Chapter 3 THE VOICE WHO KNOWS

RILEY’S POV

I clicked play before I could overthink it.

The voice that filled my headphones was nothing like the soft, sad tones from the campus radio.

It was smooth, sharp, and unapologetic—like someone who’d spent a long time waiting to say exactly what everyone else was too scared to admit.

“Welcome to ShadowCast. I’m your host, and tonight… we’re not mourning a tragedy. We’re calling out a lie.”

I sat up straighter, pulling my knees to my chest.

Jade was asleep across the room, curtains drawn, the only light the faint glow of my screen.

“They say Selena Voss jumped because she was sad. Because she was lonely. Because she had nothing left to live for.” The voice shifted, harder now, edged with quiet anger.

“But facts don’t lie. Selena got her full-ride law scholarship confirmed three hours before prom. She bought plane tickets for her summer trip to Europe yesterday afternoon. Ten minutes before she ‘climbed that railing crying’—she texted her best friend: I’ll tell him everything tonight. It’s all going to be okay.”

My breath caught. That was exactly what I’d heard.

She wasn’t saying goodbye. She was making plans to talk.

“People who are ready to end it all don’t talk about ‘telling everything.’ They don’t book flights. They don’t fight for scholarships they’ve worked their whole lives for.” The voice dropped, calm and deliberate.

“Selena Voss didn’t jump. And someone went to a whole lot of trouble to make sure you thought she did.”

The episode ended there—no outro, no name, just silence that rang in my ears.

I pulled my headphones down, my hands shaking.

I’d thought I was the only one who noticed.

The only one who knew something didn’t add up.

“Riles?”

Jade rolled over, blinking sleepily, then sat up when she saw my face.

“What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost again. Don’t tell me you still thinking about her,”

I handed her one earbud.

She listened, her expression shifting from confused to stunned, then to wary.

When it cut off, she pulled it out and stared at my screen.

“Who is this guy?” she whispered. “He’s going to get himself killed talking like that.”

“He’s right though, isn’t he?” I leaned forward, voice tight.

“Everything he said—she was going to meet someone. She said she’d tell him everything. That’s not someone who’s giving up.”

Jade ran a hand through her hair, sighing.

“Maybe. But the police said suicide. The school said suicide. Everyone’s already agreed on the story. If you start saying otherwise… you’re going to make enemies, Riles. Dangerous ones.”

“I know what I saw, Jade.” My voice shook, but I didn’t back down.

“She was with a man. A stranger. And he had a tattoo—big, black dragon wrapped around a dagger, covering his whole back. She was terrified. She said if they found out, they’d ruin them both.”

Jade went still.

All the argument drained right out of her face, replaced by something cold and wary.

She stared at me for a long time, then said very quietly:

“If you’re right… you can’t tell just anyone. Not the police. Not your friends. Not even me, not until we know who we can trust.”

I nodded slowly.

But the doubt was already warring with something else—curiosity, and a stubborn, burning need to know the truth.

“So what do I do?” I whispered.

“Nothing stupid.” Jade reached over, squeezing my hand.

“We wait. We see what happens next. You stay quiet, you keep your head down, and you let this… whoever he is… do his podcast thing. If he’s actually onto something, he’ll show his hand.”

But I couldn’t wait.

When Jade fell back asleep, I flipped open my laptop.

I pulled up every student directory, every sports team roster, every club photo archive I could find.

I cross-checked social media profiles, old campus event albums, even the alumni page.

I searched for tattoos, for dragon designs, for anyone tall, broad-shouldered, who kept to the shadows.

Hour after hour I scrolled, eyes burning, until my screen began to blur.

Nothing.

No one matched. No one had that exact mark. No one even looked like the man I’d seen.

I leaned back, rubbing my face, and told myself to stop.

To close the tabs, go to sleep, and pretend I’d never seen anything.

That’s when a small, blinking notification popped up in the corner of my screen.

It was a direct, encrypted alert—no sender name, no profile picture, just plain white text on black:

I know you saw the tattoo.

I know you know it wasn’t suicide.

Meet me behind the old gym at 10PM.

Come alone if you want the truth.

—