chapter 15 " cracks in the crown "

The rain was relentless.

Greg stood outside the tall, iron gates of his family’s estate, fists clenched so tight his nails dug crescent moons into his palms. The world behind him was chaos. Lies unraveling. Secrets bleeding through the cracks in every wall of Brentford.

But the real rot?

It lived here.

He didn’t wait for the butler to answer the door. He shoved it open himself.

“Father!”

Mr. Carter appeared at the top of the grand staircase, calm as ever in a pressed charcoal suit, a glass of brandy in hand.

“I told you not to come back,” he said coolly.

Greg climbed the stairs two at a time, fire burning behind his eyes. “You lied to me. About Sophia. About everything.”

Mr. Carter’s jaw tensed. “Watch your tone.”

“You forged her withdrawal. You were in that room the night she disappeared. I saw the footage, Dad.”

His father took a sip of brandy. “You saw what someone wanted you to see.”

“Then tell me the truth!” Greg shouted. “Because she’s gone, and I need to know if you had anything to do with it.”

Mr. Carter set the glass down, walked forward, and without warning — shoved Greg backward. Hard.

Greg hit the banister with a thud, nearly slipping.

“You think you're a man now?” Mr. Carter hissed. “Running around chasing ghosts? That girl was a distraction. Just like Helena is now.”

Greg steadied himself, rage flooding his chest. “This isn’t over.”

His father leaned close, voice cold and sharp. “You keep digging, and you’ll be next. They’ll bury you, Gregory. Just like they buried her.”

Greg turned without another word and stormed out into the rain.

He didn’t stop walking until the estate was far behind him — and its shadows no longer touched his feet.

Meanwhile – Brentford Dormitory

Helena sat at the edge of her bed, her laptop open.

A new email notification blinked at the corner of the screen.

From: [e-mail]

Subject: Sophia's Truth

Attachment: JOURNAL_S.P*F

Her breath caught.

Tessy was safe — shaken, but recovering. The girl in the photo had been a twisted decoy, meant to rattle them. But this…

This felt real.

She double-clicked the attachment.

The P*F loaded slowly, line by line.

It was scanned, handwritten pages. Sophia’s voice came alive between each stroke of ink:

Day 12 at Brentford. The headmaster smiles too much. Like he's trying to distract you from what’s behind his teeth.

Day 21. Greg Carter is reckless, arrogant, dangerous… and I think I’m in love with him.

Day 35. Someone left a box outside my dorm door. Inside was a photo of my mum. She died five years ago. The back said: “History repeats.”

Day 46. Greg doesn’t see it. He doesn’t hear the clicks at night, the footsteps. I swear someone’s watching us. Listening.

Day 59. Bianca told me to leave Brentford while I still could. She was shaking. I’ve never seen her scared before.

Helena scrolled faster, heart pounding with every line.

Day 64. I found a list in the White Room. Students marked with red stars. All scholarship. All gone.

Day 66. I tried to tell Greg. He didn’t believe me. Said I was being paranoid. Said I needed rest. Said I was crazy.

Day 70. If anything happens to me, don’t trust—

The journal page ended there.

A jagged rip split the rest of the sheet in half.

The name—gone.

Helena stared at it, trembling. The missing word hung in the air like smoke.

Don’t trust… who?

Greg?

Theo?

Bianca?

Her mother?

Cliffhanger Ending

Lightning cracked outside.

Her window creaked open on its own, slow and eerie.

Helena walked over, hands still trembling from what she read.

On the windowsill, something waited.

A photo.

Old. Faded.

It showed Sophia smiling… standing beside someone with their face blacked out by ink.

And scribbled in red pen on the back:

“He kissed me… the night I died.”

Helena’s heart nearly stopped.

She turned, her reflection flickering in the darkened glass—

And for a split second, she saw Sophia’s face staring back.

Helena barely slept that night.

The photo from the windowsill—still clutched in her hand—seemed to hum with energy. Like it didn’t just show something terrible. Like it knew something terrible.

Her thoughts ran wild.

“He kissed me… the night I died.”

It couldn’t mean what it sounded like. Could it?

She stared at the torn final page of Sophia’s journal again, the ink bleeding at the edges where it was ripped. So close to revealing a name. A truth. But whatever she had tried to say had been stolen… or destroyed.

Helena opened her messages.

HELENA: Theo, are you up? I need your help. There’s more. About Sophia.

No reply.

She chewed on her thumbnail, pacing her room. Outside, the trees scratched the windowpanes like fingernails. Her brain was spinning—Sophia, Greg’s father, the Headmaster, Bianca, the White Room…

And now this missing name.

She couldn’t do this alone.

The Next Morning – School Courtyard

Students parted as Helena walked through the courtyard, holding the journal close like a shield.

Every whisper burned.

Some were about the gala. Some were about Tessy’s suspension. But most?

Most were about her.

“She’s losing it.”

“Did you hear she talks to ghosts now?”

“She’s obsessed with that dead girl.”

Dead girl.

Sophia.

Helena tightened her grip.

Inside the admin building, she slipped into Theo’s coding lab, where she found him hunched over three screens—eyes bloodshot, coffee cups everywhere.

“You found something,” she said.

He didn’t look away from the screen. “Someone’s been accessing the school records. Masked IP address. Same one that leaked your dorm room footage before the gala.”

“You traced it?”

“Not just traced it,” Theo said, turning the monitor. “I followed it into the backup servers.”

A screen full of archived Brentford data blinked to life—student logs, counseling reports, staff emails… and a locked folder labeled:

BLACKWELL — PRIOR CASES

Theo clicked it. “Guess what name’s inside.”

“Sophia,” Helena whispered.

“And a dozen more,” he said grimly. “All scholarship students. All vanished. Some were marked as ‘transferred.’ Others—no record at all.”

Her stomach flipped. “What about the final page of her journal?”

“I might have a way to reconstruct the name using ink density and torn paper patterning—if I can find the missing half.”

Helena reached into her bag and pulled out the photo she’d found on her windowsill. “There’s more. Look at the writing.”

Theo took it, turning it over carefully.

“He kissed me… the night I died.”

“I’ve seen this handwriting before,” he murmured. “Not in the journal. Somewhere else.”

His eyes darkened. “I think Sophia gave this to someone. Someone who never came forward.”

Meanwhile – Carter Estate

Greg sat in his car outside the gates, engine still running, fists bruised from the night before.

His father’s words kept echoing.

“You keep digging, and you’ll be next.”

He picked up his phone, hesitating… then finally texted Helena.

GREG: I need to see you. Something’s off. My father lied. There’s more than just Sophia. Much more.

Three dots flickered. Then stopped.

No reply.

Instead, another message pinged through—unknown number.

UNKNOWN:

You’re getting too close. You can’t save her. Just like you couldn’t save the last one.

📸 Attachment: Photo of Helena sleeping, taken through her window.

Greg froze.

He dropped the phone. Slammed the car door.

And drove.

Back in Brentford – Dorm Hallway

Helena headed back to her room just before sunset. The halls were quiet—too quiet.

Her phone buzzed.

TESSY: I’m back. Meet me in the White Room. You need to see this.

Hope lifted in her chest. She picked up her pace.

But when she turned the corner—

Her door was wide open.

Inside, her things were scattered. Papers shredded. Laptop gone.

Her journal—Sophia’s journal—gone.

And spray-painted across her wall, in blood-red strokes:

YOU’RE NEXT.

Helena stumbled back, chest tightening. Her breath caught.

And then she heard it.

A click.

The door slammed shut behind her.

Locked. From the outside.

She banged on it. “Hey! Let me out! Tessy?!”

No answer.

Only a whisper in her ear—not real, not possible—but familiar.

Sophia’s voice.

“You stayed too long, Helena…”