Ethan's POV
"EVERYONE OUT! NOW!"
The fire alarm screamed as campus security pushed us into the hallway. Students poured out of rooms in pajamas, confused and scared.
"Move, move, move!" Marcus Romano shouted, herding people toward the stairs.
I grabbed Adrian's arm. "Stay close to me."
He looked at me, surprised. "Ethan—"
"I said stay close!" I wasn't letting him out of my sight. Not with V lurking somewhere in the shadows.
We rushed down three flights of stairs with hundreds of other students. The emergency lights made everything look like a horror movie. Red lights. Long shadows. People pushing and shoving.
Outside, the entire dorm gathered on the lawn. Fire trucks pulled up, sirens wailing. Campus police moved through the crowd with flashlights.
"What happened?" someone asked.
"I heard it was a bomb threat!"
"No, someone said there's a fire on the third floor!"
"I heard someone died!"
Rumors spread like wildfire.
I kept Adrian next to me, my hand still gripping his arm. He was shaking—whether from fear or anger, I couldn't tell.
Dean Whitmore appeared with a megaphone. "ATTENTION! We're evacuating Building C pending investigation. Everyone will be temporarily relocated to the gymnasium until we determine it's safe to return. Grab your emergency bags only—security will escort you in groups of ten."
The crowd groaned.
"This is insane," Maya appeared next to me, her hair in a messy bun. "What's going on? Someone said you and Adrian—" She stopped, noticing Adrian. "Oh. Hi."
"Hi," Adrian said quietly.
Maya's eyes went wide. She'd obviously seen the video. Everyone had.
"Maya, not now," I said.
"Right. Sorry." But she kept staring at Adrian like he was a zoo animal. "So is it true that someone's stalking you guys?"
"How did you—"
"Everyone knows. It's all over campus social media. Someone posted photos of the threatening messages." Maya showed me her phone.
Sure enough, screenshots of V's messages were everywhere. The photo of us sleeping. The destroyed closet. Everything.
"Who's posting these?" Adrian demanded.
Maya shrugged. "Anonymous accounts. They keep getting deleted but new ones pop up. It's like V wants everyone to see what they're doing to you."
"Why would they want that?" I asked.
"To make Adrian look guilty," Maya said. "Think about it—if everyone sees the evidence of stalking, it looks like Adrian's the stalker. The messages could be fake, photoshopped by him to cover his tracks."
Adrian's face went pale. "That's exactly what Dean Whitmore is going to think."
"Not if we prove V is real," I said. "Not if we catch them."
"How?" Adrian's laugh was bitter. "They're always one step ahead. They have my student ID, access to my accounts, keys to our room somehow—"
"GROUP THREE!" Marcus Romano shouted. "Ethan Cross, Adrian Vale, Maya Chen—you're up! Move!"
Security escorted us back into the building. The smell of smoke hit me immediately.
"Is there actually a fire?" Maya whispered.
"Third floor," the security guard said. "Small one. Already contained. But we found something... unusual."
We climbed back to the third floor. Our hallway was chaos—firefighters, police, people in hazmat suits.
Our door was wide open.
Inside, our room was destroyed.
Not just destroyed—obliterated.
Every piece of furniture was overturned. Books ripped apart. Clothes scattered everywhere. The tape line we'd made was gone, torn to shreds.
And on every wall, written in red paint:
"LIAR" "STALKER" "LEAVE" "NOT SAFE" "WATCHING" "ALWAYS WATCHING"
"Oh my God," Maya breathed.
Dean Whitmore stood in the center of the chaos. "Mr. Vale. Mr. Cross. Can you explain this?"
"We didn't do this!" I said. "We were with you when the alarm went off!"
"The fire started in your room," she said coldly. "In your closet, Mr. Vale. Where we found the evidence of stalking."
"What evidence?" Adrian moved forward. "You said there was a locker in the library—"
"We found more." She nodded to a police officer, who held up a laptop in an evidence bag. "Your laptop, Mr. Vale. Open with a folder labeled 'Ethan' containing over two thousand photos."
"That's impossible," Adrian whispered. "My laptop was—" He looked at his desk. His laptop was gone. "Someone took my laptop and planted fake evidence!"
"Or you're trying to cover your tracks by claiming someone's framing you." Dean Whitmore's voice was hard. "Campus police found something else."
The officer held up another evidence bag. Inside was a knife.
A knife with what looked like blood on it.
"This was found under your bed, Mr. Vale. Along with a threatening note about Mr. Cross."
I felt sick. "Adrian would never—"
"There's more." Dean Whitmore pulled out her phone. "We received this email five minutes ago."
She showed us. Another message from V:
"Adrian Vale is dangerous. He's been planning to hurt Ethan Cross for weeks. Check his phone records—you'll see he's been tracking Ethan's location. Check his bank records—he paid to have Ethan assigned as his roommate so he could have access to him 24/7. He's obsessed. He's unstable. And if you don't stop him, Ethan will get hurt. This is your only warning. -Someone Who Cares"
"This is all fake!" Adrian's voice cracked. "I would never hurt Ethan! I love him—" He stopped, realizing what he'd said.
Everyone stared at him.
Dean Whitmore's expression hardened. "That's the problem, Mr. Vale. You love him, and he doesn't love you back. That's motive."
"For what?" I shouted. "Adrian hasn't done anything!"
"Mr. Cross, I understand you may feel obligated to defend your roommate, but—"
"I'm not defending him because I feel obligated. I'm defending him because I know he's innocent!" My hands clenched into fists. "Someone is framing him. Someone wants him gone. Can't you see that?"
"What I see is evidence—"
"Fake evidence!"
"ENOUGH!" Dean Whitmore's voice echoed through the destroyed room. "Adrian Vale, you're being placed on immediate suspension pending investigation. You have one hour to pack your belongings and leave campus."
"No," Adrian said quietly.
"Excuse me?"
"I said no." Adrian stood straighter. "I'm not leaving. I didn't do anything wrong, and I'm not running away."
"Then you'll be escorted off campus by police."
"Let them." Adrian's eyes blazed with defiance. "Let them arrest me. Let them throw me in jail. I'm not leaving Ethan alone with whoever's doing this."
My heart did something weird in my chest.
"Adrian—" I started.
"No, Ethan." He looked at me, his gray eyes intense. "V wants me gone. They've been planning this whole thing to get me away from you. Which means once I'm gone, you're next. I'm not letting that happen."
"How noble," a voice said from the doorway.
Everyone turned.
A girl stood there. The most beautiful girl I'd ever seen—long black hair, perfect features, a smile that could stop traffic.
"Sorry to interrupt," she said sweetly. "But I think I can help."
"Who are you?" Dean Whitmore demanded.
"Emma Sterling. Communications major. President of the Digital Media Club." She held up her phone. "And I've been tracking V's accounts for the last hour. I know who they are."
The room went completely silent.
"You what?" Adrian breathed.
Emma's smile widened. "V isn't very good at covering their digital footprint. They think they're anonymous, but every message leaves a trace. Every post has metadata. Every photo has embedded information." She walked further into the room. "I've been watching this unfold on social media. The video of Adrian's confession. The threatening messages. The planted evidence. It's all connected to one IP address."
"Where?" I asked desperately. "Whose IP address?"
"That's the interesting part." Emma's eyes gleamed with something sharp. "The IP address traces back to this building. This floor. In fact—" She checked her phone. "The last message from V was sent from room 308. Just four doors down from here."
Everyone rushed into the hallway. Room 308's door was closed.
Marcus Romano pulled out his master key. "Stand back."
He unlocked the door and pushed it open.
The room was empty. Completely empty—no furniture, no belongings, nothing.
Except for one thing.
In the center of the floor sat a laptop, screen glowing.
On the screen was a video feed.
A live feed.
Of our room.
Of us standing in our destroyed room right now.
"They're watching us," Maya whispered. "Right now. They're watching."
Adrian walked slowly toward the laptop. "How is this—"
"DON'T TOUCH IT!" Emma lunged forward, but it was too late.
Adrian's finger brushed the keyboard.
The screen went black.
Then text appeared:
"Congratulations. You found my backup location. But I'm not here. I'm never where you think I am. I'm always closer. Always watching. And Adrian? Your hour just started. Tick tock. -V"
The laptop screen cracked down the middle with a sound like breaking bones.
Smoke poured out of it.
"Everyone OUT!" the fire captain shouted. "It's going to explode!"
We ran.
The explosion wasn't huge, but it was loud enough to make my ears ring. Smoke filled the hallway.
When it cleared, room 308 was on fire.
And written on the wall outside our room in fresh paint—paint that was still dripping:
"One hour, Adrian. Then I take what's mine. -V"
"What's yours?" Adrian read aloud, confused. "What does that—"
Emma's face had gone white. "Oh no."
"What?" I demanded.
"V doesn't want Adrian gone to hurt you," Emma said slowly, horror dawning in her eyes. "V wants Adrian gone so they can have you. Ethan, you're not the witness. You're the prize."
"What are you talking about?"
She showed me her phone. A message she'd just received from an unknown number:
"Smart girl, Emma. Yes, I want Ethan. I've always wanted Ethan. Adrian was just in the way. Now he's leaving, and Ethan will finally be mine. He doesn't remember me yet. But he will. We have so much history. -V"
My blood ran cold. "Remember them? What history?"
Another message appeared:
"Think hard, Ethan. Eight years old. The swing set. The promise. I never forgot. Did you? -V"
Eight years old. The swing set.
A memory hit me like a truck.
A kid with dark eyes and a cold smile, pushing me on the swings. Making me promise we'd be best friends forever. Getting angry when I said I had to go play with Adrian instead.
What was that kid's name?
"Ethan?" Adrian grabbed my shoulders. "You're pale. What's wrong?"
"I think—" My voice shook. "I think I know who V is."
"Who?"
"Someone from our childhood. Someone who—"
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered with shaking hands. "Hello?"
Heavy breathing on the other end. Then a voice—young, familiar, wrong:
"Hi, Ethan. Miss me? I'm coming home. And this time, you can't leave me behind."
The call ended.
"Who was that?" Adrian demanded.
I couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe.
Because I remembered now.
I remembered the kid on the playground who followed me everywhere. Who got jealous when I played with other kids. Who threw a rock at a boy who tried to be my friend.
Who got expelled from school for "concerning behavior."
Who swore revenge on everyone who took me away from him.
I remembered his name.
And he was here. On campus. Watching us.
"Ethan!" Adrian shook me. "Who is V?"
I finally found my voice, but it came out as a terrified whisper:
"His name is Vincent Park. And he thinks I belong to him."
Maya gasped. "Vincent Park? But that's—"
"Lucas Park's older brother," Emma finished grimly. "The one who filed the stalking complaint against Adrian. He's been planning this from the beginning."
"Why didn't he just approach Ethan normally?" Dean Whitmore asked.
"Because Ethan doesn't remember him," Emma said. "And because Adrian was in the way. Vincent needed Adrian gone, discredited, arrested—anything to get him away from Ethan."
"So all of this—" Adrian's face was white. "The video, the threats, the planted evidence—it was all just to—"
"To isolate Ethan," Emma confirmed. "Classic predator behavior. Remove all protectors first. Then move in for the—"
The lights went out again.
All of them. The entire campus plunged into darkness.
In the darkness, I heard footsteps. Coming closer.
"Ethan?" A voice called from the shadows. Familiar but wrong. "Where are you? It's time to come home."
Adrian grabbed my hand. "Run."
We ran.
Behind us, Vincent's laughter echoed through the dark hallways:
"You can run, Ethan. You've been running from me for eight years. But I'm done waiting. Ready or not—here I come."