Aubrey had always believed the world made sense.
There were patterns—rhythms that gave life its shape. The sun rose, classes started, laughter spilled down Ever Thorne's hallways, and the day folded neatly into night.
But that illusion shattered the moment the news broke.
"Breaking news." Hillary's voice came through the dorm's common room TV, calm but tense. The air went still as students gathered, eyes fixed on the screen.
"Two hours ago, near the Avenue parking lot at Ever Thorne College, a vehicle exploded in flames, killing Timon Harrow, his wife, and their two daughters, Becky and Selene Harrow. Four bystanders are reported injured."
Aubrey's breath caught.
The names echoed through her chest like a slow detonation.
Hillary continued, her expression darkening as the footage rolled. "Investigators on the scene discovered something… strange left in the ashes.
A pattern resembling a phoenix rising from fire."
The live feed switched to aerial footage. Below, black smoke coiled from what remained of a car—twisted, skeletal metal barely recognizable as a vehicle. Amid the scorched concrete, the flames burned in an eerie formation.
Aubrey leaned closer. The pattern wasn't random.
The "phoenix" wasn't a phoenix at all.
Its wings curved into a triangle, inverted—its sharp tip pointing toward the earth as though marking it. Inside the shape, spirals coiled endlessly, folding inward to a dark center that looked almost alive. At each point of the triangle rested a closed eye, lashes carved deep into the soot, each weeping trails of blackened residue.
Over the symbol lay a warped, six-fingered handprint—smeared and heavy, pressed into the ashes like a curse. And at the center, the circle of nothing—a hollow void scorched so perfectly that even fire refused to touch it.
Back in the studio, Hillary turned toward her co-anchor, Jeff.
"Jeff, this pattern—what are we looking at exactly?"
Jeff adjusted his earpiece, his tone uneasy. "We've seen this before, Hillary. The symbol matches the calling card attributed to the Azaqor killer. Every mark, every burn—identical. This wasn't random. It's deliberate… ritualistic."
"So you believe Azaqor is behind the Harrow murders?" Hillary asked, her voice lowering.
Jeff exhaled slowly. "Without a doubt."
A murmur spread through Ever Thorne like wildfire.
In classrooms, cafeterias, and hallways, everyone was talking about it.
Aubrey sat with Chloe and Casey in the back of a crowded lecture hall, the screen at the front still showing the smoldering wreck. Conversations buzzed like hornets all around them.
"I saw Becky just two days ago," someone whispered. "She was laughing, eating lunch like normal. Now she's… gone?"
Another voice added, "They're saying Azaqor targeted them… but why?"
Someone in front turned around. "Because of Lucian Freeman. Both sisters were dating him. First Damien, now this? Come on—something's off."
A few heads nodded. "Lucian's been acting strange since midterms," one girl muttered. "And didn't his dad have ties to Crestwood crime families? I heard he was under investigation years ago."
"Yeah," said a boy, leaning in. "Otis Freeman. The Veilbreak Podcast covered him. Said he worked for the
Halvern Consortium before things went… shady."
"Halvern?" another whispered. "That's… Chloe's family business, isn't it?"
The entire group went quiet. Eyes darted toward Chloe in the back row.
Someone hissed, "Careful what you say. She's right there."
Whispers turned sharp, then splintered into nervous silence. Chloe didn't flinch, though her knuckles whitened against her notebook. Casey nudged her with a half-smile.
"You're terrifying when you go quiet," Casey whispered.
Chloe gave a soft laugh, her eyes still cold. "Maybe silence is the only thing people listen to."
Later, as the crowd dispersed, Chloe turned to Aubrey and Casey. "Azaqor's getting bolder. If what the police say is true, Lucian might know more than he's letting on."
Casey arched a brow. "That's a big accusation."
Chloe's lips pressed into a thin line. "I'm not accusing. I'm remembering."
She said nothing else.
That afternoon, Elijah found them near the courtyard steps. His presence drew attention as always—warm smile, hair damp from practice, that easy confidence that made people turn to look twice.
He kissed Chloe softly on the cheek, but his gaze lingered a second too long on Aubrey. She looked away quickly, cheeks warming. Casey noticed, and the flicker of jealousy in her eyes was impossible to hide. Chloe noticed too—and for a heartbeat, her smile faltered.
Some looks can start wars without a single word.
Security tightened overnight.
Armed guards patrolled the campus entrances. Drones hovered in pairs, scanning rooftops. Even the cafeteria lines were flanked by officers. Parents called, demanding reassurance. Professors whispered about moving lectures online.
And yet… life kept moving, stubbornly.
A few days later, Ever Thorne's gym buzzed with noise. A regional basketball qualifier had drawn half the student body into the stands. For a while, the fear gave way to cheering and the pure, uncomplicated thrill of the game.
Elijah and Ling dominated the court, their movements a blur of speed and precision. Every basket was met with thunderous applause.
"Casey, I'll get us drinks!" Aubrey shouted over the crowd and slipped away.
Chloe leaned forward, her eyes still fixed on the court. "So," she said suddenly, "you fancy anyone lately?"
Aubrey's returning blush betrayed her. "N-not really."
"Liar," Chloe teased, grinning. "Rank Elijah from one to ten."
Aubrey hesitated. "Maybe… an eight."
Chloe chuckled softly. "Would that eight turn into a ten if I wasn't around?"
"I… I don't know," Aubrey admitted, her voice barely audible over the noise.
Before the moment could deepen, a popcorn kernel hit Chloe's shoulder. Vivian, sitting a few seats away, smirked. "Oops."
Chloe gave her a look that silenced the entire row.
By the time Aubrey returned with drinks, Elijah had landed the final shot of the game—an impossible three-pointer that sealed Ever Thorne's victory. The crowd erupted. Chloe jumped to her feet, cheering wildly, while Aubrey smiled quietly, letting the sound wash over her.
For one fleeting moment, everything felt normal again.
But normal never lasts.
That night, the forest behind Ever Thorne came alive with whispers and wind.
Aubrey ran. Branches whipped her arms, breath tearing from her lungs. Somewhere behind her, footsteps followed—steady, deliberate. A shadow moved between the trees, knife glinting under the moonlight.
She pressed herself against a trunk, heart pounding so hard it hurt. The night was too still. Even the crickets had gone silent.
A flash of metal.
The soft crunch of leaves.
Closer.
She forced herself not to breathe. The air smelled of wet soil and smoke—and faintly, something metallic, like blood.
The figure stopped. Turned. Listened.
Aubrey squeezed her eyes shut, praying.
Don't find me.
The wind shifted. The forest seemed to hold its breath with her.
When the sound of footsteps resumed—slow, patient, circling—she realized with horror that the hunter already knew exactly where she was.
Her narration echoed faintly in her mind, a voice trembling between fear and defiance:
Some days, life throws you into the fire before you even know you've been marked.
And tonight… I am the prey.