Chapter Twenty-Six – I Survived?

Consciousness returned in fragments.

The smell of antiseptic. The hum of fluorescent lights. A beeping sound, rhythmic and insistent, like a metronome counting down to something I couldn't name.

I tried to open my eyes. The light stabbed through my lids, bright and unforgiving, and I squeezed them shut again.

Where am I?

The last thing I remembered was the floor. The cold, hard floor of my dorm room, rushing up to meet me. The pain in my side, sharp as a blade. The darkness swallowing me whole.

How long was I out?

I tried to move my hand. Something tugged at my wrist. An IV. I was in a hospital.

No. Not a hospital. Too small. Too quiet.

The campus medical center. The small clinic near the BioMed building, where students went for flu shots and sprained ankles.

Someone had found me. Someone had brought me here.

Who?

I forced my eyes open.

The room was small, white, generic. A bed with metal railings. A curtain on a track, pulled halfway closed. A window facing the parking lot, gray light filtering through the blinds.

And in the chair beside my bed, asleep with his head tilted back and his mouth slightly open, was Myles.

My heart stuttered.

He was still here. After everything. After the notebook. After seeing his name scrawled among the others.

He was still here.

I stared at him for a long moment, taking him in. The dark circles under his eyes. The stubble on his jaw. The way his hands rested on the arms of the chair, one of them inches from my bed, like he'd been reaching for me when he fell asleep.

He looked exhausted. Wrecked. And somehow, impossibly, still here.

"You're awake."

His voice was rough with sleep. He sat up straighter, rubbing his eyes, and then his hand found mine. Warm. Calloused. Real.

"How long was I out?" I asked. My voice came out hoarse, barely a whisper.

"Six hours." He glanced at the clock on the wall. "Almost seven. They ran some tests. Checked your vitals. You scared the hell out of us."

"I scared myself."

He squeezed my hand. "The doctor said it was stress. Extreme stress, exhaustion, dehydration. Your body just... shut down."

Stress. Of course. The sleepless nights. The constant fear. The weight of Alice's murder pressing down on my chest like a stone.

"That's all?" I asked.

"That's all," he said. "But they want to keep you hydrated, monitor you for a few more hours. And the doctor said if you don't start sleeping and eating properly, it'll happen again."

"I don't have time to sleep."

"You don't have a choice." His jaw tightened. "You can't help Alice if you're dead, Alexa."

The words hit harder than they should have.

"You think I don’t know that?” I whispered.

"Do you? Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you're trying to kill yourself with worry."

“It’s hard, I…”

The doctor came in, cutting off our argument.

A woman this time, young, with kind eyes and a no-nonsense voice. Dr. Reeves. She checked my pulse, looked at my chart, and sat on the edge of the bed.

"You're lucky your roommate found you when she did," she said. "Your blood pressure was dangerously low. Your body is screaming for rest, and you've been ignoring it."

"I've had a lot on my mind."

"I understand. But stress isn't just in your head. It manifests physically. The pain in your side? Muscle tension from chronic anxiety. The dizziness? Your body redirecting blood flow away from non-essential functions. The fainting? Your system hit an emergency shutdown."

"So I just need to relax?"

"I know it sounds simple. It's not. But you need to prioritize sleep. Eat regular meals. Take breaks." She paused. "And you need to talk to someone. A counselor. You're carrying a heavy load, Nova. You don't have to carry it alone."

"I have friends."

"Good. Let them help you."

She wrote me a prescription for a mild sedative to help with sleep, just for a few nights, and told me to follow up with a therapist on campus. Then she discharged me with a warning: if I ended up back here, she'd admit me for a full psych evaluation.

I nodded and signed the papers.

Myles helped me off the bed. My legs were shaky, but they held.

He walked me back to the dorm.

The campus was quiet, the afternoon light soft and golden. Students sat on the grass, studying, laughing, living their ordinary lives. I envied them.

"You're not going to see a counselor, are you?" Myles asked.

"I'll think about it."

"That's not a yes."

"It's also not a no."

He stopped walking. Grabbed my arm. Turned me to face him.

"I can't watch you fall apart, Alexa. I can't do it."

"You can always close your eyes," I said.

"Let me help you," he said. "Really help you. No more secrets. No more notebooks. Just us, figuring this out together."

"You might get hurt."

"I might. But I might also help you stay alive long enough to get justice for your sister." He stepped closer. "Isn't that worth the risk?"

I thought about Alice. About the promise I'd made to her. About the photograph in my pocket and the warnings in my desk.

"Yes," I said.

Myles nodded. "Then we start now. Where do we go from here?"

I pulled out my phone and opened the photograph of the basement door.

"We need a way in. Earl had a master key. Whoever killed him took it. But there might be another way."

"Like what?"

"Helena Vance," I said. "She's the graduate assistant. She has access to everything. If we could get her key card..."

"We'd be breaking and entering."

"We'd be investigating a murder."

"Same thing, different name."

I almost smiled. "Exactly."

He ran a hand through his hair, thinking. "How do we get her key card without her knowing?"

"She's having a party tonight. In the graduate student lounge. Ashley mentioned it before... before everything."

"And you want to go?"

"I want to steal her key card."

Myles stared at me. Then he laughed. "You're insane."

"Probably."

"But I'm in."

---

At 8 PM, I stood outside my dorm room.

Myles waited at the end of the hallway. I knocked twice, soft.

No answer.

"I know you're in there," I said. "I can hear your music."

The music cut off. Silence. Then the door opened a crack.

Ashley's face appeared in the gap. Her eyes were red, her nose pink.

"Ashley, can you open the door please?”

She stared at me for a long moment. Then she opened the door and let me in.

The room was dark, the curtains drawn. Her laptop was open on the desk.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I was scared. I'm still scared. But that's not an excuse."

"You put my name in that notebook."

"That was even before I knew you, like actually knew you. I couldn’t ask for any other roommate now.”

“If you didn’t trust me then, how do I even know you trust me now?” She folded her arms.

"I swear I do" I said.

She nodded slowly. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay, I forgive you." She crossed her arms. "But if you ever lie to me again, I'm done."

"There won't be a next time."

She pulled me into a hug. Brief, fierce.

"I need your help," I said when she let go.

"With what?"

"Helena's party. I need her key card."

Ashley's eyes widened. Then she grinned. "Finally. Something interesting."

---

At 8:47 PM, the three of us stood outside the BioMed building.

Me, Myles, and Ashley.

Madden hadn't responded to my texts. I'd called her twice. She hadn't picked up.

"You ready?" Myles asked.

"No."

"Good. Let's go."

We walked through the doors together.

The lobby was empty. Music drifted from upstairs, bass thumping, laughter echoing. The party had started.

"Ashley, you're the distraction," I said. "Go up, mingle, keep Helena busy."

"And you?"

"I'm going to find her office. Her key card has to be somewhere."

Myles touched my arm. "I'm coming with you."

"Someone needs to watch the stairs."

"Ashley can watch the stairs."

"No, I can't," Ashley said. "I have to be a distraction."

We argued for a minute. Then Myles sighed.

"Fine. Twenty minutes. Then I'm coming to find you."

"Deal."

Ashley took the elevator. Myles stationed himself by the stairwell door. And I slipped down the hallway toward Helena's office.

The office door was locked.

I knelt down, inserted the pick, and worked the pins. One. Two. Three. The lock clicked open.

I slipped inside and closed the door behind me.

The office was small, cluttered. Photographs on the desk. A laptop, closed. A filing cabinet, locked.

And there, hanging on a hook by the door, was a lanyard.

With a key card.

My heart raced. I grabbed it, slipped it into my pocket, and turned to leave.

The door opened.

Helena Vance stood in the doorway.

"Looking for something, Alexa?" she asked.

Behind her, the hallway was empty.

But her smile was full of teeth.