Reese sat in the back of the science wing, hands folded, watching the digital clock on the wall tick from one minute to the next.
Still no Max.
That made three.
Kellan was gone. Officially "transferred." Devin hadn't been back since the rally. And now Max—no texts, no calls, just silence.
Like the ground beneath his feet was giving way inch by inch.
He tapped his pencil against the desk, rhythm growing faster.
Across from him, Cole glanced up from his worksheet.
"You good?" he asked.
Reese didn't answer right away.
Then: "They're all disappearing."
Cole blinked. "Yeah, and? Kellan was always off the rails. Trask got sloppy. Max… I dunno, man. Probably hiding out."
Reese didn't move.
"You think it's a coincidence?"
Cole frowned. "What do you mean?"
Reese's voice dropped. "Three of us. All gone. All in the last month."
"Maybe they pissed off the wrong people—"
Reese leaned in. "You don't get it. Kellan, Devin, Max. They weren't just hit. They were dismantled. One by one."
Cole swallowed.
Reese didn't blink.
"And if they were targeted… then we're next."
Lunch came and went without a word from Max.
His locker stayed shut. Phone went straight to voicemail.
Even his girl—some sophomore he kept around—said she hadn't seen him since the rally.
Reese paced the hallway outside the gym, hoodie drawn tight, earbuds in, but no music playing.
He was listening.
To footsteps.
To whispers.
To anything.
It was around sixth period that it happened.
Someone slid a note into his locker. No name. No writing.
Just a single printed photo.
Reese. Max. Devin. Kellan.
All four of them, standing behind a crying freshman at the 2022 Halloween party. The kid's costume was ripped. His mouth was bleeding.
The photo was circled in red ink.
Reese stared at it for ten seconds before slamming the locker shut.
He found Mira near the media room.
"Hey," he said, stepping into her path.
She looked at him without flinching.
"I know you've got nothing to say to me," he said. "But I need to ask something."
She said nothing.
"That Mercer kid… Kai. You know him, right?"
Still nothing.
"Is he—" Reese hesitated. "Is he doing this?"
Mira raised a single eyebrow.
"You look scared," she said.
"I'm not—"
"You should be."
Back in the locker room, Reese found Cole sitting on the bench, scrolling through old Instagram posts.
"He's deleting everything," Cole muttered. "All his comments, his tags, his party pics. Like he's trying to erase himself."
Reese sat beside him, still holding the photo.
"Max?"
"No. You."
Reese froze.
"What?"
Cole turned the phone.
Reese's profile—vanished. Not disabled. Scrubbed.
His face, his name, even group photos—blurred, faces cropped.
It was like someone was cutting him out of the world frame by frame.
"I didn't do this," Reese whispered.
"I know," Cole said.
They sat in silence.
And for the first time in his life, Reese felt something foreign settle into his spine.
Dread.
That night, Reese didn't go home.
He rode the city bus three loops around, hoodie up, head down, scanning every reflection in the windows.
He kept checking his phone.
Still nothing from Max.
No new posts.
No alerts.
No voice in the group chat saying "yo I'm good" or "just laying low."
The silence grew teeth.
By midnight, Reese finally walked into his bedroom and locked the door behind him.
He placed the photo on his desk.
Lit a candle.
Watched the flame dance.
And whispered:
"Who are you?"
Across the city, Kai sat in his room, stretching out his legs in silence.
On his wall was a map.
Pushpins. Notes. Threads.
Three down. Two to go.
His brother slept in the next room.
Outside, the city whispered.
And in that whisper… was fear.