Ayla's Raine
The ceiling above me pulsed with weak yellow light.
On.
Off.
On again.
Like the infirmary itself was struggling to stay alive.
Pain bloomed behind my eyes the moment I tried sitting up. Sharp and immediate. My skull felt packed with broken glass.
I inhaled slowly.
Antiseptic.
Bleach.
Cheap detergent.
Hospital smells always tried too hard to convince people they were clean.
A curtain scraped open beside the bed.
"You're awake."
The nurse standing there looked exhausted in the deeply spiritual way only medical workers and underpaid teachers ever achieved. Mid-forties maybe. Hair twisted into a tight bun. Reading glasses hanging low on her nose.
"What happened?" My voice came out rougher than expected.
"You collapsed near the west stairwell." She checked something on her clipboard. "Minor concussion. Elevated heart rate. No serious injuries."
Collapsed.
Interesting choice of wording.
I touched the back of my head carefully.
Tender.
Swollen.
Not enough blood for something catastrophic, but definitely enough to suggest my skull and the floor had become briefly acquainted.
"Who brought me here?" I asked.
The nurse paused.
Too long.
"No one signed you in."
I looked up slowly.
"What?"
"You were found unconscious by campus security during rounds." Her tone stayed neutral, but her eyes avoided mine now. "You likely fell."
Likely.
Another interesting word.
"I didn't fall."
This time she met my gaze directly.
For half a second, something unreadable crossed her face.
Then it vanished.
"Well," she said calmly, "you're free to leave now."
Translation:
Stop asking questions.
I almost smiled.
Ravenwell was quickly developing a fascinating allergy to direct answers.
______
The hallway outside the infirmary was empty except for the distant hum of fluorescent lights.
Rain battered softly against the windows.
Everything in this university sounded muffled somehow.
Like the building absorbed noise before it could become evidence.
My belongings sat inside a small gray locker near the exit.
Bag.
Coat.
Phone.
I grabbed my phone first.
Unlocked instantly.
No missed calls.
No new notifications.
No video.
My stomach tightened.
I searched again anyway.
Gallery.
Deleted folder.
Cloud backup.
Nothing.
The recording from the bridge had vanished completely.
Not deleted.
Erased.
Clean enough to suggest someone knew exactly what they were doing.
My fingers curled tighter around the phone.
Okay.
Panic later.
Think first.
The footage disappeared after I lost consciousness.
Meaning:
someone had physical access to my phone.
Someone careful enough to wipe metadata too.
Which meant one of two things:
Ravenwell employed terrifyingly efficient IT staff
OR the guy on the bridge wasn't just violent.
He was smart.
A face flashed through my head instantly.
Dark eyes.
Bloodied knuckles.
Rainwater sliding down sharp cheekbones.
The way he'd looked at me.
Not emotional.
Calculating.
Like he was solving a problem.
I shoved the thought away.
No assumptions yet.
That was how investigations got contaminated.
Still…
I had seen his face.
And people who erased evidence usually had something worth hiding.
The apartment smelled like burnt coffee and Isla's cherry candles.
An aggressively confusing combination.
I stepped inside quietly, hoping to make it to my room before-
"Ayla."
Too late.
Isla sat at the kitchen counter surrounded by files and an open laptop, dark hair tied into a loose bun that meant she'd either been working a case or contemplating murder herself.
Possibly both.
Her eyes lifted slowly toward me.
Sharp.
Observant.
Annoyingly sister-shaped.
"You okay?"
"Fantastic." I shrugged off my coat. "Huge fan of head trauma, actually."
She didn't smile.
That was rarely a good sign.
"Ravenwell called."
My pulse skipped once.
"What'd they say?"
"That you collapsed on campus."
"Dramatic wording."
"Ayla."
There it was.
The detective voice.
I opened the fridge mostly to avoid eye contact. "It was probably stress."
"You haven't fainted from stress since you were fourteen."
"Puberty was hard."
"Ayla."
I grabbed a soda I didn't want and leaned against the counter. "I'm fine, Isi."
She studied me carefully.
Not my words.
My reactions.
That was the problem with living with someone trained to detect lies professionally.
Eventually, she sighed.
"I transferred here to keep you out of trouble."
I snorted softly. "That sounds exhausting for you."
"You have no idea."
But something about her expression shifted then.
Subtle.
Concern underneath irritation.
"Just…" She hesitated. "Be careful around Ravenwell."
I straightened slightly.
"Why?"
"Because universities like this care more about reputation than truth." She closed the laptop. "And truth disappears very easily here."
The room suddenly felt colder.
"What does that mean?"
"It means don't go digging into things that aren't yours."
Too late.
Three days passed.
Three long, restless, rain-soaked days.
Classes had been delayed another week due to what the administration called:
"internal faculty restructuring."
Which sounded suspiciously like: something went horribly wrong.
Ravenwell's online student forums exploded with theories almost immediately.
Gas leak.
Faculty scandal.
Student overdose.
Administrative cover-up.
Every rumor contradicted the next.
But one phrase appeared repeatedly:
North Tower Incident.
No details attached.
Every related thread mysteriously disappeared within hours.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
By Friday morning, cabin fever and curiosity had officially formed a dangerous alliance.
So I returned to Ravenwell.
Again: bad instincts.
The campus looked even more unsettling beneath the constant rain.
Fog coiled around the stone pathways. Gargoyles dripped black water from cracked mouths. The windows of the older buildings reflected absolutely nothing back.
Students clustered beneath covered walkways whispering in low voices. As I passed, fragments reached me.
"—they found him near North Tower—"
"—security got there before police somehow—"
"—they're saying suicide—"
I stopped walking.
A girl lowered her voice further.
"He was a third-year."
My stomach tightened instantly.
No.
No way.
Not that fast.
I continued toward the administration building carefully, forcing myself not to react.
Think logically.
Coincidences exist.
Rarely at Ravenwell, apparently, but still.
Orange security tape blocked part of the west corridor when I entered.
A SECURITY NOTICE sign hung nearby.
TEMPORARY RESTRICTION DUE TO MAINTENANCE.
Maintenance.
Cute.
A student passing beside me muttered quietly to his friend:
"Maintenance doesn't usually involve body bags."
My pulse spiked.
Definitely not coincidence anymore.
Student Affairs occupied the first floor.
Warm lighting.
Fake smiles.
Administrative despair.
The receptionist looked overwhelmed enough that I almost felt bad for what I was about to do.
Almost.
"Hi," I said sweetly. "I think there's an issue with my residence paperwork?"
She sighed immediately. "Name?"
"Ayla Raine."
She turned toward the filing cabinets.
The second she disappeared into the back room, I moved.
Fast.
The folders stacked beside the desk were organized by department.
Medicine.
Law.
Psychology.
Computer Science.
Interesting.
I pulled the computer science folder open just enough to skim the pages.
Student photos.
Academic reports.
Department assistants.
Then-
Him.
Not a mugshot.
Not disciplinary paperwork.
A student profile.
KAEL MERCERSenior Year, Cybersecurity & Digital Systems
My chest tightened.
Same face.
Same eyes.
No doubt.
Achievements covered half the page.
Cyber defense competitions.
National tech grants.
Internship offers from private security firms.
And beneath all of it:
DISCIPLINARY REVIEW - SEALED.
Well.
That certainly felt promising.
Footsteps approached.
I shut the folder instantly and stepped back just as the receptionist returned.
"Here we are," she said, handing me paperwork.
I smiled politely while my heartbeat tried to punch through my ribs.
"Thanks."
Then I noticed the stack of notices beside her elbow.
Black-bordered papers.
Obituaries.
"You need help with those?" I asked casually.
Her exhausted expression practically melted.
"You'd be saving my life."
Close enough.
She handed me half the stack.
"Just pin them on the departmental boards."
I glanced down absentmindedly.
Then froze.
A photograph stared back at me.
Blond hair.
Bruised mouth.
Tired eyes.
Noah Ellery.
FOUND DECEASED FOLLOWING AN APPARENT SUICIDE NEAR NORTH TOWER.
The hallway tilted slightly beneath my feet.
No.
No, he didn't jump.
Not after what I saw.
Not after the blood.
The injuries.
The fear in his voice.
And definitely not after saying:
They know.
Cold spread through my chest slowly. Because suddenly the worst part wasn't Noah's death. It was how efficiently Ravenwell had transformed it into paperwork.
A notice.
A headline.
A closed case.
Like the university had rehearsed this before. I stared at Noah's photograph while rain hammered softly against the windows behind me.
Somewhere in this campus, Kael Mercer was still walking around freely.
And someone had erased the only proof connecting him to Noah's final hours.
But they missed one thing.
Me.
And I had no intention of disappearing quietly.