Jade’s chest heaved as the mysterious teenager dissolved into a black puff of smoke. The air smelled of ash and decay, clinging to her throat as she coughed. Tremors raced through her body; fear had sunk its claws deep.

Then—

Whoosh.

The sound tore the silence apart. She spun, her stomach plunging. The teenager had reappeared only a few paces behind, her lips curled into a devilish smile. The glow in her eyes brightened as she lunged forward at a speed beyond reason, her white gown billowing like shredded wings.

“Stay away from me!” Jade shrieked, clutching her chest as her heart threatened to leap free.

The girl’s mouth opened wide—unnaturally wide.

The scream that followed was not human. It tore through the hallway like a blade, a sonic wail so violent it bent the air itself. A wave of force exploded outward, slamming into Jade with the strength of a storm.

She flew backward. The world blurred—wall, ceiling, shadow—and then a hard impact cracked her bones into silence.

“Jade! Wake up!”

A voice, soft yet sharp, pierced her mind.

She gasped awake, her body trembling. The brightness of the dorm swam into focus. She lay sprawled on the floor beside her bed, stripped bare, skin clammy against the cold tiles. Her roommate, Lucy, crouched beside her with wide, wary eyes.

“Are you alright?” Lucy asked, curiosity laced with suspicion.

Jade groaned, rubbing her bleary eyes. “What happened?” she murmured, her voice so small it barely escaped her lips.

Lucy crossed her arms, her tone cutting. “I should be asking you. You’re the one lying naked on the floor.”

Heat shot through Jade’s face. She blinked down at her body—completely exposed.

“Oh my God!” she cried, scrambling to cover herself. She folded her arms across her breasts, crossing her legs tightly to conceal the shame between her thighs. Her voice broke as she whispered, “Did anyone… besides you… see?”

Lucy sighed, dismissing her panic with a flick of her hand. “No. Don’t worry. Male students aren’t even allowed in the girls’ dorm.”

The reassurance only made Jade’s heart twist tighter. Luke. The memory of his warmth, his presence, came rushing back. She darted her eyes around the room, searching desperately for his clothes, his shoes—anything. Nothing remained.

“What are you looking for?” Lucy asked, her brow furrowed. Her roommate’s restless eyes betrayed the truth: Jade was searching for someone.

Panic surged. If I say Luke was here, I could get expelled. She forced a smile, shoving guilt deep down. “Nothing. Just… curious.” She turned her face away. “When did you get back?”

“Not long ago.” Lucy’s voice was clipped, suspicious. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Of course.” Jade’s lips stretched into another thin smile.

Lucy wasn’t convinced, but she let it slide. “Then dress up,” she said flatly, rising to her feet.

She unzipped her bag on the bed, the sharp rasp of the zipper cutting through the room like a blade. Jade flinched, her nerves raw. Every sound seemed magnified, every shadow threatening.

It was just a nightmare, she told herself. Nothing more.

But her heart refused the lie. The scars, the scream, the shadow girl’s eyes—they were too real. And Luke. He was here. He touched her. He vanished.

Her fingers shook as she pulled on her clothes. When she finally slid her phone from the desk, her pulse surged with hope. She dialed Luke’s number and pressed the phone to her ear.

One ring.

Two.

Then a voice.

But not his.

“The person you’re trying to reach is no longer in the world. You can’t see him anymore.”

Her body went cold.

She yanked the phone away, her breath ragged. That couldn’t be right. She redialed, pressed the phone tighter to her ear.

Again, the same chilling message:

“You can’t see him anymore.”

The words cracked something inside her. She slid down to the floor, sobbing, tears splashing against her trembling hands.

“What’s wrong?” Lucy rushed forward, alarm softening her sharpness.

Jade couldn’t form the words. She simply shoved the phone into Lucy’s hand and gestured for her to listen.

Lucy held the phone up, waiting. It rang—then clicked into voicemail.

“Hey, this is Luke. Leave a message after the beep.”

Silence.

Lucy lowered the phone, her face tightening into irritation. She hissed sharply. “So you can’t reach your boyfriend. That’s no reason to fall apart like this!”

Jade blinked through tears, stunned. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re overreacting. It’s the first day back on campus—don’t start drama.” She shoved the phone back into Jade’s palm and turned her back to unpack.

Jade clutched the phone, her body trembling harder. She lifted it again, pressed it to her ear, needing to know she wasn’t imagining it.

The haunting voice returned:

“You can’t see him anymore.”

Her breath caught. Terror clawed at her throat. She bolted to her feet, racing toward the door. Her hand barely grazed the knob when—

BANG.

A heavy knock rattled the door.

“This is the police. Open up!”

Her heart lurched. She froze, glancing at Lucy. Fear painted both their faces.

Jade’s trembling fingers turned the knob. The door opened with a groan, revealing two women in uniform. One wore the badge of an officer; the other held hers higher, flashing it with authority.

“Detective Ann Cole,” the woman said, her voice steady. She tucked her badge away and pulled a flip notepad from her pocket. Her gaze locked on Jade. “We’re here for Jade Billy. Are you her?”

Lucy whispered under her breath, “This can’t be good.”

Jade’s throat constricted. “I—I’m Jade,” she stammered. “Am I… under arrest?”

“That depends,” Ann said coolly. She checked her notes, then looked up. “For now, we just have questions. About the death of Luke Anderson.”

The words stabbed through Jade like a knife.

She staggered back, choking on her sobs. “What? No—no, this can’t be true!” Her voice fractured into a howl as tears poured freely.

Lucy froze in shock, finally connecting the dots. Jade’s breakdown. The call. The voicemail. It all made sense now.

“Ms. Billy,” Ann said firmly, “will you come with us to the station?”

“You think I had something to do with his death?” Jade whispered, trembling.

Ann’s eyes narrowed. “Did you?”

The detective’s tone was sharp, already laced with suspicion. The Dean of Students had told her Jade was the last person seen with Luke. His body found cold in his dorm. And when there’s no clear trail, suspicion always falls hardest on the closest witness.

The first suspect—was Jade.

The Police Precinct

The interrogation room door slammed open so hard the thin glass in the observation window rattled. The sudden sound cut the stale air, slicing into the hush that had settled over Detective Ann’s desk. She looked up from her pad to see who had burst in.

A man filled the doorway — impossibly groomed, a blue Italian suit sculpted to his frame, hair the color of pale wheat falling just past his collar. He moved like someone accustomed to being obeyed. When his eyes fixed on Jade, his face folded into a storm.

“Say no word!” he barked, pointing a long-fingered hand at her.

The room smelled like him before she could see him fully: a clean, expensive cologne that carried lemon and cedar, a scent that seemed to smooth the edges of the precinct’s institutional odor. Detective Ann felt it at the back of her throat, like a promise she didn’t want to accept.

“You brought in my client under false pretenses to question her and then booked her under arrest!” the man snapped, his voice sharp with outrage. “Drop the charges now, or I will sue the department.”

Detective Ann folded her arms, keeping her face a neutral mask, but the man’s presence forced the room into a different temperature. He introduced himself without waiting for permission.

“Barrister Kelvin Billy,” he said, the title rolling off his tongue like a flag. “You will release Ms. Billy at once.”

Ann’s jaw tightened. The Dean had called, she’d been told. The body had been discovered in another dorm; witnesses placed Jade with Luke the night before. Procedure compelled questions. But she’d also been briefed on the Billys. Wealth, influence — and a lawyer who did not bluff.

“Ms. Billy is not under arrest for murder,” Ann said slowly, keeping the official cadence. “She’s a person of interest — to be interviewed regarding Luke Anderson’s death. We’re just asking routine—”

“Routine?” Kelvin laughed, a brittle sound. “You haul my client in, humiliate her in a holding cell, and call it routine? Let me make something very clear: charge her if you must, but I will sue you, Detective Ann Cole. I will pursue every legal remedy until your precinct is ruined.”

Ann watched the man speak. He radiated assurance, an aura backed by bank accounts and a family name. Even the officers in the hall peered in, curiosity and caution warring across their faces.

Lucy’s number, on Jade’s emergency contact thread, had lit the family’s phone screens already. Even from halfway across the country, Jade’s parents moved like a tide; they could not come, but they could send leverage — and lawyering in force.

Detective Ann rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Ms. Billy,” she said to Jade, softer now, “you’re free to go.”

Kelvin didn’t let her go. He rounded the table in three long strides and planted himself between Jade and the exit, voice low and thudding.

“That’s not good enough,” he hissed. “This case is dead on arrival. Drop everything or I’ll make you regret it.” He leaned closer to Ann, and for a moment the cold edge of a threat showed. “You and your generation will pay for this.”

A beat of silence. Even the ticking wall clock seemed to pause.

Ann released the tension in her shoulders. “Crystal clear,” she said at last, and she let the detained file slide to the side.

Kingston College

A black limousine glided up to the iron gates of Hillary Dormitory with all the quiet arrogance of something that knew it belonged. Students glanced up from their phones, curiosity snagging at them, but the vehicle swallowed its presence like a shadow.

As Jade stepped from the limo, the leather of her skirt whispering against her thighs, Kelvin’s hand stayed on her elbow, a possessive weight. He hissed, “Speak to no one. Say nothing.”

She forced a smile that did not meet her eyes. Her chest still ached from the cold snap of grief. Luke — missing, then dead — and her name tangled into the same headline in the space of a night. She felt unreal, stitched to the world with thread too thin to hold her.

The sun was a flat disc behind clouds, and the campus smelled of rain and cut grass. Students passed in groups, heads bent like little islands. As she walked, her phone buzzed in a frantic rhythm in her hand. She glanced down, a small, fragile hope flaring in her chest.

“Mummy?” she whispered into the receiver when she answered. Her mother’s voice erupted down the line, sharp and immediate.

“Is this the way you speak to your mother?” Mrs. Billy scolded, but there was warmth buried under the scold. “We are worried.”

“Sorry, Mum,” Jade said, pressing the phone tighter to her ear. “My heart is… it’s heavy.”

“We can fly you home,” Mrs. Billy offered. “Your father and I—”

“No,” Jade cut in, voice steady with resolve. “I need to find out what happened to Luke. Classes start tomorrow. I can’t just—”

“Be careful,” her father said when he took the line. His voice had the same tempered steel she’d heard in Kelvin’s words. “Don’t do anything reckless. I’ve spoken with the Dean. We’ve arranged for a private investigator to look into this.”

A private investigator. The words sounded like a tether thrown to someone drowning. Hope thrummed in her chest. “When?”

“Sometime next week,” her father replied. “We’ll keep you safe. Call us if the police bother you.”

Jade promised she would. She ended the call and slid the phone into her bag. The campus seemed too quiet as she mounted the concrete steps to Dorm 25. Her footsteps met cold stone and echoed, a hollow percussion that amplified the emptiness.

Hillary Dormitory, usually a hive of gossip and laughter, felt forsaken. Doors that should have been open were shut; the usual clump of students at the foot of the stairs was gone as if the building had exhaled and held its breath. The hall lights hummed but the sound had no warmth. It was as if the campus had been scraped clean of life.

She paused, scanning for movement. “Where did everybody go?” she murmured, answering herself with the old tape of last night — the whisper, the vanish, the scar on her thigh. Every step she took felt like going deeper into cotton; her legs were heavy, each one harder to lift.

Halfway up the stairs, a figure slid into her vision. At first she thought it an apparition from last night: an old woman floating rather than walking, her hair a curtain of white that hid the face, a long gown trailing like fog. The woman’s fingers were papery, hooked like dried vines.

Jade’s breath caught. The weight of the air changed, thicker, colder. Her mouth dried. She tried to take another step and her feet clung to the concrete as if welded. Panic rose like bile.

A wind brushed the stairwell, a sound like a tired animal sighing, and a voice threaded through it. “What are you doing here? You don’t belong here,” it intoned, crisp and unblinking.

Jade spun, eyes darting in every direction. The figure stood a few paces away, but the voice was not from that mouth; it seemed to come from the walls themselves. Before she could gather speech, another whisper scraped her ear: “Stop stepping into the veil. You don’t belong here.”

Her throat constricted. Everything thinned to the sound of her own pulse and the old woman’s presence. “Talk to me,” Jade said aloud, more to prove she hadn’t lost her mind than with any expectation of an answer. “What is happening to me?”

The old woman laughed, a thin, dry sound that scattered like ash, and then vanished into a curl of smoke.

She was alone — and not alone. The world tilted and the air pressed in. Jade’s fingers clawed at her ribs, searching for purchase.

A voice like Luke’s brushed her ear then, and for one maddening second the world stitched together: he stood at the bottom of the steps, hand outstretched, a small, sad smile on his face. “I’ve missed you,” he said.

Tears brought a flood. She took two hurried steps down the stairs toward him, and his hand reached farther still, always a breath away.

“Come to me, and you will be with me forever,” he coaxed.

“If you were dead—” she began, throat raw, “what is happening? The police said you are—”

“Whom do you believe?” Luke asked, face paling like paper in a breeze. “Me, or the lying pigs?” His eyes shimmered with an ache that pulled at her.

A refined voice, softer than a silk sheet, came close to her ear: “Don’t believe everything you see here.”

She ignored it and moved closer to the phantom. Each step seemed to bring her deeper into a dream she hadn’t consented to. The stairs lengthened beneath her feet, the campus stretched like a painted backdrop. Like a moth fixated on heat, she followed Luke blindly.

They moved together through a corridor that became a path, then a road, the dormitory dissolving behind them. The smell of cut grass gave way to the damp, loamy scent of the woods. The underbrush whispered with movement. Leaves gathered in spirals at her feet.

They had walked for what felt like kilometers when Luke halted in a clearing rimmed with trees. Night nested in the branches like clasped hands. His face suddenly twisted with rage so sudden it startled her.

“You did this to me!” he exploded. The words shredded the air, and the sound of his accusation rolled like stones.

The leaves crunched under her sneakers — a weird, loud sound out of sync with reality. The wind rose, a cold, directive thing that pushed at Jade’s hair and skirt. She opened her mouth to argue, but before a word could form, a force lifted her bodily from the ground.

Panic tore through her. She thrashed, a puppet jerked on invisible strings. “Luke, what is going on?” she cried, the syllables thin and high.

“The wrath of the universe is on you!” Luke snapped, each word a hammer. The more he raged, the higher Jade rose, as if accused by gravity itself.

A voice roared back from the trees, resonant and authoritative: “She’s not the cause of your death! You brought this upon yourself!”

Something unseen slammed into Luke. He rattled against the trunks like a rag doll, fingers loosening from where they gripped her. The force tossed him into the dark, wood splinters cracking as his body collided with bark. Jade dropped, breath leaving her like a popped balloon.

When she could stand, her eyes landed on a figure stepping out from between the trunks — Barrister Kelvin, immaculate and composed despite the chaos. His suit was without a crease. He moved like a man who could command the air. With a single, deliberate motion, he hurled Luke aside as one would flick a bothersome fly.

Kelvin turned to Jade, eyes serious. “This is no place for you,” he said. He made a small, precise motion, and the world lurched. Jade felt the ground shift under her feet and then, with the mild disorientation of someone stepping between trains, she found herself standing on the stairwell outside Dorm 25 again. Students milled about, voices and laughter filling the air — ordinary campus life rushing back to reclaim its stage.

She fumbled for her phone and dialed Kelvin. It rang and rang until voicemail answered in that authoritative, slightly smug tone: “This is Barrister K. You know what to do after the beep.”

She cursed under her breath. He had slipped away.

She pushed the dorm door open with more force than necessary and slammed her key down on the table. The room smelled of detergent and something faintly sour, the everyday scents of student life. She turned and nearly collided with Kelvin, who sat as if he’d been waiting, composed on the sofa beside the window.

“Don’t sneak up on me like that,” she muttered, heart thudding with residual fear.

“We have much to discuss,” Kelvin said, rising to his feet. “Sit.”

She hesitated and then lowered herself onto the bed. “If Lucy sees you here—” she started.

“Relax, no one sees me but you,” Kelvin said, an odd smile curving his mouth.

“Scientifically impossible,” she scoffed, though her voice betrayed the tremor in her hands.

“Magically possible,” he countered. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, the seriousness returning to his face. “How do you explain the things you’ve seen? The marks, the voices, the vanishings?”

“I’m not mad,” she said. “I need help. I should be in a ward.”

“If that’s what you think,” Kelvin murmured, “then permit me to explain.”

He straightened and folded his hands behind his back, giving himself the posture of a man about to lecture. “You are very powerful,” he began.

Footsteps at the door made both of them lift their heads. It was Lucy, humming to herself, then stopping short as she took in Kelvin’s presence. The doorknob giggled as if with its own secret. Kelvin’s eyes flicked to the door and then back to Jade.

“We need somewhere more private,” he whispered, voice low. He took her hand before she could protest and a white light burst at the edges of the room. The light wrapped around them like silk.

When the brightness faded, they were no longer in the dorm. Kelvin’s office stood before them: floor-to-ceiling books, a heavy desk with paperweights, the faint aroma of old leather and citrus. Jade’s stomach dropped with the shock of sudden movement.

“Magic,” Kelvin said with a small smile, as if revealing an old family recipe. “And you, my dear, are a descendant of Kora.”

The name landed in Jade as if someone had placed a warm stone on her chest. Kora. She’d heard the name in fragments — an old story whispered by grandmothers, a mythic woman of power and fear. To have it spoken plainly made her insides race.

“You’re joking,” she whispered. “Kora? A witch?”

Kelvin’s expression softened. “Yes. Magic is real, Jade. And your blood remembers more than you do.”

For a long moment she sat, the office around her spinning with new axes. Answers had arrived as sudden as thunder. The mystery deepened and widened together: Luke’s death, the voice that told her she would die, the scars mapping palm-shaped warnings, the girl who called her witch. All of it was braided into something older than grief — a legacy she had never asked for.

Kelvin’s hands were calm in his lap, reassuring as he watched her unravel and try to stitch herself together. “We’ll begin at the beginning,” he said. “But first, you must understand: there are layers to this world you can’t see yet. And there are people who will try to pull you under. We start with what you know, and we go from there.”

Jade swallowed. Her throat was dry. The room felt small, the books like witnesses. Outside, campus life moved on, indifferent. Inside, a quiet war was beginning, and she had been slammed into its center.