Novels by Still Iv

The moment I got the text alert from school—the one screaming *EMERGENCY ON CAMPUS*—my stomach bottomed out. The second I pushed through the mass of people, saw Elijah’s blood on the tiles, and saw Eloise’s terrified face being dragged away, something in me snapped like a wire pulled too tight. I didn’t think. I didn’t hesitate. I didn’t breathe. I ran. By the time I reached the motorcycle lot, my hand was shaking so badly I nearly dropped my keys. My helmet wasn’t even fully buckled before I threw my leg over the bike, kicked the engine awake, and tore out of the school grounds like the devil himself was on my heels. The wind hit me like a slap. Cold. Hard. Loud. I didn’t care.I almost ran over security guards on my way out because they thought it was a good idea to get in my way. My brain played the same image again and again: Eloise’s face—wide-eyed, terrified, her legs dragging uselessly across the floor as the man pulled her into the shadowed hallway. Her mouth opene

I never thought wedding cake magazines could make Alex this dramatic. And yet, here we were—two grown men sitting cross-legged on the couch, arguing over buttercream textures like it was a diplomatic crisis. Alex tapped a page for the ninth time in five minutes. “I like this one, but—ugh—I don’t know if the lace design is too much. Do you like lace?” “I like you not having an aneurysm,” I said, leaning back and brushing my fingers lightly along his shoulder. “Whichever one helps you sleep at night works for me.” Alex shot me a look that was ninety percent exasperation and ten percent soft. “You’re not helping.” “I’m easing your stress levels.” “You’re causing my stress levels.” I smirked. “Then we’re evenly responsible.” He was about to argue—because he always argued—when a scream cut the air in half. A real one. A sharp, terrified, gut-wrenching scream from upstairs. Marilyn. Alex froze. I was already on my feet, heart slamming hard enough to bruise bo

I don’t know why the note unsettles me so badly. Eloise isn’t dramatic. She isn’t cryptic. She isn’t one of those girls who writes poetic nonsense for attention. So the simplicity of it — the softness, the gentleness — feels wrong. So wrong that it keeps replaying in my head like a whisper I can’t shake. “Thank you for showing me what freedom feels like? I wish I could explain?”What was that supposed to mean? I don’t like it. I don’t like any of it. And I especially don’t like that Eloise is not in class. She’s never absent without saying something. She always shows up. Being class president required that much. But today… nothing. She’s gone, and this note is the only proof she even existed in the last hour. Everyone around me is distracted — whispering about another cafeteria fight, about Norman disappearing from school early, about how the principal looked stressed this morning.But my mind is somewhere else entirely. Something is wrong. Deeply, bone-deep wrong. I d

The wind on the rooftop was colder than I expected for noon, slicing across my face like a warning. I breathed it in anyway. I liked the cold. It reminded me that I was alive, that this moment was real, that the plan I had been weaving with such patient precision was finally unfolding in front of me. Elijah arrived right on time. I had told him earlier—soft voice, shy smile, the same one he always trusted— “Come on, man. Chinese takeout on the roof. My treat.” He believed me because people like Elijah always believe the quiet ones. The gentle ones. The ones who keep their heads down and hold doors open. He walked out of the door with damp hands, his sleeves still rolled up from cleaning. His face was bright when he saw me—until he saw the gun in my hand. His smile died instantly. Before me stood Eloise. Her entire body was shaking. Her breathing was uneven, like she was trying to keep herself from collapsing. Perfect. “J… Jibril?” Elijah whispered. “Wh

I finish wiping down the teacher’s office and toss the last handful of used tissues into the trash bag. My back aches from bending over the desks all afternoon, but the quiet is comforting. Cleaning is simple. Predictable. The opposite of my personal life — especially now that my phone is missing and half my contacts think I ghosted them. I wash my hands in the tiny sink tucked near the filing cabinets, scrubbing until the cheap soap smells too sharp. I check my pockets again, even though I’ve already checked them twelve times today. No phone. No notifications. No cheerful pings from my sister. Just silence. Great. I sigh, shut the tap off, and dry my hands on my shirt because the school never replaces the paper towels. At least I’m not alone. Jibril, the older janitor with the quiet voice and oddly gentle eyes, has been trying to lift my mood all day. He barely speaks, but after seeing me tear up when I realized my phone was gone, he’d invited me to grab Chinese takeo

School felt different today. Not louder. Not busier. Just… sharper. Every sound cut a little deeper. Every color looked a little brighter. Maybe that’s what happens when you know you’re seeing things for the last time—your brain starts memorizing even the useless details. The way the windows flicker with sunlight. The way paper smells when a teacher flips a page. The distant hum of the building, like it’s alive. I sat at my desk, pretending to listen, pretending to take notes, pretending to be normal. But my chest felt tight—tight in that way that meant tears were balancing right behind my eyes, waiting for the smallest excuse to spill over. I wasn’t ready to leave this life. But I didn’t have a choice. Wakeem had found me. He knew where Tristan lived. Where Alex lived. Where Marilyn slept. This time, it wasn’t a threat I could outrun. Someone would die if I stayed. So I had to go. Even if it broke everything I’d just started building. The te

115[ALEX'S POV]Cheers erupted from our friends as I knelt with him, pulling him into a fierce, breathless hug. The applause from Nico, Rita, Marilyn, and Mathew was thunderous, a joyous sound of love and support. We kissed, and in that moment, all the pain of Heldon, all the long, lonely nights in Australia, all the uncertainty of our future simply dissolved. It was just us, in a circle of love and celebration, finally home and finally whole. The ring felt impossibly light and impossibly heavy all at once on my finger.As our lips parted and the cheers reached their peak, the doorbell rang.The sound was a jarring, discordant note in the symphony of our joy. Marilyn, bless her heart, bustled to the door. I saw her open it to a girl who couldn't have been more than seventeen or eighteen. She was pretty in an unassuming way, with kind eyes and long, brown hair. She wore a simple, functional backpack and looked lost, a little out of place, and entirely unfamiliar."Hello dear," Marily

[Four years later....]The descent into the familiar sprawl of Los Angeles felt surreal. For four years, our lives had been framed by the endless blue of the Pacific from a different hemisphere, the sun rising on a new day while America slept. Now, the sprawling grid of city lights below us was a promise, a beacon of a life we had worked so hard to reclaim. I felt Tristan’s hand tighten around mine, his thumb tracing a slow, steady pattern on my knuckles."Home," he whispered, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through me.I just nodded, my throat tight. The last time we had left, it had been an escape. A frantic, humiliating flight from a life that had been ripped to shreds. The scandal that had consumed Heldon University—and our lives—had forced us to rebuild from the ground up. Tristan had lost his job, his reputation, his life's work. I had lost my scholarship, my future, and the trust of my friends that I had thankfully managed to regain before we left.Australia had been our

The sleep that had swallowed me was a heavy, dreamless blanket, a welcome oblivion from the crushing weight of reality. I woke slowly, the morning light filtering through Tristan's curtains feeling foreign and soft. The house was quiet, but as I made my way to the living room, I heard hushed voices.My heart immediately seized with panic. Tristan? Was he on the phone with his lawyer? With the university? I rounded the corner, expecting to see him pacing, but stopped dead in my tracks.Sitting on the sofa, looking small and exhausted but undeniably real, were Rita and Nico. Wait, how? Is this a dream? What were they doing here?Oh no, they came here to give me more of a tongue lashing? Well, I'm not going to stay and let that happen. I turned to run back into my bedroom when I heard his voice.Nico looked up first, his eyes wide with relief. "Alex," he breathed.Rita just stared, her face a complicated mess of shame and relief. I felt my legs quake under me but I fought to keep steady

The tranquil elegance of Samantha's home had been a temporary haven, but her words had been a catalyst. I drove away, my mind no longer held any resentment.In its stead was a storm of guilt and regret. Alex. Nico. My two best friends. I had turned my back on them when they needed me most, all because of a truth I had completely misunderstood. Even if I had misunderstood it, I was right to be angry. Tristan had broken my sister's heart but he had done his best to make up for it with her and had given her a shot at happiness.Samantha had let go of the anger and pain that I was still stubbornly holding on to all these years. It was the reason that Alex must have been so scared to tell me the truth about what was happening.I thought back to the way that I had come at him that day. The awful names that I had called him. It made me flinch the more I dwelled on it. I was angry and I had said some very cruel things.I wish I could take them back.I wish that I could take care of Alex now.

The dorm room, the campus, my friendships—it all felt like a battlefield. The only person I could think to go to was my sister, Samantha. I drove to her house, a sprawling, modern-gothic marvel tucked away in a quiet, tree-lined neighborhood. My own family's wealth meant I was used to this kind of luxury, but Samantha's home was a masterpiece of taste and refinement. At least that was how I felt. Our mother, on the other hand, felt it was too morbid.It reminded her of a horror movie and she hated it. Samantha didn't care about our mother's feelings. She liked to do what she liked.As I walked up the marble steps, past the impeccably manicured lawn and the fountains that whispered rather than splashed, my chaotic emotions felt completely out of place. The floor-to-ceiling windows seemed to look out on a world of perfect order, and the air inside smelled of expensive lilies and quiet wealth. It was all so serene, a stark contrast to the storm raging inside me.I found Samantha in her

The quiet of the house felt deafening, usually it would have been punctured by laughter and stories but not today.Today, we were dragged into the storm that our lives had become all of a sudden. Alex was asleep, finally, a deep, heavy quiet emanating from the bedroom. I’d watched him collapse onto the bed, pulling the comforter over his head like a child seeking shelter from a monster. I had said nothing. All I could do was watch from the doorway.His raw pain, the way he’d flinched from Nico, the primal scream he’d let out at Caleb—my Alex. My poor darling was utterly shattered and it was all because of me.My own email, the cold, curt termination notice, felt like a branding iron against my skin. Professor Tristan Walker. Archeology Department Head. Gone. Just a few lines of corporate jargon, severing years of dedication, research, and passion. It was swift, brutal, and completely absolute. The university, in its infinite wisdom and self-preservation, had acted with ruthless ef