The hallway outside Cierra's dorm was quieter than usual. Only the soft hum of a vending machine and the faint laughter from a distant room disturbed the calm. The air smelled of detergent and the lemony polish the janitors used every evening. Through the tall windows, the sky stretched in a deep, clear navy, scattered with faint stars above the city glow.
Cierra's steps slowed as she reached her door. The number on the brass plaque gleamed under the corridor light — 22B. Her hand hesitated on the handle. She stared down at her fingers; they were pale from the cold, from gripping her phone too tightly all the way from the lecture hall. She sucked in a breath and pushed the door open.
Warm light spilled from inside. The faint scent of shampoo and instant noodles filled the space. Her roommate looked up from her bed. Her ginger hair fell loosely over her shoulders, glowing like copper under the lamplight. A pencil was tucked behind one ear, with her laptop balanced on her knees.
"Hey," she said, smiling lightly. "Finally back? I was starting to think you got caught in another lecture marathon."
Cierra blinked, taking in the familiar sight. It was the same ginger-haired roommate who had texted her earlier that morning, asking if she had eaten — the only person in Aldridge who cared so much about her.
"Hey, Renee," she murmured, setting her bag down by the desk.
"Hey," Renee replied, but as soon as she saw Cierra's face, her tone softened. "You okay? I saw the news."
Cierra froze. The zipper of her bag caught on itself. "Oh."
"I didn't know how to text you," Renee continued gently. "I wasn't sure if you wanted to talk."
Cierra forced a small smile that didn't reach her eyes. "There's not much to say."
Renee hesitated, then closed her laptop and slid it aside. "You two were close?" she asked.
Cierra's breath caught, and she shook her head quickly. "No. I mean—yes. He's… my brother."
Renee blinked, her eyes widening in surprise. "Oh my God, Cierra. I didn't— I'm so sorry. I didn't know."
"It's fine."
Cierra crossed the small room to her side. The mattress dipped softly under her weight. She pressed her hands between her knees, staring at the floor.
For a while, neither of them spoke, until Renee rose quietly and went to the little kitchenette in the corner. "You should eat something," she said after a minute, opening the cupboard. "You didn't come to breakfast or lunch."
"I'm not hungry."
"You'll make yourself sick again."
Cierra didn't respond. Her mind had drifted elsewhere — to the headline on her phone, to Leo's image, to the soft look in his eyes.
Renee poured water into the kettle, flicked the switch, and leaned against the counter. "Was it sudden?" she asked carefully.
Cierra's lips parted, but she couldn't find the words. "I guess… yeah." Her voice was low. "They said it was a highway crash. I keep thinking maybe—maybe he called someone, maybe he wasn't alone…"
"Sometimes we never know, Cierra."
The kettle began to hum, steam whispering from its spout.
Cierra looked toward the window. The night outside was perfectly still; the moonlight was faint but bright enough to paint silver lines across the dorm floor. Everything about it felt cruelly peaceful.
When the kettle clicked off, Renee poured two mugs of tea. "Here," she said, placing one on Cierra's desk. "Just take a few sips."
"Thanks."
Renee nodded and sat across from her, wrapping her hands around her own cup. They drank in silence. The only sounds were the clink of ceramic and the faint buzz of a streetlamp outside.
After a few minutes, Renee spoke again, tentatively. "Do you want me to stay awake tonight? I can crash on the couch if you don't feel like being alone."
Cierra shook her head. "You've got class tomorrow."
"So do you."
"Yeah." She gave a thin smile. "I just… need a bit of quiet. You know?"
Renee studied her face for a moment, then nodded. "Okay. But if you need anything, wake me, all right?"
"Promise."
Renee squeezed her shoulder gently, then stood and moved to her bed, dimming her lamp. The room fell into a softer light.
Cierra sat there for a long time without touching her tea.
Her phone lay face down on the desk. She had powered it off earlier in the day, unable to stand the flood of messages — the news alerts, the condolences from people she hadn't spoken to in months. But the silence had started to feel too loud.
At last, she picked it up and pressed the power button. The screen glowed to life, and the familiar start-up chime echoed faintly. Notifications stacked one after another — texts, emails, social media tags. She ignored them all until one message near the bottom caught her eye.
Leo Thorne – 1 Voice Message.
Received: Yesterday, 11:26 p.m.
Her heart stuttered. She stared at the screen. The timestamp lodged in her mind. Yesterday. Barely an hour before the crash. Her thumb hovered over the notification. Her heartbeat pulsed in her ears, steady and loud.
"Cierra?"
She startled. Renee's sleepy voice came from across the room.
"Yeah?"
"You're still awake?"
"Just checking something," she replied softly.
Renee mumbled something half-asleep and turned over, the rustle of sheets filling the small space.
Cierra waited until her breathing evened out. Then she turned back to the phone. The voice message icon blinked. She tapped it once. Her hands were cold. She wiped them on her jeans while waiting for the message to load.
The message didn't download due to poor network connection, so she tried again. It started loading, a thin bar crawling across the screen.
Outside, a car passed on the street below, its headlights cutting a pale streak across the ceiling before fading.
The dorm felt too quiet. Even the fan's whirring sound seemed to have dimmed.
Cierra rubbed her temple and leaned back, her breath shallow.
"Come on…" she whispered.