The morning halls of Ravenwood were quieter than usual, the hum of conversation subdued under the weight of a still-new school year. Silas walked beside Evan, his hood pulled low, hands tucked into the front pocket of his hoodie. He didn’t look around; he never did. Every detail, every shadow, every faint sound that others missed registered in his mind like a warning bell.

  Evan, in contrast, couldn’t keep still. He darted glances at Silas, curiosity mixed with frustration. “Seriously, Silas,” he muttered, voice low but urgent, “you could’ve told me yesterday that people were trying to—” He stopped himself, lowering his voice. “…that people were trying to hurt me.”

  “I did what I could,” Silas replied evenly, his tone cutting through the corridor’s quiet. “Warnings don’t stop what’s coming. Action does.”

  Evan huffed, arms crossed, scowling. “Yeah, well, I almost got—” He faltered, realizing Silas’s gaze had snapped toward him, sharp and assessing. The boy didn’t smile. He didn’t ease the tension. He just moved forward, silent, deliberate.

  They reached the familiar locked door Silas had discovered days ago. His fingers flexed as he crouched slightly, deftly working the lock with practiced precision. A soft click, almost inaudible, signaled success. The door swung open, revealing the donor board tucked neatly inside.

  Evan leaned forward, eyes widening as he scanned the names. Leah Kate. A few others he vaguely recognized. Each had a date beside their name, neat, methodical, terrifyingly precise.

  Then he froze.

  Silas’s eyes followed his, landing on the newest addition. Written by hand, ink still slightly smudged:

  Samuel Tay – Silas Thorne (VIP)

  No date. No hint of when. But the notation was unmistakable. The term “VIP” implied priority — Silas was now the primary target.

  Evan’s jaw dropped, and his voice cracked. “You… you’re on it?!” His words trembled between fear, disbelief, and anger. “Why didn’t you tell me you were on it?! You’re… the VIP?!”

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  "It wasn't here the day before." Silas replied. Calm. Controlled. Cold. But inside, a tightening coil of tension made his chest heavy. Danger had become personal.

  “This isn’t about me,” he said quietly, every word measured. “It’s about survival. You need to understand that.”

  Evan’s hands curled into fists at his sides, frustration spilling over. “I do understand! But I almost died yesterday! I could’ve been killed! You didn’t say a word!”

  Silas remained unreadable. "We need to find out the motive of these murders."

  Evan swallowed hard, still trembling, a spark of defiance flashing through his fear. “So… what do we do now?”

  Silas’s gaze flicked toward the hallway, scanning shadows, listening for faint noises. “We watch. We wait. And we prepare. Nothing here happens by chance. You follow instructions, stay alert, and stay close. Understood?”

  Evan nodded, but he couldn’t hide his tension. “Yeah… but I’m not just gonna sit around!”

  Silas gave him a long, unreadable look, the faintest shadow of exasperation in his dark eyes. “Good. Just remember — curiosity won’t save you. Strategy will.”

  For a long moment, the two boys stood in silence, the donor board looming behind them like a ticking clock. The morning sun streamed through the small window, dust motes floating lazily, indifferent to the danger inked onto the board.

  “You know,” Evan said quietly, voice tight with anxiety, “this makes it even worse. You… you’re the VIP. You’re first. They’ll come for you first.”

  Silas didn’t answer immediately. He let Evan digest the reality, let the tension settle in. Every movement, every flicker of shadow in the hallway outside, sharpened the awareness in his mind. The killer could strike at any moment, anywhere.

  Finally, Silas spoke. “Tomorrow, I’ll be ready. You… stay alert, stay alive. That’s all I can do for you.”

  Evan’s stomach knotted, a mix of fear, frustration, and begrudging respect for Silas burning through him. “Yeah… I get it,” he said quietly, though his hands still trembled.

  They left the room, the soft click of the door echoing in the hall. The VIP designation weighed on Silas like a leaden chain. Every step, every glance, every sound carried the potential for danger.

  In that moment, Silas realized something he had always known but now felt more acutely than ever: this wasn’t just about survival. It was about staying ahead, outthinking someone who had already proven capable of murder. And the donor board, with its precise names and dates, was the clock ticking down toward the inevitable.

  They walked down the corridor, Silas’s mind already calculating next steps, traps, and contingencies. Behind him, Evan’s steps faltered slightly, caught between fear and awe, the weight of reality sinking in. The VIP mark wasn’t just a designation. It was a warning. And the first strike was coming — for Silas.