Chapter 4 THE MEETING IN THE DARK

RILEY’S POV

My fingers hovered over the dorm room lock for a full minute, heart thudding so hard I could hear it in my ears.

Don’t go. It’s a trap. You don’t know who sent that message. You don’t know what they want.

But then my mind drifted back to that balcony, to Selena’s voice cracking with fear, to the way she’d said they’ll ruin us both. I thought about the podcast, about the scholarship she’d just earned, the plane tickets she’d bought, the text she’d sent ten minutes before she died saying she was finally going to tell the truth. If I stayed quiet, if I hid like I always did… whoever hurt her would get away with it. And maybe next time, they’d come for someone else.

I scribbled a messy note on a scrap of paper and left it on Jade’s pillow: Went to get water, be right back. Don’t worry. I folded the tiny penknife my brother had given me into my jeans pocket, pulled my hood up low over my face, and slipped out into the cool, quiet night.

The old gym sat at the far edge of campus, away from the lights and the crowds. Most of the windows were boarded up, the paint peeling, and the only sound was the wind rustling through the overgrown bushes along the wall. I hugged the brickwork, every nerve on edge, glancing over my shoulder every few steps. What if this was a trick? What if whoever killed Selena was waiting for me?

I reached the back corner exactly at ten. No one was there.

I waited five minutes, ten, shifting my weight from foot to foot, telling myself I’d give it one more minute then leave.

“You’re five minutes late.”

I gasped, spinning around so fast I nearly stumbled. A boy leaned against the wall just out of the shadows, hands tucked into the pockets of a dark denim jacket, a crooked, easy smile on his face. He had messy light brown hair, sharp bright eyes, and the kind of relaxed posture that made him look like he belonged everywhere—even here, in the dark behind an abandoned building.

“Who are you?” My fingers closed tight around the penknife through the fabric of my pocket. “How do you know my name?”

“Kai Lennox.” He held up both hands slowly, like he was calming a skittish stray cat. “And yeah—ShadowCast is mine. I’m the one who messaged you.”

I stared at him, stunned. The voice I’d heard through my headphones had been sharp, unflinching, like someone who wasn’t afraid to say exactly what everyone else was too scared to admit. It didn’t match this boy standing in front of me, looking like he’d rather be cracking jokes than digging into a murder case.

“You’re the one who said it wasn’t suicide.”

“I am.” His smile faded, and his voice turned serious, steady. “Selena reached out to me three weeks ago. Messaged me through an anonymous account, said she’d been listening to the podcast, that she had something massive—something that would take down people no one would ever suspect. She said she needed help figuring out how to reveal it safely. Then prom night happened… and suddenly she’s gone, and everyone’s calling it a tragedy, and no one’s asking the hard questions.”

“Why me?” I shifted my weight, still wary. “There are hundreds of people who were there that night. Why track me down?”

“Because you were the only one who saw what really happened.” He took one slow step closer, keeping his voice low. “You saw her with someone. You saw the tattoo. Everyone else was too busy screaming or crying or staring at the police lights to notice anything else.”

My breath caught in my throat. “How did you know about the tattoo?”

“I didn’t—not until you started cross-checking campus records twenty minutes ago.” A small, lopsided grin tugged at his mouth again. “Nice encryption on your search trails, by the way. Almost good enough. Almost.”

My eyes went wide. “You hacked me?”

“I followed the trail you left behind.” His tone turned sharp, earnest, no trace of playfulness left. “Same as whoever killed her might be doing right now, Riley. If they’re half as careful as I think they are, they could see every search you run, every file you open, every message you send. You’re not invisible anymore—not if you’re looking for the truth.”

I swallowed hard, the cold wind biting at my cheeks. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and held it out to me, the screen glowing softly between us. It was a list of deleted messages, recovered from a backup server, sent from Selena’s account just days before prom:

“He’s got a mark no one forgets. A dragon wrapped around a dagger, all across his back.”

“People in high places are protecting him. If I say anything… I’m dead before the words even leave my mouth.”

“I’m meeting him at prom. One last chance to make him walk away before it’s too late.”

My blood ran cold. That was exactly what I’d seen. Exactly the tattoo, exactly the fear in her voice. No one else could have known that. No one but me—and him.

“Who is he?” I whispered, my voice trembling. “The man she was with.”

Kai looked me straight in the eye, his gaze steady and unwavering. “Damien Blackthorn.”

The name hung in the air like smoke—heavy, dark, and familiar. I’d heard it a hundred times, whispered in hallways, muttered in warnings, spoken in hushed tones like just saying it might bring trouble. The wealthy, brooding boy who kept to himself, who never stayed for parties, who had a reputation for anger and secrets and ties to things no one wanted to talk about. But no one had ever linked him to Selena. Not once.

“I don’t know him,” I said, my hands shaking as I handed his phone back. “I never saw his face. Only his back, only the tattoo. I didn’t know who he was.”

“Everyone says he’s dangerous.” Kai tucked his phone away, his expression grim. “Says he’s got enough money and enough influence to make almost anything disappear. Says he’d do anything to keep his secrets buried.”

I stood there frozen, every word turning over and over in my head like a broken record. What if it was him? What if the man I’d seen her begging for help was the one who hurt her? What if I’d been standing feet away from a killer and hadn’t even known it?

Before I could say anything else, bright white light flooded over us so suddenly I had to throw an arm up to shield my eyes.

Headlights.

A black motorcycle roared around the corner of the building, tires screeching softly on the pavement, skidding to a stop right at the curb no more than ten feet away. The rider sat tall and broad-shouldered, face hidden behind a dark tinted helmet, staring straight at me—only at me—for three long, terrifying seconds that felt like an hour.

He didn’t say a word. He didn’t move. Just sat there, engine idling low and rough, watching me.

Then the engine revved hard, and he sped off into the dark, vanishing down the tree-lined path before I could even catch my breath.

A scrap of thick black leather fluttered to the ground where he’d been, smelling faintl

y of cedar and smoke—the same scent I’d caught on the balcony that night