Lily Mercer's hands still smelled like roses.
She scrubbed them raw under the bathroom sink, the bar of soap long reduced to a sliver, but the scent lingered—sweet and cloying, like rot dressed in perfume. Outside, the storm had quieted to a drizzle, painting Ravens Hollow in shades of charcoal. She stared at her reflection in the mirror, the bruise-like shadows under her eyes a stark contrast to her pale skin. Just a dream, she told herself again. The rose, the thorn, the shadow at her window—all fragments of a mind fraying under stress.
But the crimson petal on her windowsill was real.
She pocketed it, along with the lies she'd tell her mom about where she was going.
Ethan Voss loved Mondays.
They were clean slates, ripe for reinvention. He arrived at school early, his polished shoes clicking against the freshly mopped floors as he strode to Lily's locker. The combination dial turned easily under his gloves—*3-14-21*—and he inhaled sharply as the door swung open. Her biology textbook lay where he'd left it, now bookmarked with a dried rose petal. His rose petal.
He replaced it with a Polaroid: Lily, asleep at her desk last night, her cheek smudged with charcoal. On the back, he scribbled a single line in jagged script:
"Every masterpiece begins with a single cut."
She'd recognize the handwriting. He'd practiced for weeks to mimic her own.
Noah Carter was late.
He skidded into homeroom just as the bell rang, his shirt inside-out and his hair still damp from the rain. Lily shot him a look—half concern, half annoyance—as he slumped into the desk beside her.
"Rough night?" she whispered.
"You could say that." He avoided her gaze, fumbling with his backpack. A crumpled flyer slipped out, its bold letters screaming: MISSING: SOPHIE NGUYEN – REWARD $5,000.
Lily's breath hitched. "Did they... find her?"
Noah stiffened. "Not yet."
Principal Higgins' voice crackled over the intercom, slicing through the room: "Students, please join us in the auditorium for a special assembly on... campus safety."
A collective groan rippled through the class.
Detective Maria Reyes hated assemblies.
They were performances, nothing more—administrators patting themselves on the back while parents clapped like trained seals. She stood at the back of the auditorium, arms crossed, as Principal Higgins droned about "vigilance" and "community."
Hypocrite, she thought. Higgins had refused to hand over the security footage until the district office threatened a lawsuit.
Her phone buzzed. A text from the lab: "Prints on Nguyen's phone partial but a match to cold case – Gabby Reyes (2022)."
Maria's throat closed. Gabby. Her daughter's stalker had never been caught.
She scanned the crowd, her gaze snagging on a boy in the third row—hood up, head down, fingers flying across his phone.
Ethan Voss.
Lily's skin prickled as she stepped into the auditorium.
The air felt heavier here, thick with the musk of rain-damp backpacks and whispered gossip. She slid into a seat beside Ava, who was already live-
tweeting the assembly: "Principal Higgins' bald spot is 10x more interesting than this speech. #RavensHollow"
"Look," Ava muttered, nodding to the stage.
Detective Reyes stood in the shadows, her sharp eyes sweeping the room like a hawk circling prey.
"Cop," Jax said, leaning over Lily's shoulder. "Bet she's here about the missing girls."
Lily's fingers brushed the petal in her pocket. Missing girls. Roses. Anonymous messages. The pieces hovered, disjointed, but she couldn't force them to connect.
"—report any suspicious activity," Higgins implored, mopping his brow.
Ethan's laugh cut through the silence—a low, melodic sound that made Lily's stomach twist.
The Polaroid burned in her locker.
Lily stared at it, her reflection warped in the glossy finish. How? She'd been alone last night. Her mom had passed out on the couch by 9 p.m., and the doors were locked.
Unless someone had been inside.
Her hands shook as she flipped the photo. The handwritten line stared back, her own script twisted into something alien:
"Every masterpiece begins with a single cut."
No. Not mine.
The letters were too precise, the curve of the "c" too deliberate. A forgery.
"Lily?"
She slammed the locker shut. Noah stood behind her, his freckles stark against his ashen face.
"You okay?" he asked.
"Peachy." She forced a smile. "Why?"
He hesitated, then pulled her into an empty classroom. The door clicked shut, sealing them in the musty dark.
"I need to show you something," he said, swiping open his phone.
Security footage played on the screen: Ethan, hood up, slipping into the woods behind the school at 3:05 p.m. yesterday. The time stamp glowed red.
"He wasn't sick," Noah said. "He lied."
Lily's pulse roared. "Why are you showing me this?"
"Because he's lying about other things too." Noah's voice cracked. "Last week, he asked me to hack the attendance logs. Said he needed an alibi."
"For what?"
Noah looked away. "I didn't ask."
Ethan watched them from the hallway, his back pressed to the lockers.
Pathetic. Noah was always too soft, too eager to confess. He'd have to fix that.
He pulled out his phone, navigating to the app linked to Lily's laptop camera. She'd left it open on her bed, her search history glaring: "Crimson Rose stalker," "Sophie Nguyen missing," "How to know if you're being gaslit."
He screenshotted the last one, cropping it to show only the question: "How to know if you're being gaslit?"
He sent it to her with a single line: [Let me help.]
Detective Reyes found the second Polaroid taped to Sophie Nguyen's locker.
The girl in the photo wasn't Sophie. It was Lily Mercer, asleep at her desk, her face half-buried in her sketchbook. Maria's gut churned. She'd seen this before—the escalation, the taunting, the obsession masquerading as love.
Gabby's stalker had started with notes. Then photos. Then roses.
"This isn't a coincidence," she told Principal Higgins, slapping the Polaroid on his desk. "Ethan Voss. I need to speak with him. Now."
Higgins palmed a stress ball shaped like a football. "Ethan's our valedictorian. National Merit Scholar. He's not some—"
"Now," Maria repeated.
The interrogation room was smaller than Ethan expected.
He'd imagined something from Law & Order—one-way glass, flickering fluorescents, a tape recorder. Instead, he got a cramped office with motivational posters ("Success Is a Choice!") and a coffee stain shaped like Australia.
Detective Reyes sat across from him, her wedding band glinting as she tapped a pen against a notepad.
"Where were you yesterday at 3 p.m.?"
"Tutoring freshmen in the library." Ethan's voice was calm, rehearsed. "Check the sign-in sheet."
"I did. Your name's there. But the librarian doesn't remember seeing you."
He shrugged. "She's seventy. Her memory's not great."
Maria leaned forward. "What's your relationship with Lily Mercer?"
"We're classmates."
"Classmates don't leave roses in lockers."
Ethan's mask slipped—just a flicker of surprise. "Roses?"
Maria slid the Polaroid across the desk. "Care to explain this?"
He studied it, head tilted. "I'm in the photography club. Maybe she's a muse."
"A muse."
"Artists need inspiration."
Maria's jaw tightened. "Where's Sophie Nguyen?"
"Who?"
The door burst open. Principal Higgins hovered, red-faced. "Detective, unless you're charging him, this ends now."
Ethan stood, smoothing his blazer. "Am I free to go?"
Maria's pen snapped in half. "For now."
Lily found the crown in her backpack after seventh period.
It was small, delicate—a circlet of braided rose thorns, their edges dipped in gold paint. A note curled around it:
"Every masterpiece begins with a single cut. –C.P."
She dropped it like it had burned her.
Ava snatched the note. "'C.P.'? Who's that?"
"No one," Lily lied.
But she knew.
Crimson Phantom.
The name from the news, the texts, the nightmares.
She ran.
Ethan found her in the art room, trembling behind a canvas.
"You're shaking," he said, offering his blazer.
She recoiled. "Did you do this?"
He feigned confusion, his eyes wide and guileless. "Do what?"
"The crown. The photos. The—the messages."
"Lily." He stepped closer, his voice soft, wounded. "You really think I'd hurt you?"
She wanted to say no. Wanted to believe the boy who'd shared his notes, who'd laughed at her stupid jokes, who'd looked at her like she was the only real thing in this hollow town.
But the crown glinted on the floor, its thorns sharp as teeth.
"Stay away from me," she whispered.
His mask cracked. For a second, she saw it—the rage, the hunger, the void where empathy should've been.
Then it vanished.
"You're paranoid," he said, cool and composed. "Stress does that. Maybe you should talk to someone."
He left her there, his parting words hanging like a threat:
"Not everyone's the villain, Lily. But I'll play the role if you need me to."
Detective Reyes found the third rose in Ethan's locker.
It was white this time, its stem coiled around a USB drive. The files inside were worse than she'd imagined: photos of Lily, Sophie, Gabby—all labeled "PROJECT MUSE."
But the last file stopped her cold.
A video.
Ethan, smiling at the camera, his voice smooth as poison: "Love is a game, Detective. And I always win."