The east gym was older than the rest of the campus.

  You could tell by the smell.

  Most school buildings smelled like cleaning chemicals and floor polish. The east gym smelled like damp wood, rust, and something faintly sour that had soaked into the walls over decades of sweat and chlorine.

  The lights in the hallway flickered when I walked past.

  They always did.

  Maintenance claimed the wiring was old. Students claimed the building was haunted.

  Both explanations felt believable.

  The abandoned locker room sat at the far end of the corridor behind a steel door that had been painted so many times the edges looked swollen. A strip of yellow police tape crossed the handle.

  CRIME SCENE — DO NOT ENTER

  The tape had been tied carelessly.

  Detective Harris had probably expected no one at school to be stupid enough to step inside after a murder.

  He underestimated teenagers.

  I slipped under the tape.

  The door creaked when I pushed it open.

  The air inside was colder than the hallway—and darker.

  Dust floated through the narrow beam of light from the door behind me. Rows of old lockers lined the walls, their paint peeling in strips. Wooden benches sat crooked on the floor, some missing planks, others tipped over entirely.

  The room felt abandoned in a way that wasn't peaceful.

  More like it had been left in a hurry.

  I stepped inside and let the door fall shut behind me.

  The silence deepened immediately.

  For a moment I just stood there, listening.

  Nothing moved.

  No footsteps.

  No voices.

  Only the faint drip of water somewhere deeper in the building.

  I walked toward the far wall.

  That was where Harris had said Olivia died.

  The floor still showed faint marks where something had been cleaned.

  Bleach.

  Too late.

  Blood leaves shadows even after it's gone.

  I crouched down.

  The concrete looked rougher in that spot. Scraped.

  Like someone had tried to drag themselves forward.

  Toward the door.

  My stomach tightened.

  Olivia Carter had been many things—cruel, entitled, dangerous in the quiet way power can be dangerous.

  But the idea of anyone clawing at a locked door while bleeding out was harder to ignore.

  I stood again and turned slowly.

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  The room had four rows of lockers. Half of them hung open. The others had rusted shut.

  My phone vibrated.

  Another message.

  Do you see it yet?

  I typed back.

  See what?

  Three dots appeared.

  Then the reply:

  Look up.

  I lifted my head.

  At first I saw nothing—just cracked ceiling tiles and the old ventilation grate near the far corner.

  Then something caught my eye.

  A dark shape above the lockers.

  I climbed onto the nearest bench. The wood groaned under my weight.

  From that height the ventilation duct became clearer. The metal grate had been loosened—one screw missing, the other barely holding.

  I reached up and pushed.

  The grate swung open. Dust fell onto my sleeve.

  Inside the duct sat something small and rectangular.

  A phone.

  Not pink.

  Black.

  Older model.

  I pulled it out carefully.

  The screen lit up immediately.

  No lock screen. No password.

  Just a video file already open.

  The timestamp read January 9.

  The day Lily Lin disappeared.

  My throat felt suddenly dry.

  I pressed play.

  The video began with shaky movement. The camera pointed toward the floor at first—concrete, shoes, three pairs.

  Then the camera lifted.

  The locker room appeared.

  This room.

  Exactly where I stood now.

  And in the center of the frame—

  Lily Lin.

  She sat on the bench opposite the lockers, arms wrapped around herself, face pale and terrified.

  Someone behind the camera laughed.

  A girl's voice.

  "Come on, Lily. Say it again."

  The camera zoomed closer.

  Lily shook her head weakly.

  "I already said I was sorry."

  Another voice spoke—colder, more amused.

  "That's not what we want."

  The camera shifted.

  Three figures stepped into frame.

  Olivia Carter.

  Emma Carter.

  Madison Blake.

  They looked younger than they had this morning. Less tired. Less haunted.

  Because at that moment they still believed they controlled everything.

  Olivia crouched down in front of Lily.

  "Say what you said yesterday."

  "I didn't say anything."

  "You told the counselor."

  "No."

  "You're lying."

  Emma laughed.

  "Maybe we should remind her what happens when people lie."

  Madison held up something metal.

  Pliers.

  My stomach twisted.

  Lily's voice broke.

  "Please don't."

  Olivia leaned closer.

  "Then talk."

  "I didn't tell anyone."

  "Then why did the counselor call your sister?"

  Lily froze.

  She hadn't expected that question.

  None of them had expected the truth to matter.

  Olivia's smile disappeared slowly.

  "You see," she said softly, "the problem with secrets is that once you tell one person..."

  She tapped Lily's forehead lightly.

  "...you never know where it spreads."

  Madison stepped forward.

  Emma locked the door behind them.

  The camera moved closer again.

  Too close.

  Lily tried to stand.

  Emma pushed her back down.

  The video shook violently as someone grabbed Lily's arm.

  Then the image went dark.

  For several seconds there was only sound—struggling, breathing, a scream cut short.

  Then silence.

  The video ended.

  I stood on the bench for a long moment, staring at the blank screen.

  My pulse echoed in my ears.

  Olivia Carter hadn't died for no reason.

  She died because she had crossed a line even monsters sometimes hesitate to cross.

  She killed Lily.

  Maybe accidentally.

  Maybe not.

  But the video proved one thing clearly.

  The game had started long before last night.

  My phone buzzed again.

  Another message.

  Now you understand.

  I climbed down slowly. The concrete felt colder than before.

  I typed back.

  You're the one who sent the video.

  The reply came instantly.

  Yes.

  Why me?

  A pause.

  Then the answer appeared.

  Because you were the only one who fought back.

  My chest tightened slightly.

  Another message followed.

  And because you know what happens in this room.

  I looked around again—the lockers, the benches, the place where Lily had sat.

  Then the words from earlier came back to me.

  No one leaves the locker room until the game is over.

  I typed again.

  Who are you?

  The typing dots appeared.

  Then disappeared.

  Then appeared again.

  Finally the answer came.

  Someone who was there that night.

  A cold realization spread slowly through my mind.

  That meant one of two things.

  Either the sender had been behind the camera—

  Or they had been watching.

  And if they had been watching...

  Then Lily Lin had not been alone with three girls in this room.

  There had been at least one more person.

  I turned toward the door.

  Just as it creaked open.

  Detective Harris stepped inside.

  Behind him stood Officer Park.

  Harris's eyes went immediately to the phone in my hand.

  "Thought we might find you here," he said.

  I didn't move.

  "Interesting place for a study session."

  Park's gaze moved across the room—then up toward the open ventilation duct, then back to me.

  "You found something," she said quietly.

  I held up the phone.

  Harris frowned.

  "What is that?"

  "A video."

  "Of what?"

  I pressed play again.

  The screen filled with Lily Lin's terrified face.

  Harris swore under his breath.

  Park stepped closer.

  The locker room fell silent again as the video played.

  And when it ended—

  No one spoke.

  Because now the story had changed.

  Olivia Carter was no longer just a victim.

  She was evidence.

  And somewhere in Redwood Hills High School—

  The last witness to Lily Lin's death was still alive.