reach my expression and shrugged.
"No."
"Are you certain? She's in your class."
"Oh, right. Thanks for reminding me."
I delivered the words with deliberate sarcasm.
The inspector's eyes narrowed.
"Don't you find it strange that you can't remember one of your own classmates?"
"Is forgetting someone a crime now?"
A faint smirk touched my lips.
Silence settled over the room.
The officer beside him shifted his weight, but the inspector remained unmoved.
"Miss Andy has been missing for five days," he continued. "Miss Eira Bain claims she heard you speaking on the night Andy disappeared. She recognized your voice."
For a moment, the entire room seemed to hold its breath.
The clock on the wall ticked with irritating precision.
I looked at him.
"She did?"
"She identified you as the person whose voice she heard."
A short laugh escaped me.
Cold.
Disbelieving.
I brought my hands together in a single, measured clap.
The sound cut through the silence.
"Impressive ears she must have. Is that your evidence? A voice she claims to recognize? You must be joking."
The inspector's jaw tightened.
Barely.
But I noticed.
He glanced toward Mike, perhaps expecting him to intervene, reprimand me, or offer some reassurance that I was taking his questions seriously.
Mike did none of those things.
He simply watched.
Waiting.
The inspector returned his attention to me.
"Where were you five days ago?"
"At my friend Drek's place. Out of town. You can confirm it with him."
He studied my face for several seconds, searching for hesitation, a flicker of fear, anything that might betray me.
He found nothing.
I gave him nothing.
Eventually, frustration hardened his expression.
"This conversation isn't over."
"It never is."
The officers left, and the front door closed behind them.
For a moment, silence reclaimed the house.
Then Mike spoke.
"About the girl who told them—"
"I'll deal with her. No one will believe her."
The words left my mouth with effortless certainty.
Mike's expression didn't change.
That was what made him dangerous. He never needed to accuse me outright. He merely looked at me as though he had already identified the lie and was giving me the opportunity to admit it myself.
"You're hiding something."
My jaw tightened.
Only slightly.
"No."
The answer came smoothly, almost lazily.
But beneath my ribs, something burned.
Not guilt.
Not fear.
Something far more complicated.
Mike held my gaze, unconvinced.
Neither of us looked away.
Neither of us spoke.
At last, he sighed and turned aside.
Not because he believed me.
Because he knew I wasn't going to tell him anything.
I remained where I was, my thoughts returning to the one person who had managed to turn an already complicated situation into something considerably more troublesome.
Eira Bain.
Fury rose inside me, sharp and immediate.
Why had she told the police?
Why couldn't she simply stay out of my life?
I could dismiss the inspector. I could deal with his questions and suspicions. I could give him nothing and watch him leave with nothing.
But Eira was another matter entirely.
I needed to speak to her.
And this time, I intended to make sure she listened.
EIRA'S POV
With an hour remaining before my next lecture, I wandered through the college courtyard, barely registering the students passing around me.
My thoughts had become a relentless circle, each question leading me back to the same name.
Adrian.
Had he hurt Andy?
If he had, why?
And if he hadn't, why had he disappeared for five days?
I glanced toward the college entrance for what felt like the hundredth time.
Nothing.
I immediately looked away, irritated with myself.
Why was I even looking for him?
He was the last person I should have wanted to see, especially after what I had told the inspector.
And yet, some stubborn part of me wanted to confront him.
I wanted to look into those unreadable black eyes and ask him directly what he knew. Perhaps his expression would reveal something his words never would.
So lost in my thoughts was I that I barely noticed where I was walking.
By the time I looked up, I had reached the restricted top floor.
I stopped.
The corridor stretched before me, deserted and unnervingly still. The faint sounds of the college below seemed distant here, muffled by the walls until even my breathing sounded too loud.
I glanced behind me.
No one.
I turned to leave.
An arm suddenly caught me around the waist.
Before I could understand what was happening, I was pulled backward with such force that a startled gasp escaped me.
My back struck the wall.
A hand clamped over my mouth, smothering the scream that tore from my throat.
Panic surged through me.
I struggled instinctively, twisting against the arm locked around my waist, but the hold only tightened, keeping me trapped against the unforgiving wall.
My pulse thundered in my ears.
I tried to wrench myself free, my fingers clawing at the hand covering my mouth.
Then a familiar voice cut through the panic.
"Don't scream. I need to talk to you."
Adrian.
My heart stumbled.
For one bewildering second, relief threatened to eclipse my fear.
Then anger rushed in to replace it.
He slowly removed his hand from my mouth, but his arm remained firmly around my waist, preventing me from slipping away.
I stared at him, breathless and furious.
"Why can't you speak to me like a normal person?" I demanded. "Why do you always have to scare me?"
My voice trembled, betraying the fear I was desperately trying to conceal.
Adrian's expression darkened.
"What is wrong with you?" His voice cut through the silence, low and furious. "Do you ever think before you act, or do you simply throw yourself into things that have absolutely nothing to do with you?"
I stared at him, stunned by the sudden sharpness in his voice.
"I was only trying to—"
"I didn't ask what you were trying to do." His jaw tightened. "You went to the police. You told them about me. Do you have any idea how reckless that was?"
"I told them what I heard."
"And who gave you the right to involve yourself in other people's affairs?" His black eyes hardened. "Why can't you mind your own business, Eira?"
His words stung, but his anger only made me more determined to understand him.
"Because someone is missing, Adrian! Andy has been gone for days, and you expect me to pretend nothing is happening?"
"I expect you to stay out of things that don't concern you."
"How can you say that?"
"Because I'm telling you to." His voice dropped, colder now. "You have no idea what you're getting yourself into."
"Then explain it to me!"
For a fraction of a second, something dark flickered in his eyes.
Then he moved.
Before I could react, he caught both my wrists in one hand and forced them above my head against the wall. His other arm remained locked around my waist, holding me firmly in place.
My breath caught.
I was trapped between his body and the cold wall, his face so close that I could see the fury tightening every line of his expression.
"Have you still not understood?" he demanded.
I struggled against his hold, glaring at him despite the nervous flutter in my chest.
"Understood what? That you think you can order everyone around? That you can frighten people into silence whenever they ask you a question?"
His grip tightened.
"Watch your mouth."
"Or what?" I challenged, my voice trembling despite my attempt to keep it steady. "You'll threaten me again? Is that the only way you know how to talk to me?"
His black eyes bore into mine.
"You make it very difficult to do anything else."
The words struck harder than I expected.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
"Stay away from Andy's case," he ordered. "Do not go to the police again."
"Why?" I demanded. "What are you hiding?"
His expression turned glacial.
"That is none of your concern."
"Did you hurt her?"
The question hung between us.
His face went completely still.
He didn't deny it.
He didn't confirm it.
He simply stared at me, his black eyes unreadable, as though my question had crossed a line I should never have approached.
"Answer me, Adrian."
"Stop asking questions."
"Why? Because you don't have an answer, or because you don't want me to know the truth?"
I looked at him, searching his face for an explanation he would never willingly give me.
"Why do you do that?" I asked quietly. "You act as though I mean nothing to you, yet you get angry every time I do something you don't like. You refuse to explain anything, but you expect me to obey you without question."
His expression hardened.
"Don't mistake my anger for concern."
"I didn't."
"Good." He looked at me with a coldness that seemed almost deliberate. "Then perhaps you'll finally understand what I've been trying to tell you."
"I still think you're hiding something."
Silence stretched between us.
"And I won't stop caring about what happened to Andy just because you tell me to."
"Then you're even more foolish than I thought," he said, looking deep into my eyes.
The words hurt, but I refused to look away.
His jaw clenched, and the hand holding my wrists tightened once more.
"You really don't know when to stop, do you?" he snapped. "You keep pushing, dragging yourself into things you cannot possibly understand. Stay out of my business, Eira. I don't want your questions, your suspicions, or your interference. Do yourself a favour and listen for once."
"You could try speaking to me like I'm a person instead of someone you despise!"
Something shifted in his expression.
Not softness.
Not surrender.
His anger remained, burning behind his eyes, but for one fleeting second, it seemed to collide with something he was determined not to reveal.
His arm tightened around my waist, pulling me closer.
The sudden movement stole the next words from my mouth.
His face was only inches from mine now.
I could see every detail of his expression—the tension in his jaw, the faint crease between his brows, the darkness of his eyes as they searched mine with an intensity that made my thoughts falter.
Neither of us spoke.
I should have pushed him away.
I should have demanded that he release me.
Instead, I found myself caught in the depths of his gaze, unable to understand why the anger in his eyes had begun to feel like something I could neither challenge nor ignore.
For one disorienting moment, the world beyond that corridor ceased to matter.
There was only Adrian.
And the strange, unsettling feeling that neither of us was quite as unaffected as we wanted the other to believe.
Then I became aware of just how close we were.
Too close.
Close enough to feel the warmth of his body. Close enough that the slightest shift would bring us closer still.
My heart hammered against my ribs.
I couldn't tell whether it was fear, anger, or something far more confusing.
Perhaps he realized it, too.
His gaze dropped for the briefest instant before returning to mine.
My breath caught.
Then I winced.
"You're hurting me."
The words escaped quietly, stripped of all the defiance I'd been holding on to.
Adrian went still.
His gaze dropped to my wrists.
Something flickered across his face—so brief I might have imagined it.
His fingers loosened immediately, easing the pressure until the sting began to fade.
That tiny movement unsettled me more than another threat would have.
For a moment, he seemed to forget his anger. Then his jaw tightened, and whatever had surfaced in his expression disappeared behind the familiar coldness.
He released my wrists.
My hands fell slowly to my sides.
He withdrew his arm from my waist and stepped back.
The loss of his warmth was immediate.
The space he left between us should have felt like freedom. Instead, I stood frozen against the wall, my fingers curling unconsciously as I tried to steady my breathing.
He held my gaze for one final moment.
"Stay away from me."
Before I could respond, he turned and strode down the corridor.
"Adrian!"
He didn't stop.
I watched him disappear around the corner, leaving me alone against the cold wall.
For several seconds, I couldn't move.
My wrists ached faintly where his fingers had held them, but that wasn't what troubled me most.
It was the way he had released me the instant I told him he was hurting me.
He had been furious that I'd spoken to the police. Furious that I'd questioned him. Furious that I refused to leave the matter alone.
Yet, for one brief moment, something had changed in his expression.
I couldn't explain it.
I didn't even know whether I'd imagined it.
All I knew was that Adrian Blake had looked at me as though he wanted to say something—and had chosen to hurt me with his silence instead.
I pressed my fingers against my wrists and slowly pushed away from the wall.
I had come looking for answers.
Instead, Adrian had left me with more questions than before.
What had happened to Andy?
Why was Adrian so determined to keep me away from the truth?
And what was Adrian Blake so desperately afraid I would discover?