The next morning, everyone was going about their business like nothing had happened the previous night.
Well, if that's what they wanted to believe.
Mom and Mr. Morgan were still trying to act like everything was fine, but it was obvious it wasn't. Nothing was fine. Not with the tension that had seeped into every corner of this house.
I forced down a slice of toast and sipped a little from my coffee mug before quickly leaving for school. I wasn't about to sit around and pretend. I wasn't going to drive in the same car with people who had no interest in solving whatever issue lay bleeding on the table between us.
By the time I got to school, I was already tired,not physically, but emotionally. It felt like carrying a weight that only grew heavier every day.
After my first class, I slid into my seat in the corner of the hallway, away from the chatter of students planning weekend hangouts. My phone buzzed with a sharp notification, and I pulled it out of my pocket, expecting maybe a text from Dan or a reminder about an assignment.
But no.
The message was from an unknown number.
The moment I saw it, my body tensed, like all the air had been punched out of my lungs. My hands trembled as I tapped the screen open.
It wasn't spam. It wasn't some promotional garbage. It was… a clue.
Unknown Number: "If you really want to know why Brayan isn't here anymore, start with the people who pretended to be his friends. The truth is hidden in plain sight. Don't trust anyone too quickly."
I stared at it for what felt like forever, the words burning themselves into my brain.
Brayan.
The name itself was enough to twist something deep inside me. My chest tightened, and for a second I couldn't breathe. Someone knew. Someone was hinting that they had the answers I'd been desperate for since that night, the first message came in,the night all the unanswered questions began eating me alive.
I looked around the hallway, half expecting someone to be watching me, waiting for my reaction. But everyone was busy, lost in their own worlds.
My first instinct was to show Tyler. He'd know what to do, right? But then, another voice in my head whispered: What if it's a trap? What if this person is just messing with you?
But no. Something about the tone of that message—the way it mentioned "the people who pretended to be his friends"—felt raw. Real. Like the person knew something personal.
I reread it again. And again. And again.
The rest of the school day went by quickly. The Teachers voice sounded like they were miles away. My friends said things, but they faded into background noise. All I could hear was that message repeating itself inside me like a ticking clock.
By the time the final bell rang, I was already on edge.
Tyler found me by the lockers, his usual cool confidence slightly dimmed. He had dark circles under his eyes, like he hadn't slept. He leaned against the metal frame, watching me with that gaze that always felt way too sharp for my , like he could see through me.
"You look like you've seen a ghost," he said.
I shoved my phone into my pocket. "its possible I could have seen one."
He raised a brow. "What's that supposed to mean?"
I hesitated. Should I tell him? Should I show him the message right here in the crowded hallway, with people bumping past us? No. Not now. It didn't feel safe.
"Nothing," I muttered. "Just…it's been a long day."
But Tyler didn't buy it. His jaw tightened, and I knew he'd press later.
At home, dinner was another silent battlefield. Mom asked me about school, something she hasn't done in a while. Mr. Morgan pretended like we were still a happy family. And Tyler kept his head down, chewing slowly, as if forcing himself to stay calm so he doesn't do something stupid.
I just sat there with my phone in my pocket, burning against my leg, a secret no one else at this table knew.
The message.
That damn message that could be a clue and it's killing me that I can't even tell anyone.
I excused myself as soon as I could and shut myself in my room, locking the door behind me. My head is a noisy mess.
Pulling out my phone, I stared at the message again. My thumbs hovered over the keyboard. Should I reply? Ask who they were?
But before I could type anything, another message came through.
Unknown Number: "They pushed him to his death. There's more. If you really want the truth, meet me tomorrow. Alone."
My blood went cold.
Meet me tomorrow.
Alone.
I swallowed hard, what if this person is luring me to harm me,my mind racing. Was this dangerous? Absolutely. But could I ignore it? No. Not when it was about Brayan. Not when the questions had already sunk their claws into me.
I collapsed back onto my bed, staring at the ceiling. I could already imagine Tyler's reaction if I told him: he'd demand to come with me, or he'd try to stop me altogether. Mom and Mr. Morgan? They'd dismiss it, tell me to block the number, tell me to forget.
But I couldn't forget.
I wouldn't.
Sleep came in fragments, each one torn by thoughts of Brayan—his laugh, the shadows in his eyes I'd never questioned, the way everyone spoke about him in hushed tones, like he was a ghost no one wanted to summon.
By morning, I knew what I had to do.
I was going to meet whoever sent those messages.
Even if it was dangerous.
Even if it broke me.
The next day was a blur of pretending—pretending to care about school, pretending to smile when classmates waved, pretending nothing heavy was clawing at my insides.
At lunch, I sat with Tyler, who was watching me far too closely.
"You're hiding something," he said flatly.
I froze, my fork halfway to my mouth. "What?"
"Don't play dumb with me, Ben. You've been off since yesterday. And it's different from the other times. What's going on?"
His voice wasn't sharp this time—it was low, he sounded worried.
I was soo close to spilling everything. To tell him about the messages, and about the meeting, about how terrified and desperate I was.
But then I remembered the words: Meet me tomorrow. Alone . Which means if I go with someone or tell someone it might ruin the whole meeting thing.
"I'm fine," I lied. "Really."
Tyler narrowed his eyes, clearly not convinced about me being fine, but he didn't push.
" We'll talk about this when we get home."
"There is nothing to talk about." He just left me there without saying anymore words.
After school, I followed the instructions. The message had told me where to go,a small park at the edge of town, near the old train tracks, it's a place no one visited anymore.
The air was cool, the sun dipping low as I walked down the cracked path. My heart pounded with every step, my phone clutched tightly in my hand.
When I reached the bench by the tracks, I stopped.
No one was there.
I sat down, nerves buzzing. Maybe it was a prank. Maybe they weren't coming.
But then… footsteps.
I turned.
A figure approached—hood up, hands shoved into their pockets. I couldn't see their face.
My pulse skyrocketed. What if coming here alone was my biggest mistake .
"Are you the one who sent the messages?" I asked, trying to sound confident but my voice betrayed me. It came out low and it was shaking.
The figure stopped a few feet away. For a moment, silence stretched between us. Then, slowly, they nodded.
"Yes," they said, their voice low and unsteady. It's a voice I don't recognize. I was hoping I would so I can use it to track them.
"Who are you?"
The figure hesitated, glancing around like they were afraid of being seen. Then they leaned closer.
"Someone who knew Brayan," they whispered. "Someone who knows why he died"
The world tilted. My breath caught and for a second my head was spinning.