The campus courtyard buzzed with restless chatter, but one corner carried a sharper edge—the bench under the mango tree where Margaret's closest friends usually gathered. They sat huddled together, bags tossed carelessly at their feet, their voices low but heavy with excitement.
"Did you hear what happened yesterday?" one whispered, leaning forward, eyes darting around like the words themselves might bite.
"You mean with Racheal Addison?" another cut in, almost too quickly. "Please. Who hasn't heard? It's the only thing anyone's talking about."
The third girl smirked knowingly. "Of course. Professors drag her into the office like a criminal, and then—poof! Suddenly everything is 'paused.' As if the whole investigation just… vanished into thin air. Suspicious much?"
They all exchanged glances, lips curling with mischief.
"I swear, that girl has secrets. She and Margaret aren't even roommates, yet their names keep getting linked together. And now this Mr. Unknown thing? Don't tell me it's a coincidence."
Another leaned closer, voice trembling with equal parts fear and excitement. "Listen. I heard from someone who saw it. A guy in a black hoodie—face hidden, walking like he owned the place—went straight into the office right after Racheal and Margaret came out. No knock, no hesitation. Just walked in like he belonged there."
Her words landed like a spark on dry grass. The others leaned in even further, hanging on every syllable.
"And then what happened?"
"Exactly what you know. The professors let everything go. All questioning, all punishment—stopped. Just like that. Now tell me, doesn't it sound like Racheal has… protection?"
The girls gasped.
"Protection? From him?"
"Who else?"
The silence that followed wasn't real silence—it was filled with the quick beats of racing hearts, the thrill of a rumor turning into fire.
One finally spoke, her tone sharp with disbelief. "So wait, are you saying Mr. Unknown—this creepy shadow everyone's been whispering about—he's real? And he's on Racheal's side?"
"Looks like it."
They all shivered, though not from the wind.
"Well," one said bitterly, "that explains why she always acts like nothing touches her. Maybe she thinks her little 'ghost in a hoodie' will keep her safe."
Another giggled. "Or maybe she's in deeper than she realizes. Because no one—no one—gets close to someone like him without paying the price eventually."
The group nodded, voices dropping even lower, as though afraid he might already be listening.
"And Margaret? Poor Margaret. Stuck in the middle of this mess just because she's unlucky enough to be close to Racheal. People are already whispering about her too. Saying she knows more than she should."
They exchanged sly smiles, satisfied that even Margaret wasn't safe from their speculation.
"Secrets," one murmured with a laugh that wasn't quite kind. "They never stay buried. Not here. Not with us around."
Their laughter rose together, sharp and mocking, echoing across the courtyard like a warning. Students passing by slowed their steps, ears pricked, waiting for pieces of the story to spill their way.
And just like that, the rumor spread again—growing longer, sharper, crueler with every retelling.
Racheal's name was no longer whispered. It was carried openly, like fire on dry leaves.
The echo of secrets had begun, and it was only getting louder.