Alexander's car cut through the storm like a blade, wipers slashing back and forth in frantic rhythm. The campus gates disappeared in the rear-view mirror, swallowed by sheets of rain.
Mira sat in the passenger seat, still wearing his blazer over her soaked clothes, the anonymous photo burning in her mind. Her dorm window. Her sketchbook open on the bed. Someone had been close enough to see inside.
"Whoever sent that," Alexander said, voice tight, "they were on campus tonight. During the storm."
Mira glanced at him. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel, jaw clenched so hard she could see the muscle twitch.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"My lake house. It's empty mid-week. No one will look for us there tonight."
She nodded. It made sense. But the unease gnawed deeper.
They drove in tense silence for twenty minutes, headlights carving tunnels through the dark rural roads. No other cars. Just rain and wind and the occasional flash of lightning.
Then Alexander's phone buzzed again on the console.
Another unknown number.
He snatched it up, thumb swiping.
His face went pale.
"What is it?" Mira leaned over.
A new photo. This one taken from inside his car—minutes ago. The back of their heads visible, rain streaking the windshield, timestamped 11:47 p.m.
Someone was following them. Right now.
Alexander's eyes flicked to the rear-view mirror.
Headlights. Far back, but steady. Keeping perfect distance.
"Hold on," he muttered.
He floored it.
The car surged forward, engine roaring. Mira gripped the door handle as they hydroplaned slightly on a curve, tires screaming.
The headlights behind them accelerated too. Matching speed. Never closing. Never falling back. Like they wanted to be seen.
"Who the hell is that?" Mira twisted in her seat, peering through the rear window.
"I don't know." Alexander's voice was grim. "But they're not cops. Cops would have lights on by now."
Another buzz. A third message. This time, no photo. Just words:
Turn around. Or the next picture goes to your father.
Alexander's breath hissed out. Mira saw his hands shake—just for a second—before he steadied them.
"They know about him," he said quietly. "About everything."
Lightning cracked overhead, illuminating the road for a split second. In that flash, Mira saw it: the car behind them was black. Tinted windows. No plates visible. Then darkness swallowed it again.
Alexander took a sharp turn onto a narrow dirt road—Mira recognized it as a shortcut to the lake. The following car turned too. No hesitation.
"They're not even trying to hide anymore," Mira whispered.
Alexander didn't answer. He was scanning the mirrors, calculating. Then he spotted something ahead—a narrow wooden bridge over a swollen creek, barely wide enough for one car.
He slowed dramatically. The black car sped up, closing the gap.
"What are you doing?" Mira's heart slammed.
"Trust me."
At the last second, he yanked the wheel hard left—off the road, onto a hidden gravel service path that ran parallel to the creek. Branches scraped the sides of the car. Mud splashed the windows.
The black car shot past them onto the bridge, brakes squealing as the driver realized too late.
Alexander killed the headlights. They sat in darkness, engine idling low, watching.
The black car stopped on the far side of the bridge. Reversed slowly. Searching. But the service path curved into thick trees—they were hidden.
Minutes ticked by. Finally, the black car turned around and drove away, taillights disappearing into the storm.
Alexander exhaled shakily. Mira realized she'd been holding her breath.
"They're gone," he said. But he didn't sound relieved.
He pulled back onto the road, slower now, headlights off until they were clear.
The lake house appeared twenty minutes later—dark, isolated, perched on the water's edge.
Inside, Alexander locked every door, checked every window.
Mira stood in the foyer, dripping on hardwood, adrenaline still buzzing.
He came back, face grim.
"House is clear. No signs anyone's been here."
She nodded. Then asked the question burning in her throat.
"Who wants to hurt you this bad, Alexander?"
He ran a hand through his wet hair.
"Not me," he said quietly. "My father. He's… into things. Bad investments. Worse people. When the money started drying up, he borrowed from the wrong ones. I thought he'd paid them off last year."
Mira's stomach dropped.
"So this is about debt?"
He met her eyes. "It's about leverage. And right now… you're leverage."
Silence fell heavy.
Then his phone buzzed again. Both of them stared at it on the counter.
Alexander picked it up. One new message. A video this time.
He pressed play. Grainy night-vision footage. Mira's dorm room—from inside. Someone walking through it slowly. Gloved hand opening her desk drawer. Flipping through her sketchbook. Stopping on a page. A drawing she'd done last week—of Alexander. Asleep in the library, head on his arms, looking peaceful for once. The gloved hand traced his face on the paper. Then the video ended.
Mira felt sick.
Alexander's voice was deadly calm.
"They were in your room tonight. While we were at the gazebo."
He looked at her, eyes fierce.
"I'm getting you out of this. Tomorrow. We'll go to the headmaster. Police. Whatever it takes."
Mira shook her head.
"No. If your father's enemies are this bold, they won't stop because of police. We need proof. Something solid."
He stared at her. "You want to fight them?"
"I want to end this," she said. "So we can be… whatever this is. Without looking over our shoulders."
Alexander stepped closer, cupping her face gently.
"You're insane," he whispered.
"You're welcome," she echoed his words from the party.
He smiled—small, real—then kissed her again. Softer this time. Like a promise.
When they pulled apart, his phone buzzed one last time.
Unknown number. Single line:
Tick tock, Voss. Bring the girl to the boathouse at dawn. Alone. Or the whole school sees what Daddy's really been hiding.
Alexander's face went stone cold. He deleted the message. Looked at Mira.
"We're not going."
But as he said it, lightning flashed outside—illuminating the lake. And on the far shore, across black water… A single light blinked once. Then vanished.
Someone was already waiting.
End of Chapter 6