Skylar's POV
I burst through our dorm room door, my heart hammering so hard it hurts.
"Riley!"
She's sitting at her desk, headphones on, typing on her laptop. Safe. Alive. Completely fine.
She pulls off her headphones, startled. "What's wrong? Why are you—"
I rush to the window and yank the curtains closed. My hands won't stop shaking as I check the lock, then check it again.
"Sky, you're scaring me." Riley stands up. "What happened?"
I show her the text with her photo. The one taken through our window. Her face goes pale.
"Someone was out there," I whisper. "Watching you. Taking pictures."
Riley backs away from the window like it might bite her. "Oh my God. Oh my God." She wraps her arms around herself. "We need to call the police right now. This is stalking. This is—"
"We can't."
"What do you mean we can't? Sky, someone is threatening to hurt me!"
"I know!" My voice cracks. "And if we call the police, what will they do? Take a report? Tell us to be careful? They can't protect us twenty-four hours a day." I sink onto my bed, feeling helpless. "But if we make a big deal out of this, if we alert campus security, whoever's doing this will know we're scared. They'll know we're taking it seriously. They might go underground, hide evidence, and we'll never find out what happened to James."
Riley stares at me like I've lost my mind. "I don't care about evidence. I care about staying alive!"
"I care about you staying alive too!" I stand up and grab her hands. "Riley, listen. Someone killed James and made it look like suicide. They got away with it for six months. Now I'm here asking questions, and they're panicking. That's good. That means I'm close to something."
"Or it means you're about to get us both killed!"
"We just need to be smart about this." I'm talking fast, trying to convince her—trying to convince myself. "We'll be careful. We'll stay together. We'll lock the doors and windows. But we can't give up now."
Riley pulls her hands away. "You said 'we.' But this isn't my fight, Sky. I came here to support you, not to get murdered."
Her words hit me like a slap. She's right. This is my obsession, my mission. I have no right to put her in danger.
"You should go home," I say quietly. "Transfer back to Seattle. I'll figure this out alone."
"Are you insane?" Riley's eyes flash. "You think I'd actually leave you here by yourself with some psycho stalker?" She sits on her bed and takes a deep breath. "I'm terrified. But I'm not leaving you. We're best friends. That means we're in this together, whether I like it or not."
Tears burn my eyes. "Riley—"
"But we're doing this MY way," she interrupts firmly. "Which means we're being smart and careful and not taking stupid risks." She pulls out her laptop. "First, I'm setting up security. I'll hack into the dorm's camera system so we can monitor who's coming and going. Then I'm installing tracking software on both our phones so we always know where each other is."
"You can do that?"
"Computer science major, remember? I'm not just here to look pretty." She starts typing rapidly. "And you need to tell me everything that happened today. Every detail. We need to figure out who's sending these texts."
I tell her about the confrontation with Damon and Celeste. About how Celeste knew who I was. About the blonde girl James was arguing with. About Damon hearing raised voices the night James died.
Riley's fingers fly across her keyboard as I talk. "Celeste," she mutters. "Let me look her up."
Within minutes, she's pulled up Celeste's social media profiles. We scroll through photos—sorority events, parties, pictures with Damon. In older photos from over a year ago, Celeste has dark brown hair. Then suddenly, seven months ago, she's blonde.
"One month before James died," Riley says quietly. "That's not a coincidence."
"We need proof," I say. "We need to connect her to James. Show that they knew each other."
Riley keeps scrolling, then stops. "Look at this."
It's a photo from eight months ago. A large group picture from some campus event. Celeste is in the back row with her brown hair. And three people away from her, barely in frame, is James.
They were at the same event.
"She said she barely knew him," I whisper. "She said she just saw him around campus."
"She lied." Riley screenshots the image. "What else did she lie about?"
We spend the next two hours digging through Celeste's digital footprint. Riley is a genius with computers, finding things I'd never think to look for.
We discover that Celeste commented on three of James's Instagram posts from nine months ago. Nothing creepy—just normal stuff like "cool photo!" and "looks fun!"—but James never responded.
We find a photo where someone tagged both James and Celeste at the same coffee shop, sitting at different tables but both visible in the background. Eight months ago.
"She was following him," Riley says. "Look at the pattern. She shows up in the background of places he went. Different coffee shops, the library, campus events. She was tracking him."
My skin crawls. "How did nobody notice?"
"Because she's good at being invisible. She never got too close, never made it obvious." Riley points at the screen. "But once you know what to look for, the pattern is clear. She was obsessed with him."
"But why? James wasn't famous or rich or anything special—" I stop myself. "I mean, he was special to me, but why would some random girl become obsessed with him?"
"Maybe she wasn't obsessed with James at all." Riley pulls up a photo of Damon and James together, both laughing at something off-camera. "Maybe she was obsessed with Damon. And James was in the way."
The pieces click into place in my mind. "She wanted Damon. But he was too closed off, too cold. James was his best friend, the one person who could make him smile. If she wanted to get close to Damon..."
"She'd need James gone," Riley finishes grimly.
We sit in silence, the weight of what we're suggesting hanging between us.
"We need more than social media stalking to prove murder," Riley finally says. "We need hard evidence."
"Then we'll find it." I stand up, new determination flooding through me. "We know what to look for now. We just need to be—"
My phone buzzes. Another text from the unknown number.
My hands shake as I open it:
Smart girls. Found my digital trail. But you missed something important.
Riley and I stare at each other in horror.
They've been watching us. Right now. Somehow, they know what we've been doing for the past two hours.
Another text comes through:
Check James's email. Password is MoonlightSky23. He kept secrets from you, Skylar. Big ones.
"It's a trap," Riley says immediately. "They're trying to lure you into something."
But I'm already opening my laptop, typing in James's email address. My hands hover over the password field.
MoonlightSky23.
Moonlight Sky. James used to call me his moonlight. And 23 was his lucky number.
How does this person know that?
"Don't do it," Riley warns. "It could be a virus or malware or—"
I type in the password and hit enter.
The email account opens.
Riley gasps. "How is that possible? How did they know his password?"
"I don't know," I whisper, scrolling through the inbox. Most emails are old—from before he died. School stuff, newsletters, spam.
Then I see it. One unread email in his drafts folder. Dated the night he died. Time stamped 2:13 AM—just thirty-four minutes before he fell.
My heart stops as I click it open.
It's addressed to me.
Dear Sky,
If you're reading this, something bad happened to me. I set this to auto-send if I don't cancel it by 6 AM, which means I'm probably dead.
I need you to know the truth. There's a girl who's been stalking me for months. I thought it was just a crush that would fade, but it got worse. She follows me everywhere. She knows things about my schedule she shouldn't know. She sends me messages from different numbers.
I made a mistake. I thought I could handle it alone. I didn't want to worry you or Damon. But tonight she cornered me and said if I told anyone about her, she'd make sure I regretted it. She said she'd hurt the people I love.
I'm meeting her in one hour to tell her to leave me alone once and for all. I'm going to record the conversation on my phone as evidence. If something happens to me, the recording is hidden in my room. Damon knows where I keep important things.
Sky, I love you. I'm sorry I didn't tell you about this sooner. I thought I could protect you by keeping you out of it. I was wrong.
Find the recording. Get justice. And please, PLEASE be careful. She's dangerous.
All my love,James
Tears stream down my face as I read it again and again.
"He knew," I whisper. "He knew something might happen to him."
Riley's face is pale. "There's a recording. James recorded his meeting with his killer."
"And it's hidden in his old room." I stand up, grabbing my jacket. "We need to find it."
"Wait, Sky. Think about this. Whoever sent you this email wants you to go to James's room. They know about the recording. What if they're waiting there for you?"
"Then I'll deal with it." I'm already at the door. "James died trying to protect me. The least I can do is find the evidence he left behind."
"You're not going alone," Riley says firmly, grabbing her own jacket. "If we're walking into a trap, we're doing it together."
We head for the door, but before I can open it, my phone rings.
Unknown number.
My hand shakes as I answer. "What do you want?"
A voice speaks—female, disguised somehow, robotic and distorted: "You read the email. Good. Now you understand what's at stake."
"Who are you?"
"Go to James's room. Find the recording. But you have exactly one hour before I erase it remotely. Tick tock, Skylar. The clock is running."
The call ends.
Riley and I look at each other. One hour to find a recording hidden somewhere in a dorm room. One hour before the only evidence of James's murder disappears forever.
"Let's go," I say.
We run.