I skipped third period. No one stopped me. That was another strange thing about Redwood Hills High. For a school that claimed discipline and excellence in every brochure, it had an impressive ability to look away when something inconvenient walked past.

  I moved through the back stairwell near the gym, the one that always smelled faintly of chlorine from the swimming pool downstairs. The hallway lights hummed above me, and lockers rattled occasionally when someone slammed them somewhere farther down the corridor. But mostly the building felt hollow, like something important had already left.

  I stopped outside the counseling office. A brass plate on the door read:

  STUDENT SUPPORT SERVICES

  Dr. Melanie Ortega — School Psychologist

  The door was half open. Inside, someone spoke softly on the phone.

  I knocked once.

  The voice stopped.

  "Come in."

  Dr. Ortega sat behind a tidy desk stacked with folders and pamphlets about anxiety, stress management, and college preparation. She was in her early forties, calm-faced, wearing glasses with thin silver frames that made her look both thoughtful and tired. When she saw me, something flickered in her expression—recognition, then concern.

  "Ethan," she said carefully. "I wasn't expecting you today."

  "I was in the neighborhood."

  She ended the call and folded her hands.

  "Sit down."

  I didn't.

  "I just had a question."

  "About?"

  "Lily Lin."

  Her shoulders stiffened. The shift was small, but unmistakable.

  "We don't discuss other students," she said.

  "She's not a student anymore."

  "She's a missing person."

  "Yes. And that's a police matter."

  "I talked to the police."

  "Then you should continue talking to them."

  I studied the office. The shelves were full of motivational books and framed certificates. A small plant sat by the window, leaves stretching weakly toward gray daylight. A place built to look safe.

  "You remember Lily," I said.

  Dr. Ortega hesitated. "That was months ago."

  "She used to come here."

  "Many students come here."

  "Did she tell you anything?"

  The psychologist removed her glasses slowly and cleaned them with the edge of her sleeve.

  "I can't share confidential conversations."

  "Even if she's dead?"

  Her eyes snapped up.

  "We don't know that."

  "Do you believe she ran away?"

  She didn't answer immediately. Finally she placed the glasses back on and looked at me carefully.

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  "Lily was... struggling."

  "With what?"

  "Social pressures."

  "Bullying."

  She flinched slightly.

  "I didn't say that."

  "You didn't have to."

  Silence filled the office.

  I reached into my pocket and placed the photograph on her desk.

  Olivia.

  Emma.

  Madison.

  And Lily.

  Dr. Ortega stared at it. Her face drained of color.

  "Where did you get this?"

  "It was in my locker."

  "That's not funny."

  "I'm not joking."

  She picked up the photograph carefully. Her fingers trembled slightly, and the red X across Olivia's face looked darker under the office light.

  "This picture was taken during sophomore year orientation," she said quietly.

  "You remember."

  "Yes."

  "Do you remember what happened after?"

  She looked at me, and for the first time since I had entered the room, the calm professional mask slipped.

  "Ethan... what exactly are you asking me?"

  "I'm asking whether Lily Lin ever told you she was afraid of Olivia Carter."

  The psychologist didn't speak. She didn't need to. The answer was already written across her face.

  "Yes," she whispered.

  "Did you report it?"

  "I followed procedure."

  "That's not what I asked."

  "I informed administration."

  "Which means nothing happened."

  "That's not fair."

  "No?"

  "She didn't want to file a formal complaint."

  "Maybe because she knew what would happen."

  Dr. Ortega stood abruptly.

  "This conversation is over."

  "Why?"

  "Because you're trying to rewrite something you don't fully understand."

  "Then explain it."

  She walked to the window and stared out at the empty courtyard. Students crossed the grass below in clusters, laughing too loudly, moving too quickly. Normal life continuing like nothing had happened.

  "Lily came to me three times," she said quietly.

  "What did she say?"

  "She said certain girls were harassing her."

  "Names?"

  "She never gave them."

  "But you knew."

  A long silence followed.

  "Yes."

  "Why didn't you stop it?"

  Her shoulders sagged.

  "Because this school works differently than you think."

  "Meaning?"

  "Meaning accusations without proof become lawsuits."

  "Meaning rich parents."

  "Yes."

  "Meaning Olivia Carter."

  She closed her eyes briefly.

  "You have to understand something, Ethan. Schools like Redwood Hills survive on reputation. When serious accusations appear without evidence, administrators prefer to handle things internally."

  "Internally."

  "Yes."

  "Which means pretending nothing happened."

  "Which means avoiding escalation."

  I laughed softly.

  "Escalation happened anyway."

  She turned back toward me.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Olivia Carter is dead."

  Her face went pale again.

  "Are you implying—"

  "I'm implying nothing."

  I took the photograph back.

  "Just asking questions."

  Before she could reply, my phone vibrated.

  A message.

  Stop asking teachers.

  Another followed immediately.

  They were never the problem.

  I typed quickly.

  Then who was?

  The reply came almost instantly.

  Look where Lily disappeared.

  A third message appeared.

  Locker room.

  The same place Olivia had died.

  My stomach tightened.

  I looked up at Dr. Ortega.

  "One more question."

  She looked exhausted.

  "What?"

  "Did Lily ever mention the old locker room behind the east gym?"

  Her eyes widened.

  "How do you know about that?"

  "So she did."

  "She said she didn't like walking near it."

  "Why?"

  "She said she heard people inside at night."

  "What people?"

  "She didn't know."

  "What were they doing?"

  Dr. Ortega hesitated.

  Then she whispered:

  "They were filming something."

  A chill ran down my spine.

  "Filming."

  "Yes. With phones."

  My mind flashed back to the burner phone in my pocket.

  "Did Lily tell you who was there?"

  "She said she saw three girls."

  "Which ones?"

  "She never said their names."

  "But you knew."

  Dr. Ortega didn't answer.

  She didn't need to.

  I turned toward the door.

  "Ethan," she called.

  I paused.

  "If you know something about Lily," she said quietly, "you need to tell the police."

  "Maybe I will."

  "Maybe isn't good enough."

  I opened the door.

  "Maybe it is when the police are asking the wrong questions."

  The hallway outside felt colder than before. Students hurried past, nobody looking at me—but someone was watching. I could feel it.

  I walked toward the east gym again. Toward the locker room. Toward the place where two stories had started to overlap.

  Lily Lin had disappeared there.

  Olivia Carter had died there.

  And somewhere inside Redwood Hills High School, someone knew exactly why.

  My phone vibrated again.

  You're finally close.

  Another message followed.

  But you still don't understand the rule.

  I typed back.

  What rule?

  The answer appeared slowly.

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

  I stopped walking.

  Because for the first time since this started, I understood something.

  If that message was true...

  Then the person who locked Olivia Carter inside that room might not have been trying to kill her.

  They might have been trying to keep something in.