Chapter 1 A killers gaze

THEA

Logically, I knew I should have turned around and gone back to my dorm room the second my phone hit thirty minutes of unanswered calls.

Maya never missed practice debriefs. Ever. She was just as obsessed with perfecting her footwork as I was, and we had literally spent the last hour arguing over our upcoming regional program.

Just two hours ago, we were sitting on the low wooden bench outside the cold, foggy glass of the ice rink locker rooms, unwrapping the thick white grip tape from our ankles. The air smelled like chilled ice and rubber matting, and my legs were still trembling from three straight hours of practicing jumps.

“You’re rushing your entry on the triple loop again, Thea,” Maya had said, tossing her blonde ponytail over her shoulder as she slumped against the lockers. She pulled out her phone and tapped the screen, holding it up so I could see the video clip she’d taken during our session. “Look right here. Look at your left shoulder. You’re opening up way too early, and it’s throwing your entire edge off.”

I let out a long sigh, staring at the screen while rubbing my sore calf. “I know, I know. My blade keeps catching on the transition. I’m trying so hard to keep the edge clean, but my balance feels completely off today.”

“Because you’re overthinking it,” Maya insisted, leaning in closer. “You do this every single time we get close to a major trial. You get inside your own head, you stiffen up your upper body, and then you fight the ice instead of letting the momentum carry you. You need to relax.”

“Relax?” I rolled my eyes, pulling my dark hair back into a messy knot. “Maya, the regional qualifiers are in less than a month. If I don't nail this combination, the judges are going to destroy my execution score. I can't afford to lose points on something as stupid as a shoulder turn.”

Maya bumped her shoulder affectionately against mine, a small, rare smile breaking through her usual serious posture. “And you won’t. Because you’re the most stubborn, relentless skater on this entire campus. But right now, you need to step off the ice, go wash off the sweat, and breathe.”

“Easy for you to say,” I muttered, though the tension in my shoulders eased just a fraction. “Your spins were practically flawless today.”

“Practice makes perfect, darling,” she teased, slinging her heavy skate bag over her shoulder and standing up. “Now, here’s the plan. Meet me near the campus fountain at eight o'clock. We’ll grab two huge coffees, sit down with my tablet, and go over the rest of our routine notes frame by frame until you can do that jump in your sleep.”

I looked up at her, narrowing my eyes playfully. “Eight o'clock sharp? Because if you make me stand out in that freezing air waiting for you, Maya, I swear I’m walking straight back to my dorm.”

Maya held up her hand, placing three fingers over her heart. “Eight o'clock sharp, Thea. I promise. I have a quick errand to run near the music department first, but I won’t keep you waiting.”

“Fine. Eight o’clock. Don’t be late.”

“I won’t. See you in a bit, Thea.”

But she was late.

And emotionally, a tiny knot of dark anxiety was already tightening in my gut. Maya was consistent. We were fierce competitors on the rink, but off the ice, we respected each other’s time completely. If she said eight o'clock at the fountain, she meant eight o'clock.

So I didn’t turn back. I kept walking down the dark, deserted path behind the arts building, the biting autumn wind stingingly cold against my face.

I pulled out my phone again, my thumb hovering over her contact name, and tapped call for the fifth time.

Ring.

Ring.

I paused right near the mouth of the narrow alleyway tucked between the music department and the old auditorium. I lowered the phone from my ear, ready to type out another irritated text, when a faint sound stopped me dead in my tracks.

It was muffled by the heavy brick walls, but completely unmistakable.

A tinny, muffled ringtone playing an upbeat pop song. Maya’s exact ringtone.

“Maya?” I called out into the shadows, my voice sounding thin and hesitant in the quiet night. “Is that you? Stop playing around, it’s not funny.”

No answer came back. Just the distant song ringing over and over against the cold stone.

“Maya, seriously! It’s freezing out here!” I called out again, taking a slow, cautious step forward into the darkness of the alley.

The moment I stepped past the brick corner, the air changed. It smelled horribly wrong, sharp, metallic, and heavy, mixed with the thick scent of crushed flowers and fresh tobacco smoke. My heart began to thump against my ribs, a heavy, suffocating beat.

I rounded the corner fully, and my entire world stopped.

The phone was lying flat on the dark concrete, its screen glowing bright white, flashing my name across the display: Thea Malloway calling...

Right beside the phone, lying in the center of a thick, dark pool spreading across the stone, was a single, dry, withered red rose.

My blood ran completely cold.

Every single student on this campus knew about the urban legend, the gruesome headlines that had been haunting the local news for months. The serial killer targeting young women, leaving every victim with the exact same terrifying signature. Everyone knew about the Red Rose Killer. The police had been hunting him endlessly, but no one had ever seen his face. Not a single soul had lived to describe him.

And now, that dry, dead flower was sitting right in front of me. The killer had caught up to Maya.

My eyes followed the wet, dark trail up toward the brick wall, where a pale figure sat slumped awkwardly in the shadows. Her limbs were bent at unnatural angles. Her golden blonde hair was soaked in dark wetness.

Maya.

A silent scream caught in the back of my throat. I slammed both hands over my mouth, my knees buckling beneath me so fast I nearly collapsed. Every single drop of warmth drained out of my body, leaving me paralyzed with pure, raw terror.

Then I realized I wasn't alone in the alley.

A tall figure was standing right beside her body, shrouded in the darkness.

He didn't look panicked. He didn't look frantic or rushed. He was standing completely still, leaning back against the damp brick wall like he had all the time in the world. Between his lips was a lit cigarette, the tiny ember burning a bright, menacing orange in the dark.

He didn't run. He just stood there over her, watching the smoke drift lazily up toward the sky.

My chest squeezed so tight I couldn't breathe. Every instinct screamed at me to turn around and run until my lungs burst, but my boots were glued to the ground.

Slowly, the boy tilted his head back, taking one long drag from his cigarette. As his chin lifted, the heavy black hood covering his head slipped backward just an inch or two.

The faint orange light of his cigarette illuminated the side of his neck.

Right below his sharp jawline, extending out from beneath his dark collar, was a distinct, jet-black tattoo. It wasn't an abstract design. It was a sharp, stylized black crown intertwined with a barbed rose stem, the dark ink creeping boldly up toward his ear. It was unmistakable. Unforgettable.

Then, the phone on the ground buzzed loudly again as the call timed out and auto-redialed.

The boy lowered his head. He looked down at the vibrating screen glowing between his dark boots.

He bent down with terrifying composure, picked up Maya’s blood-stained phone with long fingers, and brought it up toward his face.

He swiped the screen. He answered my call.

My heart shattered against my ribs. In my shaking hand, my own phone connected, showing the active call counter.

0:01... 0:02...

Panic hit me like a tidal wave. I fumbled frantically with my screen, my hands shaking so violently that my thumb kept sliding across the smooth glass, missing the red button.

He answered it. He’s listening right now.

I slammed the phone against my chest, desperately trying to stifle the harsh, terrified gasps ripping out of my throat. Tears blurred my eyes as I squeezed them shut, praying for my fingers to work.

The boy raised the phone slowly to his ear. He didn't say a single word. He just stood over Maya’s body, listening intently to the quiet line.

Then, his eyes shifted slowly toward the pitch-black corner where I was hiding.

He knew someone was there.

I panicked. I slammed my thumb onto the screen, finally cutting the call, and stepped backward in a desperate bid to melt into the night.

Snap.

A dry tree branch snapped loudly beneath the heel of my boot.

The noise echoed through the empty alley like a gunshot.

The boy’s head snapped directly in my direction.

For one agonizing, terrifying second, our eyes locked across the dark gap. I felt the cold, deadly weight of his stare pinning me to the spot. It was unfeeling. Calculating.

A killer's gaze.

Fear unlocked my frozen legs. I turned on my heel and bolted into the dark, running faster than I ever had in my life, the image of the red rose, the blood, and that black crown-and-barbed-rose tattoo on his neck burned forever into my mind.