The next morning, Eastbridge felt like a different town. The rain hadn't stopped, just softened to a dull drizzle that made everything glisten, but not in a cheerful way. Pavements shone like mirrors, and the usual chatter of the streets was replaced with whispers. People looked uneasy, scanning over their shoulders, like something invisible was hunting them.
Inside Eastbridge Secondary, the atmosphere was worse. The news had spread faster than wildfire. Ben Harper was missing. Assembly was called immediately. The headteacher, a stiff man with thin glasses, cleared his throat, hands gripping the lectern like it could save him.
"Benjamin Harper has been reported missing. If anyone has any information, please speak to the police immediately."
The words felt hollow. Everyone murmured, exchanging looks, some wide-eyed, some cold and calculating. But my eyes didn't leave her.
Ella Gray.
She sat two rows ahead of me, back straight, notebook open. Her pen scratched across the page like she was capturing some secret only she knew. I watched her, trying to read her expression. She looked calm, almost unnervingly so. Not the kind of calm you see when someone's clueless — the kind that comes from knowing things you shouldn't.
I kept my distance at first. No point in looking desperate. But after class, I found her by the lockers.
"Oi, Ella," I said, trying to keep my voice casual, "you alright?"
She looked up, grey eyes sharp as knives. "You shouldn't ask questions, Carter. Not here."
Her words were polite, but the warning in them made my stomach twist. "Not here? You mean anywhere?"
She didn't answer. Just slung her bag over her shoulder and started walking down the corridor, her boots echoing against the tile floor. I trailed a few steps behind, not wanting to seem too eager, though I was already hooked.
A part of me wanted to ask about Ben, but another, louder part told me to shut up. Ella didn't trust easily. And if she thought I was prying, she'd shut me out completely.
As she exited the school, I noticed her glance over her shoulder. That subtle flick of her eyes — alert, calculating — made my chest tighten. She knew something. She always did.
Later that evening, I couldn't stop thinking about her. I sat on my bed, staring at the rain streaking my window, replaying every little glance, every movement she'd made. My phone buzzed again