The phone slips from my hand, clattering against the stone.
For one suspended heartbeat, I want to run, but there’s nowhere safe. Not in these walls. Not in this bloodline.
I crouch to grab the phone. That’s when I hear it.
A scrape.
Shoes on stone.
I don’t look back. I don’t breathe. I shove the phone into my pocket and move faster now. Eyes forward. Shoulders tight. My breath comes short and shallow.
My dorm door appears like salvation. I fumble the key, almost dropping it. The lock catches. The door slams shut behind me.
Lock.
Deadbolt.
Breathe.
My forehead rests against the cold wood. The air inside the room feels thicker.
Nora’s gone for a few days. Her family called her home. The one night I don’t want to be alone, I am.
I switch on the desk lamp. The weak glow barely dents the dark. Shadows cling to the corners like they’re watching. My eyes trace the room, bed, desk, window. Nothing out of place.
Until I see it.
On my pillow.
A black envelope.
No name. No seal. Just there. Waiting.
I stare at it, fists tightening at my sides. Every instinct screamsdon’t touch it.
Curiosity whispers louder.
I cross the room, each step creaking like a warning. The floorboards groan beneath me.
I pick up the envelope, and inside one sheet of parchment. No threats. No demands.
Just five words scrawled in blood-red ink:
You don’t belong with them.
The letters seem to throb, alive, sinking beneath my skin. I crush the paper in my hand until it creases against my palm.
No one cares if I live or die, that much I’ve learned.
But someone cared enough to remind me I’ll never belong.
Maybe it’s a warning. Maybe it’s a promise.
Either way, it carves the truth deeper, I am alone.
Utterly. Violently. Alone.
I climb onto the bed and curl tight, the note still in my hand. My eyes burn as I stare at the door.
