Chapter 4 The Ghost Returns
Dominic's POV
Dominic's phone buzzed at exactly 3:47 AM, jolting him from another sleepless night.
His hand shot out, grabbing the phone from his nightstand before his mind fully processed what had woken him. The screen glowed in the darkness of Room 237, casting shadows across Ethan's side of their dorm—the side he'd kept untouched for three months like some pathetic shrine.
ADMINISTRATIVE NOTIFICATION: ETHAN HARTLEY - STATUS CHANGED TO ACTIVE. EXPECTED ARRIVAL: OCTOBER 15TH.
Dominic's blood turned to ice.
He sat up slowly, reading the message three more times to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. Ethan Hartley. Active. Returning.
Impossible.
Ethan was dead. Dominic had found his blood-soaked jacket in the moorlands seventy-three days ago. He'd searched every inch of those Scottish hills for a body, coming up empty except for that damned jacket he'd hidden in his locked drawer because it was the only proof something terrible had happened.
So who the hell had just activated Ethan's student account?
Dominic's mind raced through possibilities, each one worse than the last. Ashford covering his tracks? Someone else who'd discovered the conspiracy? Or—his chest tightened—could it actually be Ethan, somehow alive?
No. He'd seen the blood. Too much blood for anyone to survive.
He threw off his covers and moved to his desk, firing up his laptop. His fingers flew across the keys, accessing the Institute's administrative backend through a security exploit he'd discovered months ago. If someone had changed Ethan's status, there would be a trail.
The records loaded. His breath caught.
Medical clearance documents. Dated yesterday. Submitted from a London IP address.
Dominic opened the files, scanning them with the cold analytical precision his father had beaten into him since childhood. Doctor's signature. Treatment records. Return authorization.
All of it was fake.
He'd spent enough time forging his own family's documents to recognize amateur work when he saw it. The therapy notes were too generic. The medication dosages were standard textbook amounts. The signature was probably traced from some random NHS website.
But the IP address—that was interesting. Whoever submitted these documents had done it from a flat in Kensington. Ethan's childhood home.
Dominic's heart started pounding.
Elena.
Ethan's twin sister. The one Ethan had mentioned exactly twice—once calling her "brilliant but reckless," once saying "she'd burn down the world to protect the people she loves."
Ethan had sent Dominic one final encrypted message the night he disappeared: If something happens to me, Elena might come looking. Keep her safe. She doesn't know when to quit.
At the time, Dominic had thought it was paranoia. Now he realized it was prophecy.
"You absolute idiot," he muttered to the empty room. "You actually did it."
She'd somehow accessed her dead brother's account, forged medical documents, and convinced the administration to let "Ethan" return to campus. It was either the stupidest or most brilliant plan he'd ever seen.
Probably both.
Dominic pulled up everything he could find on Elena Hartley. The Institute's records were sparse—just basic family information collected during Ethan's enrollment. But a quick search revealed more: graduated Cambridge with honors in forensic psychology. No social media presence. One speeding ticket in London last year. A lease on a flat in Kensington that she'd just abandoned two days ago.
She was smart. Educated. And apparently suicidal.
Because walking into Ashwood Institute pretending to be her dead brother was a death sentence. Ashford had killed Ethan for getting too close to the truth. He'd kill Elena too, the moment he realized what she was doing.
Unless Dominic stopped her first.
He grabbed his phone and typed out a message to the number Ethan had given him months ago—emergency contact only. Elena's number.
I know you changed Ethan's status. I know you're coming. And I know exactly who you are, Elena.
He hesitated over the next line. Part of him wanted to warn her off. Tell her to run, to forget about Ethan, to save herself while she still could. But another part—the part that had spent three months drowning in guilt and rage—saw an opportunity.
If Ashford thought Ethan was returning, he'd make a move. He'd have to. And when he did, Dominic would finally have the proof he needed to destroy him.
But that meant using Elena as bait. It meant letting her walk into danger.
It meant becoming exactly the kind of monster his father raised him to be.
When you arrive, come to Room 237 immediately. We need to talk about how you want to die.
He hit send before he could overthink it.
Dominic stood and walked to Ethan's side of the room. His friend's textbooks still sat on the desk, marked with notes in Ethan's aggressive handwriting. His jacket—the spare one, not the blood-stained one hidden in Dominic's drawer—hung on the back of his chair. His favorite coffee mug sat on the windowsill, half-full of coffee that had long since grown moldy.
"I'm sorry," Dominic said quietly to the empty space. "I promised I'd keep her safe. But I need her to help me finish what you started."
His phone buzzed. A response from Elena.
If you hurt my brother, I'll kill you myself.
Despite everything, Dominic felt his lips twitch. She had Ethan's fire. That same reckless courage that got people killed.
He typed back: Your brother's already dead. The question is whether you're smart enough to survive long enough to find out why.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Finally: I'll see you in two days.
Dominic set his phone down and returned to Ethan's jacket, pulling it from the chair. He held it to his face, inhaling the scent that still clung to the fabric. Oak and rain. Ethan's signature scent.
Would Elena smell the same? Identical twins sometimes shared scent markers in their world. If she did, her disguise might actually work.
For a while.
Until Ashford figured it out. Until someone noticed the small differences. Until her body betrayed her and revealed what she really was.
Dominic's hands tightened on the jacket. He'd failed Ethan. Failed his own sister before that. Failed everyone he'd ever tried to protect.
But maybe—maybe—he could keep Elena alive long enough to get justice for all of them.
His laptop chimed. Another notification.
SECURITY ALERT: UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS DETECTED IN STUDENT RECORDS SYSTEM.
Someone else was searching the database. Someone with administrator privileges was looking at the same files Dominic had just accessed.
And they were specifically searching for one name: Elena Hartley.
Dominic's blood ran cold as he watched the search history populate. They were pulling up everything—her address, her phone records, her travel history, her financial transactions.
They knew she was coming.
Which meant Ashford knew.
Dominic grabbed his phone to send Elena another warning, his fingers flying across the screen—but before he could type a single word, his door crashed open.
Three security guards filled the doorway, and behind them stood Professor Vincent Ashford himself, smiling like a snake.
"Mr. Blackwell," Ashford said pleasantly, his cultured British accent filling the room like poison. "I believe we need to discuss your roommate's miraculous resurrection."
