Brentford at night was all sharp shadows and flickering lights.
Helena stood outside the headmaster’s office, her hoodie pulled low over her face, heart pounding against her ribs like a war drum. Beside her, Theo knelt at the lock, working fast with a tension wrench and pick.
“You sure you want to do this?” he whispered.
“I need answers,” Helena said, her voice flat. “And we’re not getting them by waiting around for Bianca to destroy my life piece by piece.”
Theo’s tools clicked. The lock gave with a soft snap. The door creaked open.
They slipped inside.
The office was a polished cage—mahogany desk, gleaming plaques, old trophies in glass cases. On the wall: a framed portrait of Brentford’s founding family. Helena’s eyes lingered too long on one of the faces, a cold chill crawling down her back.
Theo darted behind the desk and pulled open drawer after drawer. “We’re looking for anything about Sophia. Records. Letters. Admin logs.”
Helena moved to the back bookshelf, fingers trailing along the spines until she found one titled Brentford Legacy: The Quiet Years. She pulled. Nothing.
She tried again.
Click.
A panel in the back wall shifted open.
Theo stood beside her in seconds, both of them staring into a dark compartment. Inside were a stack of dusty files and a slim silver box.
Helena reached in and grabbed the first folder.
It was labeled: Makinde, Sophia.
Her throat tightened.
She opened it.
Forged withdrawal forms—sloppy signatures that didn’t match. Letters addressed to the school board, written as if by Sophia’s guardians—people Helena was almost certain never existed.
A psychiatric report stamped CONFIDENTIAL.
Subject appears highly agitated. Claims to be under surveillance. Believes fellow students and faculty are involved in a conspiracy. Recommendation: removal from Brentford. Institutional observation advised.
Helena stared, horrified. “They made her look unstable.”
“They wanted her gone,” Theo said grimly. “Not just gone—erased.”
Helena turned the page.
And froze.
There were photos.
Black-and-white surveillance shots. Sophia leaving the dorm at night. Sophia crying on the steps of the chapel. Sophia… standing beside someone in a Brentford hoodie whose face was turned just out of frame.
Another photo.
Sophia in Greg’s room.
Her hands gripping a note. Her mouth open in what looked like panic.
Behind her—barely visible—was someone else.
A girl.
Long hair.
Blurry face.
Not Bianca.
Not Helena.
Theo leaned over. “You seeing this?”
But Helena wasn’t listening anymore.
Because a low voice—soft, almost sing-song—whispered behind her:
“They lied, Helena. Just like they did to me.”
Helena whipped around.
No one.
The room was empty.
“Did you hear that?” she asked sharply.
Theo blinked. “What?”
“Sophia,” Helena whispered. “I heard her. She—she said—”
“Helena,” Theo said carefully, “there’s no one here.”
“I heard her,” she insisted, louder this time.
“Let’s just get what we need and go,” he said, gently tugging the file from her hands.
She didn’t stop trembling the whole walk back.
The Next Morning — Carter Estate
Greg slammed his fist on his father’s desk. “You lied to me.”
His father—Reginald Carter—barely glanced up from his scotch. “Watch your tone.”
“You knew about Sophia. You knew what they did to her. You let it happen.”
“She was a liability,” Reginald said calmly. “A scholarship charity case who got in too deep. She started poking around where she didn’t belong.”
“Where you didn’t want her to,” Greg snapped.
Reginald stood slowly, his gaze turning cold. “You’re my son. You enjoy your privilege because I allow it. But if you keep digging? If you keep aligning yourself with that girl—Helena—you’ll lose everything. Your inheritance. Your future. Brentford. All of it.”
Greg didn’t speak.
He just turned and walked out.
Later That Day — Library Basement
Helena sat alone in the dark corner of the library’s archive wing, the psychiatric report open on her lap.
The same whisper again.
“They think you’ll break. Like I did.”
She looked up fast.
Still no one.
Her breath hitched. Her palms were sweating.
She was losing her grip.
A hand touched her shoulder—she screamed.
“Whoa!” Theo pulled back. “It’s just me. You okay?”
She nodded too fast. “I… yeah. Just tired.”
He studied her, concern in his eyes.
“Something’s wrong with me,” she whispered. “I’m hearing her. I think—I think Sophia’s in my head.”
Theo sat down beside her. “Or someone wants you to think she is.”
Helena looked at the last photo again. The blurry girl beside Sophia.
Her own face stared back.
And for a terrifying moment, she didn’t know whether it was real or not.
Cliffhanger Ending
That night, Theo stayed up alone, scanning through data he’d copied from the headmaster’s drive.
At 3:17 a.m., his eyes widened.
He found the visitor logs.
The last night Sophia was seen, Greg had signed out of campus at 10:03 p.m.
But someone else had signed out minutes before him.
Ferdinand Ashcroft.
Theo sat back, heart pounding.
Greg wasn’t the only one with Sophia the night she disappeared.
And the other boy… was still walking the halls of Brentford.
Still smiling.
Still lying.
The next morning, Theo didn’t wait.
He found Helena in the quad, pacing, her eyes bloodshot and fingers twitching around the straps of her backpack.
“You need to see this.” He pulled out his phone and showed her the screen.
Helena scanned the log. “Ferdinand? Why would he be logged out the same night Sophia vanished?”
Theo’s voice was steady, but his eyes were burning. “Because he was with her. Maybe even last.”
Helena swallowed hard, her skin crawling. “He’s Bianca’s right hand.”
Theo nodded. “And he’s been pretending he doesn’t remember Sophia. Never mentions her. Never reacts.”
“That’s because he knows something,” Helena whispered.
Theo leaned in. “You said you were hearing her voice. What if that’s not your mind breaking? What if someone’s trying to make you break?”
Helena looked up sharply.
“You mean like gaslighting?”
“I mean like psychological warfare,” Theo said grimly. “I’ve seen it before. Confuse your enemy. Make her question reality. It’s how they silence people without touching them.”
Helena’s jaw tightened.
“No more silence,” she said.
Brentford Cafeteria – Midday
Greg sat alone, head down, hood up. Since his blowout with his father, he’d barely spoken a word to anyone. His phone buzzed again and again with messages he didn’t want to read.
Dad: Final warning. Drop the girl. Or drop your future.
He turned it over and slammed it face-down.
A tray dropped in front of him.
Helena sat down without a word.
“You look like hell,” she said.
“You sound like you’ve seen a ghost.”
She leaned closer. “Ferdinand was with Sophia. The night she vanished.”
Greg’s eyes snapped to hers.
“You sure?”
“I’ve got logs. Theo found them.”
Greg ran a hand through his hair. “Why would he be there?”
“Bianca. She’s the spider. But Ferdinand’s her web.”
They sat in silence. Not tense. Not angry. But… aligned.
Finally.
Later That Night – Drama Hall Basement
Theo had spent hours scanning the old security footage, piecing together more moments—blurry movements in the hallway, a shadow leaving Sophia’s dorm, a flicker of someone unlocking the headmaster’s office weeks before the fire.
Ferdinand was in most of it.
But never facing the camera.
Always just beyond reach.
Then something new flickered across the screen—something Helena hadn’t seen before.
Sophia… standing in the middle of the Brentford garden. Her expression was frantic. She was holding a folded letter. And just behind her…
A shadow.
Ferdinand?
Bianca?
Greg?
It was too hard to tell.
Helena paused the video and leaned in.
But suddenly the screen went black.
A message flashed in red:
“Access Revoked.”
Theo cursed. “They’re onto us.”
Cliffhanger Ending – Brentford Library
That night, Helena sat at her desk in the library archives. Her head ached. Her vision swam.
She could still hear Sophia’s voice.
Faint, ghostlike.
“They’ll bury you like they buried me.”
She squeezed her eyes shut.
When she opened them, a new file was sitting in front of her.
She hadn’t brought it there.
Inside—another photo.
One she hadn’t seen before.
It was her mother—Mrs. Tricia—younger, standing at Brentford.
Holding hands with Reginald Carter.
Behind them?
A young girl.
Labelled in faded ink: “S. Makinde – Arrival Year”
Helena’s world tilted.
Her mother… knew Sophia.
Her mother had been part of this school’s shadows from the beginning.
Before Helena was ever born.
And now, the past was clawing its way forward—piece by shattered piece.
