As Beatrice stepped inside, she didn't walk — she practically pounced on Mom, shouting, "Mommy! Daddy!"
Dad was busy working on his laptop at the dining table.
The moment he heard her voice, he stopped typing and looked up, a smile spreading across his face.
Mom immediately hugged her tightly. "Oh, my daughter… it looks like you haven't been taking care of yourself! You've lost weight. Was this exam too stressful?"
Beatrice giggled softly, trying to look casual. "Hehe… maybe a little."
Mom's eyes softened, but curiosity got the better of her. "I heard there were some issues at your college recently. What's going on? I saw it in the news."
At that moment, a thought struck me suddenly. Ah… maybe that's what's been bothering her. That event in the news… and I didn't even know about it.
I couldn't help but smirk slightly to myself. Who even reads newspapers these days? Isn't that an old-man thing?
Beatrice's voice dropped, trembling slightly as she spoke.
"In our college… a girl went missing suddenly. Her family was coming to the college every day, crying, and the whole campus was in turmoil."
I listened carefully, my fork paused mid-air. Her eyes were wide, still haunted by what she had seen.
A month before in college campus of
Beatrica
The afternoon sunlight filtered through the tall glass windows of the Fine-Arts Building, casting warm streaks across rows of ink-spattered desks.
The soft scrape of brushes against paper filled the air; every student was lost in careful calligraphic strokes.
Beatrice sat in the middle row, her wrist moving lightly, guiding the brush through the gentle rhythm of curved letters.
It was her favorite hour of the week—quiet, focused, almost meditative.
At the front, Professor Hanley, a calm man with silvering hair, walked between desks, occasionally pausing to correct a grip or angle.
"Remember," he said, his voice low and steady, "calligraphy isn't just precision—it's patience."
The clock ticked toward noon. Outside, pigeons perched on the ledges. Then, without warning, the old wall speaker crackled.
"All staff members are requested to immediately report to the meeting hall."
Every brush froze mid-stroke. Students looked up, puzzled.
"What happened?" someone whispered.
"Is this a drill?" another murmured.
"I saw police cars coming through the gate," said a boy near the window. "Maybe something bad happened?"
"Like a terrorist attack?"
Nervous chatter rose.
Hanley lifted his hand.
"Everyone, calm down. We don't know anything yet. Please stay seated and continue your work."
He turned to the class monitor, Maldy Syder.
"Maldy, guide them till I return."
"Yes, Professor," she answered quickly.
Hanley left, his footsteps echoing down the corridor.
Through the tall windows Beatrice saw faint flashes of red-and-blue lights outside.
Her fingers tightened around the brush.
Fifteen minutes earlier,
several police cars had entered the campus.
Security guards had led them straight toward the Dean's Office, whispering among themselves.
---
University Control Room
Two officers entered first—Detective Mira Solen, a composed woman in her forties, and Inspector D'Costa, a broad-shouldered man with a weathered face.
Behind them walked the Dean, a white-haired veteran whose posture still carried military discipline.
"Show us footage from Room 23, dated twenty-sixth August," the Dean ordered.
The technician began typing rapidly. The screens glowed with rows of camera feeds.
"Officer," the Dean said, "whatever assistance you need, the university will cooperate fully."
He left quietly, closing the door.
D'Costa opened a folder and placed a student photo on the desk.
"Clara Mendez. Second-year Arts. Missing since the twenty-sixth."
Mira leaned toward the screen.
"Zoom on the back row," she said.
The technician complied. The classroom appeared—students sketching calmly.
Then, near the end of the session, two girls packed early. One was Clara Mendez. The other, half hidden by sunlight, was unknown.
Switching to the main-gate camera, the officers watched both girls leaving together.
"Who is the girl with Clara Mendez?" D'Costa asked. "She came out with her and seems to leave campus with her."
The campus security officer straightened nervously.
"We're not sure yet, sir. We've informed Professor Hanley—he's on his way."
Moments later Hanley entered.
"Oh, hello, Professor," D'Costa greeted politely. "Please come here. Do you recognize the girl with Clara?"
Hanley leaned toward the screen.
"Zoom a little."
When the faces cleared, he nodded.
"Yes, that's Ria Linford. She's one of my students."
"Then call her," D'Costa said tonelessly.
---
University Security Wing — Interrogation Room
The gray room was silent except for the faint hum of the fan. A single tube light buzzed overhead.
At the table sat Ria Linford, pale, hands clenched tightly together.
Detective Mira Solen faced her, calm and patient, a notebook open beside a cup of cooling coffee.
"Ria Linford, right?"
Ria nodded weakly.
"Y-yes… ma'am."
"Do you know Clara Mendez?"
Ria's voice shook.
"I—I know her, b-but… not much. We were in the same class, that's all."
"Where were you on the twenty-sixth of August?"
"I… I was at home. I wasn't feeling well, so I stayed in. I didn't go to class."she paniced and also composing herself.
Mira watched her carefully, pen motionless.
"Oh," she murmured, noting something down.
Silence lingered for a few seconds before Mira closed the notebook.
"That's all for now."
---
Outside the Interrogation Room
Through the narrow window Ria saw officers speaking in low tones. One of them nodded, then entered with another at his side.
"Miss Ria Linford," the taller officer said, "please come with us."
"Why? Am I free to go?" she asked shakily.
"You'll need to come to the station for further questioning."
"B-but I already told you everything! You can't arrest me—I haven't done anything!"
The officers guided her gently but firmly out of the room.
"Please cooperate, ma'am," one of them said. "You'll have a chance to speak."
Tears streamed down her face.
"You can't arrest me, officer! Let me talk to my advocate! I'm innocent!"
Outside, students and staff watched from a distance as Ria was escorted through the corridor toward the gate.
A police car waited, its red beacon spinning slowly.
The air was thick after the rain, clouds hanging low.
Ria turned once more toward the building—her eyes wide with disbelief—before the door shut behind her with a dull thud.
Detective Mira Solen stood near the steps, arms folded.
"You think she's hiding something?" D'Costa asked.
"No," Mira said quietly. "I think she's terrified of something she can't explain."
The car rolled out through the gate, leaving the campus eerily still.
Beatrice, watching from a distant corridor window, saw the flashing lights fade into the wet horizon.