The first sign that something was off came at breakfast.
Kym was the first one to notice it. Or rather, overhear it.
She was standing in line at Weaver Community College's dining hall, debating whether the "eggs" looked edible or sentient, when a loud voice cracked through the space like an electric shock.
"Yo, bro, I heard it was brutal. Like, ambulance brutal."
Kym's ears perked up. She didn't look—just listened.
"They said someone took out five of the Theta Chi guys. Out cold. Blood everywhere, teeth on the ground. Straight-up massacre."
"Last night?" another voice asked.
"Yeah, outside the guys' dorm."
The line moved. Kym didn't.
Deion—still pretending to be Marcus, though they all knew the truth—appeared at her side with a tray piled high with carbs and fruit.
"You gonna move or just block the whole damn line, Kym?"
She turned, eyes narrow. "Someone beat the shit out of the Theta Chi frat bros last night."
Deion stopped chewing. "Wait, what?"
Manny slid in behind them, his faux-designer hoodie halfway off his shoulder. "Like, all of them?"
"Five of 'em. Bad," Kym said, grabbing a sad-looking apple and dropping it on her tray.
"Someone curb-stomped those assholes. Word is it looked personal."
Manny blinked. "You think it's, like… a Ghostface comeback?"
"No way," Liv said, walking up behind them with a Red Bull in one hand and her vape in the other. "Ghostface doesn't do public beatdowns. That's some Batman-level shit."
"Maybe someone just finally got sick of their date-rapey vibes," Amir offered as he joined the group, fumbling his usual triple-shot espresso.
"I mean, I'm surprised it didn't happen sooner."
They all laughed—soft, uncomfortable laughter that meant they agreed.
They sat at their usual table—back corner, far from faculty eyes but close enough to the exits to make any sudden attacks survivable.
Ghostface paranoia didn't just go away, even if the guy in the mask had.
The empty seats were obvious.
Beth: missing.
Brandon: missing.
"Where's our local goth queen?" Manny asked, popping a grape into his mouth.
"Beth's probably hexing a mirror somewhere," Liv said, smirking. "Or sleeping in a coffin. Who knows."
"And the new guy?" Kym added, sipping her coffee with theatrical suspicion. "Brandon. Super broody. Artist. Probably paints dead birds or something."
Deion shrugged. "Maybe they're off brooding together."
Manny gasped. "Oh my God. What if they're, like… hooking up?"
Everyone groaned.
"Dude, no." Kym wrinkled her nose. "Beth hooking up? That girl's more likely to murder someone than make out with them."
"Don't kink shame," Amir muttered, earning a slap on the arm from Liv.
Still, the joke lingered. Because truthfully, they didn't know much about Brandon. Just what they'd picked up through casual osmosis—quiet, smart, kind of intense. The kind of guy who was probably too handsome for his own good but also too weird to care.
And Beth? Well, she was an enigma even before Jamal died. And afterward?
Forget it.
She hadn't cried, not really. Not in front of them. But there was this emptiness in her that hadn't been there before. Like someone had scraped out the insides and left the shell standing.
Kym had caught her once in the girls' bathroom, just staring into the mirror like she didn't recognize her own face.
She didn't say anything.
Neither did Beth.
It was an unspoken rule of the Deadfast Club: you don't pry, not if you want to keep breathing.
"You guys don't think…?" Manny started, then trailed off.
"Think what?" Deion asked.
"That… I dunno. That maybe someone is still out there. Picking people off."
"Bro," Amir said, deadpan, "that was a street fight. Not a murder."
"But what if it was meant to be a murder?" Manny pressed, leaning in, voice dropping conspiratorially. "Like, what if the guy who did it meant to kill those frat dudes but stopped short 'cause of, like… morals or whatever?"
Liv rolled her eyes. "You've been watching too many conspiracy videos again."
"Okay but hear me out," Manny said. "Beth and Brandon are both missing today. There's a beatdown outside the boys' dorm. Brandon lives in the boys' dorm. Beth hangs around there sometimes, right? What if they were involved? What if they saw something?"
Everyone went quiet.
It wasn't that Manny's theory was too far-fetched.
It was that it wasn't far-fetched enough.
Kym leaned back in her chair, chewing the inside of her cheek. "Or maybe," she said slowly, "they just had a bad night. Beth's been twitchy ever since Jamal. And Brandon…"
She trailed off.
No one really knew Brandon. That was the problem.
He'd slotted into their group like a puzzle piece that didn't quite fit—polite, chill, artistic. But never involved. Always observing. Always present but just a little off.
Still… Beth and Brandon, together?
Hard to imagine.
"Maybe we're overthinking it," Amir said finally, stirring his coffee. "Maybe the frat guys just got what was coming to them, and Beth and Brandon both decided to skip school because they're, y'know, antisocial."
Deion shrugged. "It's not like either of them were big fans of people."
The group nodded, but the unease lingered.
Because it was weird.
And in their town, in their lives, "weird" usually meant "dangerous."
Still, there were no more Ghostface sightings. No more deaths. Just bruises and broken noses and blood on concrete that had been pressure-washed by morning.
So they laughed a little louder.
Talked a little longer.
Pushed the shadows back with caffeine and banter and the illusion of normalcy.
And neither Beth nor Brandon showed up that day.
Or the next.