Amara's POV
The art building was silent, the kind of silence that makes you wonder if you're being watched.
If the darkness is hiding something.
If something is waiting for you just past the corner.
I stepped inside anyway.
Lila's voice echoed in my mind like a ghost:
"If you love me, please...don't trust him."
Her words had lived in my chest like a warning, but now they burned like prophecy. I had to know. No more pretending.
I walked slowly past the classrooms. The walls were lined with crooked frames of former student art bright colors, smiling people, landscapes of places that no longer felt real.
But all I could think about was Renée.
Her face in that video. Her expression.
Trapped.
Hurt.
And then gone.
I found the stairs at the end of the hallway. Cold steel steps spiraling into blackness.
With each step down, the air got heavier. The musty scent of mold and turpentine filled my nose. Something about this place felt buried like time forgot it. Like it wanted to stay forgotten.
I reached the bottom.
The beam from my flashlight barely cut the dark.
Storage shelves. Broken easels. Rolled-up canvases eaten by dust.
And then I saw it the far wall, just like Lila had said.
Two wooden panels, bolted to the wall. Ordinary enough… until you got closer.
The second one had markings near the floor. A faint scratch. A torn piece of duct tape. A smear was that dried paint or something darker?
I pressed my palm to the panel.
It was stiff. Like something behind it was pushing back.
I forced it open.
It let out a sound like a dying scream.
Behind it was a crawlspace no bigger than a laundry bin.
And nestled inside a black box.
Just sitting there.
Like it had been waiting for me.
I knelt down and reached in. My fingers brushed something taped to the top.
A photo.
I pulled it into the light.
Renée.
Tear-streaked. Bruised. Her lips parted in mid-cry.
Devon's arm was around her shoulders, gripping too tight.
His smile was charming, fake, the kind he used when he wanted to get away with something.
My heart slammed into my ribs.
No more theories.
No more doubt.
He did this.
He hurt her.
I yanked the box out and opened the lid.
Inside were:
A USB stick marked with a faded red dot.
Six printed photos.
A silver star necklace Renée's. I remembered it from the library, when she helped me print notes for class.
And a folded note with handwriting I knew better than my own.
Devon's.
"This ends with her or me. I won't let her ruin this."
I dropped the note like it burned.
Suddenly, memories came flooding in like a tidal wave:
Devon sneaking out when he thought I was asleep.
The time Renée came to me crying, then walked it back two days later and said she was "just hormonal."
Lila staring too long at his phone when he left it on the couch, and going quiet afterward.
I hadn't seen the signs.
I hadn't wanted to.
Because I loved him.
And I doubted her.
The flashlight flickered.
The room felt colder.
I zipped the box shut and shoved everything into my bag. I didn't even realize I was crying until a tear dropped onto the back of my hand.
I turned and ran toward the stairs, gripping the bag like it was a life jacket.
That's when I heard it.
A voice.
Right above me.
> "You should've stayed in your lane, Amara."
I froze mid-step.
That wasn't Devon.
The voice was deeper. Rougher. Familiar — but wrong. Like someone I'd met once in a dream and now met again in a nightmare.
I killed the flashlight.
Everything went black.
Only my breath, loud and shallow.
I turned toward the crawlspace, thinking maybe I could hide. But it was too small, and too late.
The footsteps came closer.
Then...
Click.
The sound of a lock sliding into place.
He was sealing the door from the outside.
I was trapped.
Panic gripped my throat. My thoughts raced.
He knew I was here.
He'd been following me.
I reached for my phone ...no signal.
No help.
I backed into the shadows, slipping behind a tall shelf of broken canvases. My fingers dug into the old wood, trying to stay quiet.
Above me, I could hear him moving.
Dragging something.
Then silence.
But silence in this place wasn't peace.
It was a threat.
Suddenly, a voice echoed again. Closer.
> "You think you're the first? She wasn't either. Lila thought she was clever, too."
My blood went ice cold.
He knew Lila. He was talking about her in the past tense.
What had he done?
I crouched low, heart slamming against my ribs like it wanted to burst through. My breath trembled in my chest.
A shadow moved past the stairwell. I saw a boot.
Big. Black. Heavy.
He paused at the bottom step.
Waited.
Listening.
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming.
Then quietly ...he turned and walked back up.
But he didn't leave.
I heard the metal latch slide again.
He locked it. From both sides.
And this time...
He took the key.
I stayed frozen for minutes. Maybe hours. Time didn't feel real.
Eventually, I turned my flashlight back on and crept out from behind the shelf.
I scanned every corner, every possible exit. Nothing.
I was locked in a basement with damning evidence and the people it could expose knew exactly where I was.
And they weren't going to let me leave.
Unless…
Unless I made them.
I pulled out the USB stick.
There had to be something on it. Something explosive.
Something powerful enough to burn Devon's entire life to the ground.
And if I could get out…
I'd light the match myself.