Noah woke to sunlight cutting across the room in sharp, accusing lines. Dust floated lazily through the light, catching on the faint tremor of air from the vent. Liam's bed was empty again sheets tangled, the pillow damp. The faint smell of sweat and bleach clung to the air, a smell that didn't belong in a student apartment.
At first, he assumed Liam had gone for a run. He did that sometimes when the world got too heavy. But when Noah noticed the screwdriver on the floor and the faint dust around the vent, a small chill crawled up his spine.
He crouched, touched the edge of the metal grate it was slightly bent, like it had been pried open.
He looked toward the bathroom. The sink dripped once, twice, before falling silent.
"Liam?"
No answer.
Noah stood there for a long moment, unsure whether to call campus security or just wait. He didn't want to sound paranoid Liam hated being treated like a patient but something about the room felt wrong, the air too still, too watched.
He left a message instead.
"Hey, man. Just checking in. Text me when you get this."
He hesitated, then added, "You good?"
The day dragged. Between classes, Noah caught himself checking the hallway for Liam. He sat through lectures without hearing a word.His mind wasn't on anything the professors were saying. Every time he blinked, he saw that open vent again the screwdriver, the smell of bleach.
Between lectures, he scrolled through Liam's social media, hoping for a post or update. Nothing for three days.
He thought about dropping by the athletic building to ask around, but something in him resisted. Liam hated when people checked on him said it made him feel like he was being watched.
Still, the thought wouldn't let go
At lunch, he saw Ryan at the vending machine, talking with a few of the baseball guys.
Ryan grinned when he noticed him. "Hey, roomie patrol. Where's your guy been hiding?"
Noah forced a small smile. "Probably just busy."
"Busy?" Ryan chuckled. "That's one word for it. He looked ready to chew through steel yesterday."
Noah frowned. "You've seen him?"
"After practice," Ryan said, shrugging. "Looked like he hadn't slept in a week. Said he lost something important."
"What kind of something?"
Ryan's grin thinned. "Didn't say."
Noah waited for more, but Ryan just tapped the vending machine until it clunked, grabbed his drink, and left.
That was when Noah started to worry for real.
When he got back to the apartment, Liam was sitting at his desk, staring at something in his hand.
"Noah," he said quietly, without turning around. "How long have you been here?"
"Just walked in," Noah said, setting his bag down. "You okay?"
Liam turned. His eyes were red, his pupils pinprick small. In his open palm lay a tiny curved fragment of glass a camera lens piece.
"Where'd you get that?" Noah asked.
Liam didn't answer right away. "The field," he said finally. "Someone's been there. Someone's following me."
Noah's first instinct was to laugh it off, but the way Liam's voice trembled stopped him. "Following you?"
Liam stood abruptly, pacing. "I saw a flash. A camera. I heard it click. And the vials" He stopped himself, biting down on the rest.
"The what?" Noah asked.
"Nothing. Forget it."
Noah folded his arms. "Liam, you're freaking me out."
Liam stared at him for a long moment, then shook his head. "You wouldn't believe me."
"Try me."
But Liam didn't. He just pocketed the glass and muttered, "If anyone asks, you haven't seen me today."
Before Noah could respond, Liam was gone again, the door swinging shut behind him.
Noah stood in the middle of the room, replaying the scene in his head. Liam had always been intense hyper-focused, stubborn but lately there was a different edge to it. Fear, maybe. Or guilt.
He tried to call him, but it went straight to voicemail.
He texted again. No reply.
That night, as the campus quieted, Noah sat by the window with his laptop open but untouched. The screen glowed cold blue against the wall.
Through the glass, he could see the distant baseball field under a wash of mist and floodlight. A few figures moved near the dugout maintenance crew, maybe. He squinted, but the fog blurred everything into silhouettes.
Then his phone buzzed. Unknown number.
1 New Image Received.
He opened it.
The photo was dark, grainy taken from a distance.
It showed Liam, standing alone on the field, looking straight into the camera.
Noah's breath caught. The timestamp was from an hour ago.
He looked toward the field again. Empty now.
He typed back immediately:
Who is this? How did you get this photo?
No response.
He stared at the screen until it dimmed, then turned off all the lights and sat there in the dark, listening to the steady tick of the clock.
Outside, somewhere far below, a car door slammed. Then another. Footsteps echoed up the stairwell too slow, too deliberate.
Noah's pulse jumped. He waited, listening.
The steps stopped right outside the door.
A faint scrape metal against metal. Then silence.
He reached for his phone, ready to call out, when the door clicked softly. Not open. Just tested.
Seconds passed. The footsteps retreated.
When Noah finally dared to breathe, he noticed something new beneath the door a folded scrap of paper, thin enough to slide under the frame.
He picked it up. The handwriting was the same sharp slant as the note Liam had shown him in a picture once, weeks ago.
"Don't trust him."
That was all it said.
No name. No signature. Just those three words.
Noah didn't sleep. When dawn came, he was still sitting at the window, eyes raw, the note clutched in his hand.
The street below was quiet, washed pale in morning light.
He looked at the note again, then at Liam's empty bed.
He didn't know which "him" the message meant.
But somehow, deep down, he was afraid he already did.
He checked his phone . No new messages.
He tried calling Liam , but it went straight to voicemail.
As the sun rose, Noah whispered to the empty room,
"Who the hell am I not supposed to trust?"
The air didn't answer, but somewhere beneath the floor, a faint vibration stirred so soft he almost didn't notice.
Almost.