Chapter 6: The Journal Entry

The gravel crunched beneath their boots, a sharp, rhythmic sound that seemed deafening in the stillness of the schoolyard. The moonlight turned the world into a series of jagged silhouettes and deep, ink-black pools. Jovan’s heart hammered against his ribs—not from the fear of the shadows this time, but from the weight of the photograph burning in his pocket.

He stopped abruptly, turning toward Thiago. “Wait.”

Thiago didn't stop immediately, his hand already reaching for the latch of the basement bulkhead. He pivoted, his face a mask of impatient irritation. “What now? We’re losing the window, Jovan. If the shift changes, the patrols start.”

“Stop lying to me,” Jovan said, his voice hard.

Thiago let out a sharp, incredulous huff, his posture stiffening. “Excuse me? What are you talking about?”

Jovan didn’t hesitate. He pulled the leather-bound journal from his bag, the worn spine creaking in his grip. He flipped to the back, his fingers trembling as he slid the photograph out and held it up. The moonlight glinted off the glossy finish, illuminating the faces of a younger, smiling Elias and a man who was clearly Thiago’s father.

Thiago froze. The bravado, the sharp, cynical edge he wore like armor, evaporated in an instant. He snatched the photo from Jovan’s hand, his eyes scanning the image with a frantic intensity.

“Where did you get this?” Thiago’s voice was barely a whisper, devoid of its usual bite.

“It was in his journal,” Jovan said, stepping into Thiago’s personal space. “My brother knew your dad. He called him ‘The Warden.’ Don’t you dare tell me you didn’t know, Thiago. Don’t you dare act like you’re just some random kid who happened to be assigned to watch me.”

Thiago looked up, his eyes searching Jovan’s face. The shock was raw, stripped of all deception. He gripped the photo so hard his knuckles turned white. “I… I didn’t know.”

“You’re telling me you’ve been stalking me for six months, and you never knew your own father was involved with Elias?”

“My father died three years ago, Jovan!” Thiago snapped, the volume of his voice surging before he caught himself and glanced nervously toward the dark windows of the school. He took a shaky breath, stepping back. “He was a Warden, yes. But he didn’t talk about his work. He kept his files in a safe in the basement of our house. I haven’t been down there since the funeral.”

“Then why are you here?” Jovan persisted, his gaze unrelenting. “Why protect me? Is it just because of some contract he left behind, or is there something else you’re hiding?”

Thiago rubbed a hand over his face, his movements jerky and uncoordinated. “I was sent by the same people who employed him. They told me you were a risk. They told me that if you found out what your brother was doing, you’d become a liability. I didn’t know it was him. I didn’t know it was Elias.”

“And now?” Jovan asked, his voice softening just a fraction, though the suspicion remained. “Does knowing it was him change things, or am I still just a liability to you?”

Thiago stared at the photograph, his thumb tracing the image of his father’s face. The hostility he usually projected toward the world had vanished, replaced by a profound, hollow exhaustion. “It changes everything. If my father was working with your brother, then this goes deeper than just ‘cleaning up.’ If they were working together, then whatever your brother was building… my father was likely the one who helped him bury it.”

“Which makes him the primary lead,” Jovan realized, his skin prickling.

“Exactly,” Thiago muttered. “And if they were keeping secrets from the Council, it means your brother wasn’t just a student. He was a defector. Or a whistleblower.”

“We need to get into the records,” Jovan said, moving toward the basement door. “If they worked together, there has to be a file. A log. Something.”

Thiago tucked the photo carefully into his jacket, his expression hardening back into a look of grim determination. “The main office archives are locked tighter than a bank vault. They use electromagnetic locks tied to a frequency that triggers a silent alarm if you try to hotwire them.”

“Then how do we get in?”

Thiago reached into his bag, pulling out a small, metallic cylinder wrapped in copper wire. “I built this. It’s a localized pulse generator. It’ll fry the lock for about ten seconds, just long enough to get the door open. But it’s going to draw attention. Anything in the vicinity that reacts to energy signatures is going to know exactly where we are.”

“Then we better be fast,” Jovan said, gripping his bag.

“Are you sure about this, Jovan? Once we break into those records, there’s no going back to being just a kid with a history project. You start asking the wrong questions, and the Council doesn’t just ‘babysit’ you anymore. They neutralize you.”

“My brother is missing, Thiago. I stopped caring about my future the day he vanished.”

Thiago nodded slowly, a dark smirk touching his lips. “Fair enough. Let’s go.”

They moved like ghosts through the maintenance entrance, slipping through the dark, damp corridors of the school. Every shadow seemed to stretch toward them, and the air hummed with a low, vibrating frequency that made Jovan’s teeth ache.

When they reached the archives door, it stood as a massive slab of brushed steel, no handle, no keyhole—just a sleek, glowing keypad.

“On my count,” Thiago whispered, holding the pulse device against the scanner. “Three. Two. One.”

He pressed the button. A high-pitched whine tore through the hallway, and the keypad flared bright red before going dark. The door clicked, the heavy magnetic seal releasing with a hiss. They shoved it open and darted inside, the door swinging shut behind them.

The room was filled with row after row of filing cabinets, stretching into the darkness.

“Stay close,” Thiago hissed. “I’ll scan for the index.”

Jovan walked along the aisles, his heart thumping. He reached the section marked for the years his brother was active. He grabbed the handle of the drawer, pulling it open. It glided out with a smooth, oiled grace.

He began searching the folders, his hands moving quickly. He found his brother’s name—Elias Vance—and pulled the file.

But as he opened it, his stomach dropped.

The folder was entirely empty.

He flipped through the pages, but there was nothing—no enrollment data, no transcripts, not even a social security number. It was as if someone had taken a razor blade to the entire physical existence of his brother within the school’s system.

“Thiago,” Jovan whispered, his voice trembling. “Look at this.”

Thiago walked over, peering into the folder. His face paled in the dim light of his flashlight.

“It’s not just empty,” Thiago said, tracing the jagged edges of the paper where it had been torn from the binding. “It’s been scrubbed. Someone didn't just delete him; they physically removed every trace of him from the archive.”

“Who would have the authority to do that?”

Thiago looked at the empty filing cabinet, his eyes wide. “Someone who’s still inside the building. Someone who knew we were coming.”

From the hallway outside, a heavy, rhythmic thud began to echo—not footsteps, but the dragging sound of something heavy and metallic.

“Jovan,” Thiago said, pulling his iron tool from his jacket. “I think we just walked into a trap.”