Skylar's POV
I stare at the threatening texts on my phone, my whole body shaking.
Leave Ashwood. Or you'll end up just like James.
Someone has been following me. Taking photos of me. Watching my every move.
Riley finds me frozen in the middle of the quad, students flowing around me like water around a rock. "Sky? What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."
I show her the texts. Her face goes white.
"We're calling the police right now," she says, reaching for my phone.
"No!" I pull it away. "Don't you see? This proves I'm right. Someone killed James, and now they're scared because I'm getting close to the truth."
"Getting close? Sky, you've been here less than twenty-four hours!"
"Exactly. Which means whoever killed James is panicking. They know who I am. They know why I'm here." My fear is transforming into something else. Something fiercer. "I'm not leaving, Riley. This just proves I need to dig deeper."
"Or it proves you need to run before you get yourself killed!"
But I'm not running. Not anymore. For six months I've felt helpless, watching everyone accept the lie about James's suicide. Finally, I'm doing something. Finally, I have power.
"I need to talk to Damon again," I say, making up my mind. "He's hiding something. I saw it in his eyes."
Riley grabs my arm. "The guy who told you to leave it alone and go home? That Damon?"
"He knows something. He just doesn't want to admit it." I check the time. "Classes are changing. If I hurry, I can catch him."
"This is a terrible idea," Riley calls after me, but I'm already running.
I find Damon coming out of the architecture building twenty minutes later. He's alone this time, carrying a large portfolio case and looking at his phone.
"Damon!" I shout, jogging toward him. "Wait!"
He looks up, and his expression immediately closes off. "I told you—"
"Someone's threatening me." I thrust my phone at him, showing the texts. "Look. They said I'll end up like James if I don't leave."
For a second—just a second—concern flashes across his face. Then the ice wall slams back down. "Then leave."
"What?"
"You heard me. Leave Ashwood. Go home. Forget about James." He tries to walk past me, but I block his path.
"How can you say that? These texts prove someone murdered him!"
"They prove someone wants you gone. Maybe it's just a sick prank." But his voice wavers. He doesn't believe his own words.
"You don't believe that." I step closer, looking up into his gray eyes. "You're scared. Of what? What are you hiding?"
"I'm not hiding anything." His jaw clenches. "I just don't want to watch another person I care about get hurt."
The words hang between us. Another person I care about.
"You barely know me," I say softly.
"I know you meant everything to James. I know he loved you more than anything. I know that if he were here, he'd tell you to run as far from this place as possible." Damon's voice cracks. "So I'm telling you for him. Please, Skylar. Go home."
Before I can respond, a voice calls out: "Damon! There you are!"
A girl appears beside us, and I forget how to breathe.
She's beautiful. Not just pretty—beautiful in a way that seems almost unreal. Perfect blonde hair, perfect skin, perfect smile. She's wearing expensive clothes and moves like she owns the world.
She slides her arm through Damon's possessively and looks at me with bright blue eyes that don't match her smile.
"Hi!" she says cheerfully. "I'm Celeste. Damon's girlfriend. And you are?"
Girlfriend. The word hits me like a punch.
"Skylar," I manage. "I was just—"
"Oh my God, Skylar!" Celeste's eyes widen. "You're James's girlfriend, aren't you? I'm so, so sorry for your loss. It must be devastating."
There's something off about her sympathy. It sounds practiced. Like lines from a script.
"Thank you," I say carefully.
"James was such a sweet guy." Celeste tilts her head, studying me. "He always seemed so happy when he talked about you. It's tragic that he was suffering so much inside and nobody knew."
"He wasn't suffering," I say, hearing the edge in my voice. "James was happy. He had plans. He wouldn't—"
"Suicide is so unpredictable," Celeste interrupts smoothly. "You never really know what's going on in someone's head, do you? Even people who seem fine can be falling apart inside."
Every word feels like a knife. Like she's trying to convince me James was suicidal.
"How well did you know James?" I ask.
Something flickers across Celeste's perfect face. "Oh, not well. I saw him around campus sometimes. Damon mentioned him, of course." She squeezes Damon's arm. "It was so hard on Damon when it happened. He blamed himself for not noticing the signs."
I look at Damon. His face has gone completely blank, like a mask.
"There were no signs," I say firmly. "Because James didn't kill himself."
Celeste's smile tightens. "Denial is a normal part of grief. I took psychology classes—it's actually very common for loved ones to create alternative narratives when the truth is too painful."
"I'm not creating narratives. I'm looking for facts."
"Facts?" Celeste laughs, but it sounds cold. "Sweetie, the facts are that James jumped from a building. The police investigated. They found no evidence of foul play. Sometimes the simplest answer is the correct one."
"Celeste," Damon says quietly. It's the first time he's spoken since she appeared.
"What? I'm just trying to help her accept reality." Celeste turns back to me. "Look, I get it. You loved him. You don't want to believe he left you. But holding onto conspiracy theories isn't going to bring him back. You need to let him go."
Rage floods through me. "You didn't know him. You don't get to tell me what I need."
"I know what it's like to lose someone," Celeste says, her voice turning sharp. "And I know that obsessing over their death instead of mourning them properly is unhealthy."
"That's enough," Damon says, more forcefully this time. He gently pulls his arm free from Celeste. "Skylar, you should go."
It's not cruel this time. It almost sounds protective.
Celeste's smile doesn't reach her eyes anymore. "Yes, you should probably rest. Grief can be so exhausting."
There's something wrong with her. I can feel it in my bones. The way she talks, the way she watches me, the way she's trying so hard to convince me James was suicidal.
"How did you know I transferred here?" I ask suddenly.
Celeste blinks. "What?"
"I never said I transferred. I never said this was my first day. But you knew exactly who I was the moment you saw me." My heart pounds. "How?"
For just a second, Celeste's perfect mask slips. Her eyes go cold. Empty.
Then the smile snaps back into place. "Damon mentioned you, obviously. He said James's girlfriend might be transferring. I just put two and two together."
But Damon looks confused. "I never told you that."
Silence.
Celeste laughs, but it sounds forced. "Of course you did, babe. Last week, remember? We were having coffee and you mentioned—"
"I don't drink coffee," Damon says slowly. "You know that."
The air feels thick with tension. Celeste's smile is still frozen on her face, but her eyes dart between me and Damon like a trapped animal.
"Silly me, I meant tea," she says quickly. "You drink tea. Obviously. I'm just flustered because—"
"How do you know who I am?" I interrupt, stepping closer. "Really. The truth."
Celeste's face hardens. The fake sweetness vanishes completely. "You're not the only person who uses social media, Skylar. James posted about you constantly. Everyone knew who you were."
It's possible. James did post about me sometimes. But something still feels wrong.
"Did you know James personally?" I press. "Did you ever talk to him?"
"I already said I didn't." Celeste's voice is ice now. "Look, I understand you're grieving, but accusing random people of... of whatever you're implying is crossing a line."
"I'm not accusing anyone of anything. I'm just asking questions."
"Well, stop." Celeste grabs Damon's arm again. "Come on, babe. We're late for lunch."
But Damon doesn't move. He's staring at Celeste like he's seeing her for the first time. "Why are you so defensive?"
"I'm not defensive. I'm annoyed." Celeste's perfect composure is cracking. "This girl shows up making wild accusations about James's death, and now she's interrogating me like I'm a suspect. It's insane."
"I never said you were a suspect," I point out quietly.
Celeste's face flushes red. She opens her mouth, closes it, then turns to Damon. "Are you seriously going to let her talk to me like this?"
Damon looks between us, conflict written all over his face. Finally, he says, "Celeste, how did you know Skylar transferred here?"
"I told you—"
"You didn't. I never mentioned her name to you. I never said she might transfer." His voice is careful, controlled. "So how did you know?"
Celeste's eyes flash with something dark. For a moment, I see pure rage on her face.
Then she forces another smile. "Fine. You want the truth? I looked her up online after James died. I was curious about the girlfriend everyone was talking about. When I saw she'd posted about transferring to Ashwood, I remembered. That's all."
It could be true. But every instinct I have is screaming that she's lying.
"I need to go," Celeste says abruptly. "This conversation is ridiculous." She looks at Damon. "Are you coming?"
"I'll catch up with you later," Damon says.
Celeste's face goes cold. "Fine."
She walks away quickly, her perfect posture rigid with anger.
The moment she's gone, I turn to Damon. "There's something wrong with her."
"Celeste is just protective," Damon says, but he sounds uncertain. "She doesn't like seeing me upset."
"No. It's more than that." I grab his arm. "Damon, did James ever mention a girl who wouldn't leave him alone? Someone who made him uncomfortable?"
Damon's eyes widen. "How did you—"
"His last text to me. He said he was standing up to someone who wouldn't take no for an answer." My grip tightens. "Who was he talking about?"
Damon pulls away, running his hands through his hair. He looks torn apart. Finally, he says, "The day before he died, James told me there was a girl who kept showing up wherever he went. He said she asked him out and he turned her down, but she wouldn't stop. He thought she might be following him."
My blood runs cold. "Did he say who it was?"
"No. He was going to tell me the next day." Damon's voice breaks. "But he died that night."
We stare at each other as the pieces start to fall into place.
"What does Celeste look like in old photos?" I ask suddenly. "Before she was your girlfriend. Did she have blonde hair?"
"What? No, she was brunette. She dyed it blonde about... about seven months ago." He stops. Seven months ago. One month before James died.
I pull out my phone and show him the mysterious photograph someone left in my room—James arguing with a blonde girl.
Damon's face goes white. "Where did you get this?"
"Someone broke into my room and left it. With a note telling me to go back to Seattle."
Damon takes the phone with shaking hands, staring at the photo. "I can't see her face clearly, but..."
"But what?"
He looks up at me, and I see real fear in his eyes for the first time. "James was arguing with someone the night he died. I heard raised voices in the hallway around midnight. When I opened my door to check, I saw James talking to a girl with blonde hair. She was crying and reaching for him, and he kept pulling away."
"Did you see her face?"
"No. The hallway was dark, and I closed my door because I thought it was just a break-up or something." He squeezes his eyes shut. "God, I should have paid more attention. I should have—"
"Who else has blonde hair?" I interrupt. "Think, Damon. Who else could it have been?"
But we both already know the answer.
My phone buzzes. Another text from the unknown number:
Told you to leave. You didn't listen. Now watch what happens to people who don't listen.
Attached is a photo. It's Riley, sitting in our dorm room, completely unaware she's being photographed through the window.
A second text:
Your roommate is pretty. Be a shame if something happened to her.
I start running.