Chapter 3
3rd April – 10:42 AM – Beaconhouse National University (BNU), Tarogil Campus
The Tarogil campus was quiet, almost too quiet.
Zoya Rehman adjusted the strap of her paint-stained tote bag and took the path through the sculpture garden. The twisted metal pieces loomed like silent witnesses to something she couldn't name. She hated mornings like this—overcast, with light that diffused like smoke, flattening shadows. She felt like she was walking inside one of her own paintings.
Red again.
It had been following her in her sleep. Splashing onto white canvases. Dripping from her fingertips. Crawling beneath her skin.
She hadn't told anyone. Not the counselor. Not her roommate. Not even the professor who'd gently suggested she "step back" from her current project—an oil painting of a screaming face without eyes.
Zoya shook her head, quickening her pace. "Just stress," she muttered.
She didn't know she was being watched.
3rd April – 11:05 AM – Ayla's Hostel, University of South Asia
Ayla couldn't breathe.
The envelope still lay on her desk, the message etched in her mind: You circled the right dates. Next is 3.
Her calendar glared back at her—April 3rd.
Today.
She'd triple-checked every university near Cantt. She'd even called one anonymous helpline in a moment of desperation, feeding them a vague "threat" about her own campus. But nothing had happened.
And now she knew.
It wasn't about her.
She was just part of the pattern.
Her laptop pinged. Rahil had sent a message:
"CCTV feed from BNU just went down for 8 minutes. Same time as last month's static burst. This is it. Something's happening."
Ayla stood so fast that her chair tipped over. She grabbed her phone and keys, dialing Rahil as she ran.
"Ping the nearest tower, send the coordinates, anything—just give me a location!" she shouted.
"I'm trying!" Rahil replied, static already bleeding into the call.
Ayla didn't wait. She called a ride and typed in: BNU Tarogil Campus.
3rd April – 11:11 AM – Behind the Old Ceramics Studio, BNU
Zoya blinked.
The sky was red.
No—it wasn't.
But her eyes refused to adjust. Her knees gave slightly beneath her as she reached the clearing behind the ceramics studio, usually a place of solitude.
A paint-splattered canvas stood abandoned on an easel. Not hers.
The air shifted.
Then pain.
A blow to the side of her head knocked her off balance. She crashed into the easel. Wood splintered. She screamed.
A gloved hand smashed her mouth against the concrete.
She tasted copper.
Her limbs flailed, but the attacker moved like a machine, measured, silent, unrelenting. He struck her again, ribs this time, then dragged her by the hair toward the wall.
Her scream came out as a wet gasp.
Then a voice—low, calm, close.
"You see what's coming."
A knife—not sharp, but jagged like a sculpting tool—was dragged across her palm. Her blood spilled onto her paints.
A figure stepped into the periphery—Ayla.
She had sprinted across campus, lungs on fire, feet blistered, and now she stood frozen, ten feet from them.
She saw the blur of red.
She saw the steel hands.
She screamed.
The attacker didn't run. He walked away. As if he knew no one would stop him.
Zoya whimpered on the ground, blood mixing with fallen cherry blossoms.
Ayla dropped to her knees beside her, calling for help. Students started to gather.
Too late.
3rd April – 12:09 PM – Emergency Room, Lahore General Hospital
Zoya's face was swollen. Her right eye nearly shut. Her left hand was bandaged tightly. She was drifting in and out of consciousness.
"She said she saw red for weeks," the nurse murmured to Ayla.
Ayla nodded numbly, staring at the girl who had survived—barely.
In Zoya's grip was a torn piece of canvas. The only part she hadn't let go of.
It bore one word:
"Next."
3rd April – 1:47 PM – Ayla's Phone, Encrypted Message from Rahil
"He's accelerating. Dates might be red herrings now."
Ayla replied:
"We need to find out what he's circling. And why?"
She closed her eyes, the word "Next" echoing.
Whatever this was, it wasn't random anymore.
It was personal.
And Ayla had just stepped deeper into it.