What's Happening!

Leo's pov

If I thought yesterday was brutal, today was a whole new level of psychological torture. By third period AP Calculus, I was sitting near the back of the lecture hall, trying to block out the low hum of the air conditioner and focus on the derivatives the teacher was scribbling across the white board.

But it was impossible to concentrate when I could literally feel the eyes boring into the back of my neck, like I was the answer to the equation on the board.

‘Fwump’ A tightly folded piece of notebook paper landed directly on top of my table, tossed from somewhere three rows back. 

I stiffened, trying to understand what just happened. A muffled burst of giggles erupted from the rows behind me. Keeping my face completely blank, I pulled the note down under my table so the teacher wouldn't see it.

I unfolded the paper just to see a crude, mocking drawing of a stick figure wearing a t-shirt with a massive 'S' for scholarship stamped on it, bowing flat on its face in front of a stick figure wearing a crown. At the bottom, someone had scrawled in sloppy print ‘Enjoy cleaning the King’s boots, charity case. Three days max before you cry.’

I didn't crush it or get mad. Instead, a cold, annoyed calm settled over me. They wanted a reaction? Fine. I’d give them one.

I pulled a bright red sharpie from my bag, right over the drawing, I wrote a massive 'D-' in bold ink. Underneath their sloppy handwriting, I added my own note in neat, mocking style ‘The anatomy on the stick figure is completely inaccurate, and your handwriting looks like a toddler gripped a crayon. See me after class for remedial art lessons’ 

While the teacher turned his back to write on the whiteboard, I stood up casually, walked three rows back, and dropped the paper directly onto the desk of Mark—the loudmouth lacrosse player who had been snickering the loudest.

"You dropped your homework," I said, loud enough for the surrounding desks to hear, giving him a flat, pitying smile. "Keep practicing, you'll get to a middle-school drawing level eventually."

Mark's face turned instantly bright red, his jaw dropping in pure shock. A few of the guys next to him tried to choke back a laugh, completely turning the tables on him. 

I calmly walked back to my seat and sat down, satisfying the boring eyes. For the rest of the period, nobody threw another note, they dared not. They had money? But I had a sharper tongue.

My quiet victory evaporated the second the final bell rang. The rush of adrenaline faded, leaving me with the dread of where I had to go next. I dragged my feet all the way to the Student Council wing. I stood outside the heavy frosted-glass doors, staring at my scuffed sneakers and debating if running away and losing my future was worth it.

As I walked down the long, high-ceilinged corridor, I caught sight of Sebastian far down the intersecting hallway. He was laughing with a group of varsity athletes, his blazer slung casually over his shoulder. He happened to glance over, spotted me, and flashed a warm, reassuring smile, raising his hand in a brief wave.

​I offered a small wave back, my chest loosening just a fraction. Thinking about it as I kept walking, he really felt like the only real person in this entire building. It was a relief to know someone here didn't look at me like garbage.

But that tiny bit of comfort vanished the second I walked into the main office. Damien was sitting behind his massive mahogany desk, looking like he had always been. His charcoal eyes instantly locked onto mine. The lines around his mouth tightened so hard his face looked like stone.

The silence that followed was suffocating. Damien didn't look at me, he just pointed a finger toward a heavy oak door in the back of the room.

 "The digital registry for old student files crashed, so go into the archive room. There are bins of physical logs from ten years ago, cross-reference them with the current registry. Do not leave until it's done."

"Right, got it," I said, letting out a sharp, bitter laugh. This guy was really a monster, he wouldn't even ask if I was fine or how I spent my whole day? I felt like chewing him out right there.

I marched past his desk, deliberately making my boots stomp against the floor, and yanked the archive door open. It was a narrow, windowless room filled with floor-to-ceiling shelves and dusty storage bins. 

I slammed the door shut behind me, sat aggressively on a plastic stool, and pulled the first bin toward me.

Outside, the sky had been darkening all afternoon, and about an hour into my shift, a massive summer storm finally cracked open. 

Thunder shook the entire building, rattling the shelves around me. Then, everything went pitch black, the power cut out completely.

"Great! Perfect! Amazing," I sighed, groaning in the dark. I stood up and reached for the doorknob, intending to use the light from the main office. 

But I twisted it, but didn't move. I twisted harder and harder, but it didn't open. Then I realized the lock was electronic, it had jammed shut when the power failed, trapping me inside.

 I banged my fist against the heavy wood. "Hey! Damien! The door is locked! I'm stuck in here!"

There was no answer, I banged again. "Damien!"

I was starting to wonder if this was all part of some twisted plan to show me who held the power. But then, I heard a sound from the other side of the door. It wasn't a calm click of a key, it was a frantic, heavy thud, followed by the sound of someone violently rattling the handle from the outside.

"Vance!" Damien's voice came through the wood, but it didn't sound like his usual cold, arrogant self. It sounded completely fractured, wild, and breathless. 

"Vance! Are you in there? Answer me!" I blinked in the darkness, stunned by the sheer panic in his voice. 

"Yeah! I'm fine! The lock is just jammed because the power went out—"

"Get it open!" he shouted, his voice cracking. On the other side, Damien was hitting his shoulder against the wood, his breathing coming in ragged, terrified gasps. The darkness and the enclosed space were triggering a massive panic attack, completely shattering his perfect mask.

"Whoa, chill out!" I yelled, pulling out my phone and flipping on the flashlight. "Don't break the door down, just find a tool or something!"

I shined the flashlight around the tight space, looking for a manual release switch near the hinges. But as I swung the bright beam of light across the bottom shelf, my foot accidentally caught the edge of a plastic bin filled with old, discarded school belongings from a decade ago.

The bin tipped over with a loud rattle, spilling old keychains, broken pens, and random student trinkets across the floor.

"Dang it," I muttered, bending down to throw the junk back in. I scooped up a handful of old lanyards, but the bright white light of my phone flashlight caught a small object that had rolled into the corner.

I froze, my breath catching in my throat. I picked it up, my hands suddenly feeling a little numb. It was a heavy, tarnished silver keychain, dangling from the ring was a small, custom-engraved metal tag with a very specific, deeply scratched initials logo.

“No way” It looked exactly like the silver charm my mom kept attached to her apartment keys—the one she claimed she got as an inheritance from her parents before I was born. I knew every single dent on that charm because I used to play with her keys as a kid. The one in my hand right now looked like an absolute mirror image, right down to the unique, sweeping font of the initials.

My mind started to loop. Was it just a common souvenir from back then? A total coincidence? It didn't make any sense. Why would a piece of junk in a Sterling Academy archive closet look identical to a personal item my mom carried around every day? Before I could even flip it over to check for a manufacturer's mark—

With a sudden, loud hum, the school's backup generators kicked in. The lights in the archive room flashed back to life, blinding me for a second, and the electronic lock gave a loud, metallic click.

The door was violently thrown inward, Damien stood in the doorway, completely pale, sweat dripping down his temples, his uniform slightly disheveled. He was breathing heavily, his grey eyes wide and frantic as he looked at me to make sure I was okay.

But the moment his eyes caught the item in my hands, he froze completely, his shoulders going completely rigid.