The air outside the council office was thick with noise and panic. Students gathered in small groups down the hallway, whispering about the news that spread faster than anyone could breathe.
The murder. The icebox. Ricky's body. It had become the topic of the day.
Darius stepped past them without a word. His long stride and calm face drew attention as always. He didn't need to raise his voice or glare... his quiet presence was enough to make people move aside.
"The president must be busy with the investigation,"
"I heard Isabella's investigation hasn't been concluded yet,"
"The student organisation must be busy,"
They whispered among themselves. Their voices were loud enough for him to hear but he ignored them.
.
When he opened the council door, the smell of coffee and stress filled the room. Several members were already there, typing, discussing, checking papers. The big monitor at the front displayed security feeds from around the school.
The vice president looked up the moment he entered.
"President Darius," she said quickly, standing from her seat.
Her voice trembled slightly, though she tried to hide it. She had always admired him. Not just him... Everything about him... the way he talked, the way he walked, how his eyes never looked lost even when the world around him did. But the moment his gaze shifted her way, she felt her heart kick against her ribs.
Darius nodded at her and walked straight toward the desk. His hand rested on the back of her chair as he leaned close... close enough for her breath to catch in her throat.
"Do you have the locker room footage?" he asked quietly.
She swallowed hard, her fingers shaking as she clicked the mouse.
"Y-Yes, I do. It's right here."
He stayed leaning, his face close enough for her to smell the faint scent of mint and soap on him. The vice president's cheeks burned red. She tried to focus on the screen, but his presence behind her made it impossible for her to do so.
The video started to play.
Ricky and Lucien appeared on the screen... both standing near the lockers, talking at first. Then Ricky's temper snapped. He threw the first punch. Lucien fell hard, his back hitting the floor. He didn't fight back. Ricky punched him again.
The video flickered once.
Then Ricky turned toward the door, wiping his bloody knuckles on his shirt as if done.
Lucien slowly got up from the floor.
And the video cut.
Static filled the screen for two seconds, then it stopped completely.
Darius furrowed his brows.
"Replay that," he said.
She did. Same thing. The video ended at the same moment... right when Lucien stood up.
He frowned deeper, running a hand along his jaw as he watched the frozen frame.
"Someone's tampered with it."
The vice president looked up at him. "Tampered?"
"Yes," he said, voice low but firm. "Someone erased the end part. Maybe even replaced the file."
He turned toward the group of members scattered around the room.
"Where's Lydia?"
A girl sitting near the corner raised her hand. She was one of the best computer experts in the school organisation.
Darius gestured toward her.
"Try recovering the deleted footage. Even fragments. Anything."
"Yes, President."
She got to work immediately, her fingers flying across the keyboard. The soft clicking filled the room for several minutes.
Darius folded his arms and leaned against the desk, watching her progress quietly. His expression stayed calm.
The vice president watched him in silence. Every time he pushed his hair back, her chest fluttered. Every time he exhaled, she felt her throat tighten. She hated that she reacted that way, but she couldn't help it.
Thirty minutes passed.
Lydia finally leaned back in her chair with a sigh. "I'm sorry, President. The file's been completely wiped. There's no data left to recover. Whoever deleted it did it properly. He or she must have been an expert."
A soft murmur filled the room.
Darius rubbed his temple slowly.
"So, we're back to nothing," he muttered under his breath.
The vice president hesitated.
"President... are you thinking it's Lucien Vale? He was the last person seen with Ricky. But... he's a good student. I've seen his record. No trouble, good grades, polite..."
Darius dropped his hand from his temple and stared at the frozen screen again... at Lucien's face, frozen mid-motion.
"I don't know," he said quietly. "That's the problem. I don't know what to believe yet."
He pushed himself off the desk and walked back to his seat. The leather chair creaked softly as he sat down and folded his hands. For a moment, the room stayed silent except for the faint hum of the monitor.
Then Darius spoke again... his tone calm, but commanding.
"Everyone," he said. "Stop what you're doing."
The chatter stopped. Every head turned toward him.
"We'll hold an emergency meeting now," he said.
People gathered closer. The vice president moved to stand beside him, her notepad ready.
Darius's eyes swept across the group.
"You all heard about what happened. It's the second murder within weeks. That means we're dealing with something... or someone... inside this school."
A ripple of tension passed through the members.
"So," he continued, "we'll expand the student organisation. I want more people on security. Reliable ones."
Someone raised a hand. "How many, sir?"
"As many as it takes," he replied. "And I want every broken CCTV camera in the school repaired immediately. Not next week. Now."
"Yes, President," they replied almost in unison.
"Also," Darius went on, "install new cameras. In the dorm halls, near the toilets, the locker rooms, even the staircases and rooftops. No blind spots this time. If we do this right, we'll catch whoever's behind all this."
The vice president nodded eagerly, scribbling notes. "Understood."
Darius leaned back slightly. "Good. Start now."
He clapped his hands once, sharp and clear. "Meeting dismissed."
The members scattered into action, voices filling the room again.
Darius exhaled slowly and pushed his chair back. The vice president noticed and turned to him.
"President," she said softly. "You're leaving?"
He nodded. "Yeah. I'm heading to my dorm. I need a bit of rest before the evening."
She hesitated, biting her lower lip. "Um... about the new transfer student..."
He paused mid-step and looked back at her.
"What about him?"
"He's arriving today," she said. "I was told to inform you once everything's ready."
Darius blinked once, then frowned slightly. "Ah. Right. The transfer."
He rubbed his forehead for a moment.
"Handle it, then. Make sure the paperwork's done."
She nodded quickly. "Yes, sir."
He turned toward the door. But before stepping out, something tugged at his mind. He turned back.
"What's the student's name again?" he asked.
The vice president looked down at the file in her hand. "Ethan Marlowe."
Darius froze.
For a second, his expression cracked... barely noticeable, but enough. His fingers stiffened by his side.
"...Ethan Marlowe?" he repeated quietly.
"Yes." The vice president looked confused at his sudden reaction. "Is something wrong?"
But Darius wasn't listening. His mind had already left the room. That name... that name wasn't just familiar. It was carved into his memory. Ethan Marlowe... the young and famous artist.
He felt something stir in his chest. Something he hadn't felt in a long time.
"When is he arriving?" he asked, as his voice sounded calmer.
"Before evening, I think," she replied.
Darius checked his watch. It was still early afternoon.
A small, rare smile that caught the vice president off guard appeared on his lips.
"I'll be back to welcome him myself."
She blinked.
"Oh—okay."
He gave a slight nod and walked out of the office, his pace quicker this time.
The door closed softly behind him.
The vice president stared after him for a long moment, her fingers tightening around her pen. That smile... she had never seen him smile like that. Not even once.
"Who is Ethan Marlowe?" she whispered to herself.
A few members nearby overheard her.
One of them turned in his chair. "You don't know?"
She shook her head slightly.
"He's really famous," another said. "He's like a celebrity, basically. He's a nude artist. He's been trending for years."
Another girl chimed in, spinning her chair around.
"Yeah, everyone talks about him. His art is... insane. The details, the emotion, everything. But the real reason he got so famous wasn't just his skill... it was his model."
The vice president frowned. "Model?"
"The person he paints," the girl explained. "He calls him his muse. Nobody knows who it is. Every painting shows the same man, but his face is never revealed. Just his body, his posture, the expression... everything except his identity. Even other artists have begged him to reveal who the model is."
The boy added.
"Yeah, I've seen interviews where they ask him, 'Can you lend your model to us?' He just smiles and refuses."
The vice president blinked, stunned.
"So his muse is... a secret?"
"Completely," the girl said. "That's part of the mystery. Everyone wants to know who that man is."
The vice president stared at the closed door again, remembering Darius's expression... that rare softness, that smile that didn't belong on his usually cold face.
"What does someone like that have to do with the president?" she whispered.
No one answered. But curiosity lingered like a low hum in the room.
.
.
Meanwhile, Darius walked quickly through the dorm hallway. He didn't greet anyone; he barely noticed the greetings directed at him. His thoughts were miles away.
When he reached his dorm room, he slid the key into the lock and pushed the door open.
The lights flickered on.
Unlike most student rooms, Darius's dorm was neat, almost unnaturally so. The bed was perfectly made, the desk spotless. But the walls... the walls told another story.
Framed paintings hung neatly in rows... all of them the same person. A man's body, drawn in soft, shadowed light. A shoulder turned slightly away. A back arched in quiet tension. Fingers pressed to lips. Every painting carried the same unnamed muse.
The man Ethan Marlowe painted again and again.
Darius closed the door quietly behind him and walked toward the largest frame... a portrait hung just above his bed. His eyes softened as he stared at it.
His reflection flickered faintly across the glass.
He reached out, fingertips brushing the edge of the frame.
For a moment, he just stood there... breathing slowly, as if afraid that one wrong move might shatter the illusion in front of him.
Then he leaned forward until his forehead rested against the glass.
His breath fogged the surface.
"You're real," he murmured, voice low. "You have to be real."
His eyes traced the painted skin, the curve of the shoulder, the faint smile that the artist had captured... delicate, sinful, perfect.
He smiled faintly. "Ethan Marlowe..."
The name left his lips like a prayer.
"I'll have to ask him who this man is," He tilted his head slightly, lips brushing the glass. His breath came slower, heavier. "Very soon, I'll know who you are," he whispered.
Then his eyes darkened, his voice dropping lower.
"My creator."
He kissed the glass once, a slow, lingering touch. Then he bit his lower lip, the faintest tremor passing through his body.
Darius's smile softened again. But beneath that warmth, something else lingered. Something sharp.
A quiet obsession. A love that wasn't meant to exist.
And as he whispered to the portrait one last time, his voice barely a breath, the room felt colder.
"I'll find you," he said. "And when I do... you'll never leave me."