The police office at Ravenswood smelled faintly of coffee and bleach. Alan Graves and Gregory Moore had set up a small interrogation room near the front, quiet and cold. One lone chair. One table. One small light overhead.
Orion Lennox sat in the chair, calm but alert. He folded his hands over his notebook, fingers tracing the edges of the cover, eyes steady as he stared at the wall.
"You were on campus last night," Graves said evenly.
"Yes," Orion replied. Voice soft. Controlled.
"Late," Moore added. "After curfew. Alone."
Orion didn't blink. "I was reviewing documents for a project. Academic work. Nothing more."
Graves leaned forward slightly. "You knew Langley had conflicts with students. You knew about the rumors, right?"
Orion's lips pressed together. "I heard whispers. Who hasn't?"
"Did you—personally—have any encounters with him?" Moore asked.
Orion's eyes flicked to Moore for the briefest moment before returning to the wall. "Nothing worth noting."
The First Message
Outside the office, the school was quiet, almost too quiet. Students had gone back to their dorms. Security cameras recorded empty hallways. But in a corner of the school's email server, a new message appeared.
No subject. No sender.
The body read:
"Do you think he deserved it? Think carefully. We are watching who talks, who listens, and who looks too closely. Some questions have answers only the patient can find."
Attached: a single photograph of Eli Hart sitting alone in the library earlier that day.
Inside the Room
Moore and Graves exchanged a glance.
Graves spoke first. "Interesting timing, isn't it? That message."
Orion didn't react. He continued flipping through his notebook, pretending the words on the paper demanded all his attention.
"Who do you think sent it?" Moore asked.
Orion lifted his eyes briefly. "Someone trying to manipulate attention."
"Or test you," Graves added. "Someone trying to see if you notice patterns. If you react."
Orion's fingers tapped lightly on the notebook. "And what would you do if you were in my position?"
Graves and Moore both paused. That wasn't a challenge; it was an observation.
The Subtle Threat
Outside the office, Rowan and Lyra lingered in the hall, invisible to the police.
Rowan whispered, "The killer's sending messages now. Not killing yet. Just warning."
Lyra's eyes narrowed. "And someone's going to be blamed if they don't interpret them correctly."
Rowan's hand clenched. "I hate this game."
Lyra touched his shoulder. "We have to play it anyway."
Orion Notices
By the end of questioning, Orion was released with no charges, no warnings. The detectives had nothing solid—nothing concrete.
Yet as he walked past the library, his gaze flicked toward Eli, who glanced up nervously at the sudden shadow.
The photograph had already done its work.
Orion's mind raced. The killer had begun a new strategy: psychological manipulation.
And now, the game wasn't just about hiding—
It was about seeing, interpreting, surviving.