THE HUNTED TRUTH: DEAD AIR

Prom night at Oakridge Academy was supposed to be a dream. For me, it was just a shift.

While the elite students danced under glittering crystal chandeliers, wearing dresses that cost more than my family’s rent, I stood behind the punch bowl. My back ached, my feet hurt in my cheap flats, and my uniform felt stiff and itchy. As a scholarship student, this was the price of admission. If I wanted to keep my spot at this school, I had to work their events. I was invisible to them. Just a hand holding a ladle, pouring sparkling cider for kids who didn’t even look me in the eye.

Except for Charlotte Vance.

Charlotte was the school’s undisputed golden girl. She was beautiful, brilliant, and the president of the elite student council. But unlike the rest of them, she actually looked at me. Just an hour ago, she had walked past my station, paused, and flashed a warm, perfect smile.

"Hang in there, Joy," she had whispered, leaning in. "It’s almost over. For all of us."

At the time, I thought she was just being nice. I thought she meant the school year was ending. But looking back, her eyes were too bright. Too frantic.

Now, it was midnight, the time for the coronation. The gym grew quiet as the principal took the microphone on the stage. The spotlights swiveled, cutting through the dimmed room, searching for the Prom Queen.

"And now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for," the principal announced, his voice booming through the speakers. "Our Prom Queen for this year... Charlotte Vance!"

The crowd erupted into cheers and applause. Everyone turned toward the double doors, waiting for Charlotte to make her grand entrance.

Nothing happened.

The silence stretched. Ten seconds. Thirty seconds. A full minute. The principal cleared his throat, looking off-stage to the event coordinators, who were frantically typing on their phones.

"Charlotte?" the principal called out, trying to laugh it off. "Don't keep us waiting."

But Charlotte didn't walk through the doors. Instead, the heavy oak doors of the gym creaked open, and a cold breeze swept through the warm room. There was no one there.

Then, all at once, every single phone in the gymnasium buzzed.

It wasn't a trickle of notifications. It was a synchronized, deafening roar of vibrations and chimes. Hundreds of screens lit up the dark room with a bright, blue glow. I reached into my apron pocket and pulled out my own cracked phone.

A text message had been sent to the entire student body from an unknown, spoofed number. There was no text—just a single link to a podcast hosting site.

Beside me, a girl in a silk dress gasped. "What is this?"

Everyone was staring at their screens. Someone near the front of the stage clicked the link, and a second later, another person did. Soon, the audio was playing from dozens of phones at once, creating an eerie, echoing chorus that filled the silent gym.

It was Charlotte's voice.

"If you’re hearing this, I’m already gone," the recording said. Her voice was steady, but there was a sharp edge of fear underneath. "And one of you made sure of it."

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd.

"For years, the Oakridge Student Council has played God," Charlotte’s voice echoed from the speakers of a hundred phones. "We built a kingdom on secrets, blackmail, and lies. But secrets breed darkness, and when the truth is buried in silence, everyone gets trapped in the maze. I tried to play their game. But the game is rigged."

My heart was beating against my ribs. I looked over at the VIP table near the stage. The remaining members of the student council, the untouchable, wealthy elite, were standing frozen. Their faces had gone completely pale. One of them, the vice president, was frantically typing on his phone, his hands shaking.

"Every week, a new episode will drop," Charlotte's voice continued, chillingly calm. "Every week, a new secret will be exposed. I’ve left the master files in safe hands. To the council: the clock is ticking. Unmask the truth, or let the world watch you burn."

The audio cut to static, and then there was nothing but dead air.

The gym exploded into absolute chaos. Screams, whispers, and frantic shouting filled the air. The principal was yelling into the microphone for everyone to remain calm, but no one was listening.

I stood frozen behind the punch bowl, my hands trembling so hard I dropped the plastic ladle. It splashed into the red liquid, but I didn't care.

Charlotte was gone. And she had just declared war on the most powerful kids in the school.

I pulled my phone back out, staring at the screen. My eyes blurred as I read the title of the podcast channel.

The Hunted Truth.