The Morning After

Chapter Two

The first time I saw the video, I thought it was a joke.

I had been scrolling through my phone while half-asleep, sipping lukewarm coffee from the counter in my kitchen. The timestamp flashed 12:03 a.m., and the title in bold letters caught my eye: Live Now: Lila Monroe.

At first, I smirked. Typical Lila. Midnight livestreams, cryptic posts, and dramatic texts were her thing. She thrived on attention. That’s why I called her my best friend, even though sometimes I hated how easily she drew the spotlight away from everyone else.

But the smile died when I hit play.

It was wrong.

Lila was pale, almost ghostly in the glow of her phone screen. Her hair hung in a sloppy ponytail, strands falling into her eyes. She wasn’t laughing, wasn’t joking, wasn’t her usual fearless self. She whispered, her voice shaking, “I just feel like… nobody notices.”

I froze. My fingers trembled as the chat scrolled faster than I could read.

CALL 911

DON’T GO THERE

LILA PLEASE

And then… the feed went black.

I stared at the “Connection Lost” notification, my stomach sinking. Something was terribly wrong.

I called her phone. Straight to voicemail. I texted. No reply. Every second my panic grew.

By 6 a.m., I had walked to her house. The streets were quiet, fog curling around the streetlights, the kind of morning that made everything feel like it could hide secrets. Her front door was locked, the blinds drawn. Nothing seemed unusual. But the unease inside me had grown into something sharp, jagged.

I pounded on the door. “Lila! It’s me, Jade! Open up!”

No answer.

The mail slot had a pile of letters, untouched. I jiggled the doorknob again, harder this time. Still nothing.

My phone buzzed. It was a message from another friend: She hasn’t posted anything since midnight. No texts. Nothing.

I cursed under my breath. Something was happening. And I was the last one who had seen her before… whatever had happened.

I tried calling her parents, but Mr. Monroe’s voicemail picked up first. “We’re out of town,” it said. “Call again later.”

I felt my heart hammering. Out of town? At midnight? Why hadn’t she told anyone she was alone?

The back of my neck prickled as I stared at the house. That livestream—every detail replayed in my mind. The way she glanced over her shoulder, the trembling of her hands, the thud in the background. My chest tightened. It had been too deliberate to ignore.

I knew Lila. I knew she could handle being dramatic for the camera. This… wasn’t drama.

I took a step back, debating what to do next, when I noticed it.

A small envelope, slipped under the gate. My name was written on it in familiar handwriting—her handwriting. I picked it up. The paper was folded carefully, edges sharp and crisp. I opened it with shaking hands.

If something happens to me, look for the truth where everyone else is looking away.

No signature. No clue. Just those words, looping in my mind like a warning.

I stuffed the envelope in my pocket and ran to the corner store to grab coffee. I needed clarity. I needed witnesses. Someone had to know something.

By the time I returned, a small crowd had gathered outside her house. Neighbors peered from windows, whispering. Phones in hands, cameras pointed at the front door. A few teenagers from school lingered nearby, talking in hushed tones.

Someone said, “Did you see her livestream?”

I nodded, unable to speak.

“She just… disappeared,” another whispered.

I felt cold. My stomach churned. The words weren’t just rumors—they were fact. Lila Monroe, my best friend, was missing.

The police arrived shortly after. They asked questions I didn’t have answers to. Where had she been? Who was she with? Did she have enemies?

I stayed silent, clutching the envelope in my pocket. The words echoed over and over: look for the truth where everyone else is looking away.

The officers didn’t seem to understand. They were methodical, professional, checking her bedroom through the window, taking statements from neighbors. But there was no panic. No urgency. Just procedure.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that every minute we wasted made it easier for someone—or something—to cover up what had happened.

I returned to my house, pacing my room. My phone buzzed constantly. Messages from friends, screenshots of the livestream, frantic questions, theories. Some thought she had run away. Others feared the worst.

I opened the livestream again, the video saved on someone’s cloud account. I replayed it frame by frame. The angle of the camera. The shadows. The thud. That faint sound behind her—like someone moving in the dark.

Something didn’t sit right. Something was there. And no one had noticed.

I closed my eyes. I imagined what it would have been like, standing there, alone, knowing everyone was watching but no one would help. My chest tightened. I couldn’t shake the image of her trembling fingers, pressing against the phone like it was a lifeline.

I had to do something.

I texted a private message to someone Lila had trusted online—a tech-savvy kid named Amir. He was always one step ahead in digital sleuthing, tracking posts, uncovering deleted content. If anyone could find something the rest of us missed, it was him.

I typed quickly: Lila’s missing. I think the livestream shows more than anyone realizes. Can you help?

Minutes passed. My phone didn’t buzz. Hours, it felt like. The light outside my window faded into early afternoon. Every shadow looked like a clue. Every stranger walking past my street felt suspicious.

Finally, a message came back: Send me everything you have. I’ll look tonight.

I exhaled. Relief. At least someone was acting. At least someone could follow the trail Lila had left.

But deep down, I knew: nothing would prepare us for what we were about to find.

The truth wasn’t just in the livestream. It was hidden, buried in plain sight, in the posts, the comments, the whispers, the gaps in our attention. And if we didn’t look carefully, Lila Monroe might vanish from more than just our screens.

As I stared at the empty chair across from my desk, I made a silent vow:

I would find her.

No matter what it took.

And I would see what everyone else had missed.