Skylar's POV
We're running through campus in the dark, our breath coming in clouds.
"Where's James's old room?" Riley gasps beside me.
"Morrison Hall. Third floor." My lungs burn but I push harder. "We have less than an hour."
The mysterious caller's words echo in my head: Find the recording. You have exactly one hour before I erase it remotely.
Who would send me James's email, tell me about the recording, then give me a deadline to find it? It doesn't make sense. Unless...
"It's a game," I say, realization hitting me. "Whoever killed James is playing with us."
"Great," Riley pants. "We're running toward a trap set by a murderer. Fantastic life choices, Sky."
Morrison Hall looms ahead, dark except for a few lit windows. Most students are at parties or studying in the library. The building looks abandoned.
We burst through the front door. The student at the reception desk looks up, startled.
"We need to get into room 312," I say, trying to catch my breath. "It's an emergency."
The guy—he can't be more than eighteen—shakes his head. "That room's been locked since... uh..." He trails off, clearly recognizing the room number. "Since the incident. Nobody's allowed in without special permission."
"Please," I beg. "It's important."
"I could lose my job."
Riley steps forward, and I see her switch into a different mode—confident, flirty, manipulative. "Come on. We'll be super quick. Five minutes. What's the harm?"
The guy wavers. "I don't know..."
"James Chen was my best friend," I lie, my voice breaking. "I just need to get one thing he promised me. Something personal. Please."
Maybe it's the tears in my eyes, or maybe Riley's smile, but he sighs and pulls out a key card. "Five minutes. And if anyone asks, you picked the lock."
"Thank you," I breathe.
We take the stairs two at a time. Third floor. The hallway is quiet, empty. Room 312 is at the end, marked with faded crime scene tape that's been torn and left hanging.
My hands shake as I swipe the key card.
The door opens.
James's room looks frozen in time. His bed is unmade, exactly how he left it. His desk still has papers scattered across it. His favorite hoodie hangs on the back of his chair.
The smell hits me—his cologne mixed with old coffee. For a second, I can't breathe. It's like he's still here.
"Sky," Riley says gently, touching my arm. "We don't have time."
She's right. I check my phone. Forty-three minutes left.
"James said Damon knows where he keeps important things," I say, looking around frantically. "Where would that be?"
We tear the room apart. Under the mattress. Inside textbooks. Behind the desk. In the closet. Nothing.
"Think!" Riley urges. "If you were James, where would you hide something important?"
I close my eyes, trying to remember everything James told me about this room. He video-called me from here dozens of times. I picture him sitting at his desk, laughing, showing me around...
My eyes snap open. "His books!"
I rush to the small bookshelf by his bed. James was obsessed with mystery novels. He had a whole collection of detective stories—Sherlock Holmes, Agatha Christie, all the classics.
"He used to joke that the best place to hide something is in plain sight," I say, running my fingers along the spines. "Like in the mystery novels where the clue is always—"
My hand stops on one book. The Hound of the Baskervilles. It's thicker than it should be.
I pull it out and open it. The pages have been cut out, creating a hollow space inside.
And there, nestled in the carved-out book, is a small digital voice recorder.
"Oh my God," Riley whispers. "You found it."
My hands shake as I pick up the recorder. It's old-fashioned, the kind with actual buttons. There's a sticky note attached:
For Sky. Play this only if something happens to me. I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I love you. -J
Tears blur my vision. "He knew. He really knew something bad was going to happen."
"Play it," Riley urges, checking her phone. "We have thirty-eight minutes before whoever's threatening us does... whatever they're planning to do."
I press play.
Static crackles, then James's voice fills the room. Alive. Real. I have to grab the desk to stay standing.
"Testing, testing. Okay, it's recording." James's voice sounds nervous. "It's 1:47 AM on October 15th. I'm about to meet her on the roof of Whitmore Hall. She texted saying she needs to talk to me privately, that it's urgent. I know I shouldn't go, but I'm bringing this recorder. Whatever happens, there will be proof."
Rustling sounds, like he's putting the recorder in his pocket.
Then footsteps. A door opening. Wind noise—he must be outside now.
"Hello?" James calls out. "I'm here. Where are you?"
"James!" A female voice, sweet and excited. "Thank you for coming. I knew you'd come."
My blood runs cold. I know that voice.
It's Celeste.
"What do you want?" James sounds tired. "I told you to stop contacting me. This is harassment."
"Harassment?" Celeste's voice changes, becoming sharper. "I'm just trying to be your friend. Is that so wrong?"
"We're not friends. We barely know each other."
"But we could be more than friends." Her voice turns pleading. "James, I know you feel the connection between us. I see the way you look at me—"
"I don't look at you any way. I have a girlfriend. I love Skylar."
"Her?" Celeste spits the word like poison. "She's not even here. She doesn't understand you like I do. I've been watching you, learning everything about you. I know your favorite coffee order, your schedule, the books you read—"
"You've been stalking me." James's voice is firm but I hear the fear underneath. "That's not romantic. That's sick."
Silence. Then Celeste speaks again, and her voice is completely different. Cold. Empty.
"You shouldn't have said that."
"I'm done with this conversation," James says. "Stay away from me, or I'm going to tell Damon everything. He deserves to know what kind of person you really are."
"You're going to tell Damon?" Celeste laughs, but it sounds wrong. Mechanical. "That's funny, James. Because Damon is MINE. I've spent a year getting close to him, earning his trust. You're the only thing standing between us. You and your stupid friendship."
"You're crazy." James's voice rises. "Stay back—what are you doing? Put that down!"
"This will just make you sleepy," Celeste says calmly. "Don't fight it. Fighting makes it worse."
"No—get away—" James's voice becomes muffled, confused. "What did you... what..."
Sounds of struggle. Something clattering. Heavy breathing.
"Shhh, shhh," Celeste coos, like talking to a baby. "There we go. Just breathe it in. That's it."
"Can't... breathe..." James sounds drowsy now. Slurred. "Sky... tell Sky..."
"Skylar isn't here to save you. Nobody is." Celeste's voice is cheerful, like she's having fun. "You know, this really is your fault. If you'd just left Damon alone, if you'd stopped being his best friend, I wouldn't have to do this."
"Please..." James whispers. "Don't..."
"Time to fly, James."
A scream—James's scream—cut short.
Then just wind and silence.
The recorder keeps running for another minute. Then Celeste's voice again, breathless:
"Oops. Better clean up."
Sounds of movement. Something being picked up. Then footsteps walking away.
The recording ends.
Riley and I stand frozen in horror. We just listened to James being murdered.
"We have to go to the police right now," Riley says, her face white. "Right now, Sky. This is proof—"
My phone buzzes. Unknown number.
Did you enjoy the show?
Another text:
Fun fact: That recorder is the only copy. James's phone was destroyed. And in exactly thirty seconds, I'm going to activate the dormant virus I installed in that recorder three months ago. It will corrupt the audio file completely.
"No," I whisper. "No, no, no!"
Riley grabs the recorder. "Can we copy it? Send it somewhere?"
"There's no time!" I'm frantically trying to figure out how to save the file. "We need a computer, we need—"
Twenty seconds.
"The reception desk!" Riley shouts. "That guy had a computer!"
We run.
Down the hallway, taking the stairs so fast I nearly fall. Through the lobby. The desk guy looks up in surprise as we slam the recorder down.
"Plug this in! Copy the file! Now!" I scream.
"What? I don't—"
"DO IT!"
He scrambles to find a cable. His hands are shaking as he connects the recorder to his computer.
I watch my phone.
Ten seconds.
"Hurry!" Riley urges.
"It's copying," the guy says. "But it's a big file. It's going to take—"
Five seconds.
The progress bar on the screen crawls forward. 47%... 53%... 61%...
Three seconds.
71%... 78%... 84%...
Two seconds.
91%... 95%... 98%...
One second.
99%...
100%.
File copied successfully.
The recorder in front of us suddenly sparks. Smoke pours out of it. The desk guy yelps and yanks the cable out, but it's too late. The recorder melts, the plastic warping and twisting.
Within seconds, it's destroyed.
But the file is safe on the computer.
Riley and I collapse against each other, breathing hard.
"Did that just happen?" the desk guy asks, staring at the melted plastic. "Did that thing just... explode?"
"We need to call the police," I say, pulling out my phone.
But before I can dial, the lobby door bursts open.
Damon stands there, his face wild with panic. Behind him is a campus police officer.
"Step away from that computer," the officer commands. "You're both under arrest for breaking and entering."
"What? No, you don't understand—" I start.
"Damon called us," the officer says. "Said two girls were illegally accessing his deceased roommate's room."
I stare at Damon in shock. "You called the police on us?"
But Damon's not looking at me. He's staring at the melted recorder on the desk, and his face has gone completely white.
"What did you find?" he asks quietly.
"The truth," I say. "We found the truth about who killed James."
"Who?"
Before I can answer, my phone rings. I look at the screen.
It's a call from Celeste.
Everyone stares as I answer and put it on speaker.
"Hello, Skylar." Celeste's voice is sweet. "I'm guessing you found the recording. Congratulations."
"You murdered James," I say, my voice shaking. "We have proof."
"Had proof," Celeste corrects. "That recorder is destroyed. Sure, you copied the file, but here's the thing about digital evidence—it's so easy to claim it's been manipulated. Edited. Faked. My lawyers will tear it apart."
"Why are you calling me?"
"To make you an offer. Delete that file, stop investigating, leave Ashwood University... and I'll let you and your little friend live." Her voice turns cold. "Keep pushing, and I'll do to you exactly what I did to James. Your choice."
The call ends.
Silence fills the lobby.
Damon stares at the phone, then at me. "Did she just... did Celeste just confess?"
"Yes," I whisper. "And now she's threatening to kill us too."