Shadows In The Night

The air had a crisp bite as I walked through the empty streets, the faint glow of streetlights casting long, eerie shadows across the pavement. It was late, and most of the town had settled into the comfortable quiet that came with nightfall. I had always enjoyed walking alone after a long day, letting the chill of the evening clear my head and dull the incessant noise of college life.

I pulled my jacket tighter around me, the fabric swishing softly in the otherwise silent street. My classes had drained me today, and Olivia had once again been annoyingly persistent, trying to pry her way into my life. I had even run into Alessandro again—though, thankfully, only in passing. His presence was like an itch I couldn't scratch, constantly reminding me that he was lingering at the edges of my world. Every time I saw him, something inside me twisted, and it wasn't anger alone anymore. It was something I didn't want to acknowledge.

But for now, as I wandered through the sleepy town, I tried to push those thoughts out of my mind. I needed to clear my head, focus on myself for once, and forget about everything—Alessandro, Olivia, and even the growing shadow of Isabella Monroe's disappearance that seemed to be creeping into every corner of my life.

As I walked, my thoughts wandered aimlessly until something caught my attention—a dark figure moving in the distance. I slowed my pace, my eyes narrowing as I focused on the shape ahead. At first, I thought it was just someone walking like I was, but as I got closer, it became clear that this person wasn't casually strolling through the neighborhood.

They were lurking, hovering close to one of the houses as if trying to avoid being seen.

My heart quickened, my instincts immediately kicking in. I slipped into the shadows, my steps silent as I watched the figure from a safe distance. The person was dressed in dark clothing, their movements tense and furtive. They seemed to be trying to find a way into the house, their hands fumbling with something near the window—possibly a lock.

My breath caught in my throat. Was someone trying to break in?

The house itself was old, its windows framed by peeling paint, its front yard overgrown with weeds. It had the look of a place that had been forgotten, neglected. There were no lights on inside, and it was hard to tell if anyone still lived there. But the figure, whoever they were, clearly had a reason to be sneaking around in the dead of night.

My mind raced. I wasn't the type to call the cops or get involved in other people's business, but something about this situation felt… off. I didn't know the house or its occupants, but my gut told me something wasn't right. And when my instincts told me something was wrong, I usually listened.

I edged closer, staying in the shadows as I moved. The figure at the window seemed more frantic now, their movements hurried and desperate. They didn't seem like a skilled thief—more like someone who was out of their depth, trying to force their way inside without much success.

I crouched low behind a bush, my sharp eyes locked on the intruder. Whoever this was, they weren't aware of my presence yet. I could feel the adrenaline pulsing through I veins, a strange mixture of fear and curiosity flooding my senses.

Who were they? And why this house?

The longer I watched, the more questions formed in my mind. The figure kept glancing over their shoulder, as if they were afraid of being caught, but no one else seemed to be around. The quiet street remained undisturbed, the night thick with an unsettling stillness.

Just then, the figure managed to jimmy the window open. A soft creak broke the silence, and they slipped inside, disappearing into the darkness of the house.

My heart pounded in my chest. I didn't know what to do. Every instinct told me to leave—to walk away and pretend I hadn't seen anything. But something made me stay, my eyes glued to the house. I felt like I needed to know more, like there was something important about what I had just witnessed.

Before I could make a decision, my phone buzzed in my pocket, startling me. I quickly pulled it out and glanced at the screen, my stomach tightening as I saw the message:

"If you don't tell me where you are, i'll come find you myself."

My father. Even through the text, his voice rang in my head, harsh and demanding. I could almost hear the anger in his words, the threat behind them. He always knew when I was out—always found a way to control , even from miles away.

I clenched her teeth, shoving the phone back into my pocket. I don't have time for him right now. There were more important things happening, things that needed my attention. I glanced back at the house, my mind racing. Whoever had broken in, they were still inside, and I couldn't shake the feeling that I needed to find out why.

For a moment, I considered calling someone—maybe the police, maybe campus security—but I knew I wouldn't. I was too involved now, too curious. And besides, it wasn't like the cops ever actually helped in this town. If anything, they'd probably make things worse.

I waited in the shadows, my breath shallow as the minutes ticked by. The street remained eerily quiet, no signs of life except for the dim glow of streetlights and the occasional rustling of leaves in the wind. Every second felt like an eternity as my mind spun with possibilities.

Then, just as suddenly as they had entered, the figure reemerged from the window. They slipped out quickly, glancing around as if making sure no one had seen them. My pulse quickened as I watched them dart across the lawn and disappear down the street.

I waited, my muscles tense and ready to move, but the figure didn't return. They were gone. The house, now silent and still, stood like a ghostly figure in the night, as if nothing had happened at all.

I finally stood up, my mind buzzing with questions. I didn't know who the person was or why they'd broken in, but something about this whole situation felt wrong. I needed to know more, to understand what was going on.

I hesitated for a moment before stepping closer to the house. my heart raced as I neared the window the figure had used to enter. It was still slightly ajar, the lock clearly broken. My breath caught as I peered inside, the darkness swallowing everything except for faint outlines of furniture.

There was nothing remarkable about the room—just an old, dusty living room with mismatched furniture and bare walls. But something tugged at my memory, something about the house felt familiar. I couldn't place it at first, but as I stood there, staring into the darkness, it hit me.

This was Isabella Monroe's house.

The realization sent a chill down my spine. Isabella, the girl who had gone missing. The girl no one seemed to know much about. And now, someone had just broken into her house in the middle of the night.

My mind whirled, pieces of a puzzle started to come together. I didn't know what was going on, but one thing was certain—this wasn't a coincidence. Someone knew something about Isabella's disappearance, and they were desperate enough to break into my house to find it.

I stood there for a moment longer, my mind racing. What should I do? Should I investigate further, or should I leave and pretend I haven't seen anything? my instincts screamed at me to get involved, to dig deeper, but there was a part of me that was afraid—afraid of what I might uncover.

But I wasn't one to back down from a challenge, especially when something this important was at stake. I clenched my fists, determination hardening my resolve. I would find out what was going on, even if it meant putting myself in danger.

Taking one last glance at the house, I turned and walked away, my steps quick and purposeful. I needed a plan. And more than that, I needed answers.

Whatever was happening with Isabella Monroe, I was going to get to the bottom of it.

As I hurried down the street, my thoughts spun wildly, replaying what I had just witnessed. Someone had broken into Isabella Monroe's house. I hadn't known it at first, but now that it was clear, the pieces of this night began falling into place. The questions nagged at me, pressing against my mind with the weight of something far more significant than I'd originally thought.

I stopped in my tracks, the cold wind biting at my face as I stood there, staring at the empty road ahead. my heart thudded in my chest as curiosity warred with my instincts.

What was inside that house?

The question gnawed at me, refusing to let go. I glanced back over my shoulder, my eyes narrowing as I looked at the old, dilapidated house once more. The person who had broken in was long gone, but their actions lingered in the air, a silent echo of something darker lurking beneath the surface.

Why that house?

I hesitated, weighing my options. I knew I could walk away, pretend I hadn't seen anything, and move on with my life. But the idea of leaving without knowing—without understanding—ate at me. Isabella Monroe had been missing for weeks now, and no one seemed to care anymore. The police had given up, the town had moved on, but I couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more to the story.

And now, someone had broken into Isabella's house, in the dead of night, without a trace. It was too strange to ignore.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I turned around and retraced my steps. my heart pounded harder with each step I took, the quiet street now feeling eerily oppressive as I neared the house again. I wasn't sure what I was looking for, but I knew I couldn't leave without finding out.

Reaching the side of the house, I crept along the wall, staying in the shadows just in case anyone was watching. The window was still slightly open, the lock broken just like before. I paused, my breath hitching as I stared at the dark interior. A shiver ran down my spine, but I ignored it, forcing myself to stay focused.

What was so important inside this house?

I felt a surge of determination rise up in me. I had to know. Slowly, I reached for the window, my fingers brushing against the cold glass. It opened easily, just as it had for the intruder. I hesitated for a moment longer, my mind racing with possible outcomes, but curiosity and instinct won out.

I climbed through the window, my feet landing softly on the creaky wooden floor. The air inside was thick with dust, the smell of age and neglect clinging to everything. It was as if time had frozen here, like the house had been left untouched since Isabella disappeared. The silence was overwhelming, broken only by the faint creak of the floorboards beneath me.

I stood still for a moment, letting my eyes adjust to the dim light filtering through the windows. The room was small, sparsely furnished, with mismatched chairs and a worn-out couch sitting in the middle. Cobwebs clung to the corners of the ceiling, and a layer of dust coated every surface. It didn't seem like anyone had been here for a long time.

I moved slowly, cautiously, my eyes scanning the room for anything that might stand out. What had the intruder been looking for? And why had they left so quickly? There was nothing in plain sight that seemed out of the ordinary—just an old, abandoned house that had been forgotten.

But then my gaze landed on the far side of the room, where a small door stood slightly ajar. It led to the back of the house, possibly a bedroom or a storage room. My heart rate spiked again as I took a few steps closer, my mind racing with possibilities. Had the intruder found something? Or had they left before they could?

I approached the door, my hand hovering over the doorknob as I hesitated. A part of me wanted to turn back, to leave this house and never think about it again. But another part of me, the part that needed answers, pushed me forward. I took a deep breath and slowly pushed the door open.

The room beyond was dark, the only light coming from a small window near the ceiling. It was a bedroom, judging by the bed and dresser pushed up against the far wall. The air was colder in here, a faint draft slipping through the cracks in the window. But what caught my attention wasn't the bed or the dresser—it was the box sitting on the floor in the middle of the room.

It was small, wooden, and looked like it had been shoved under the bed but had been pulled out recently, judging by the clear lines in the dust. The box was old, its edges worn and faded, but it didn't look like it belonged here. It didn't fit with the rest of the neglected, forgotten furniture.

My heart pounded as I approached the box, my instincts telling me that this was what the intruder had been looking for.I crouched down, my fingers brushing against the rough wood. It wasn't locked, and the lid creaked open easily when I lifted it.

Inside, there were papers—old, yellowing papers that had clearly been there for a long time. They looked like letters, or maybe notes, each one neatly folded and stacked inside the box. My pulse quickened as I carefully picked one up, my eyes scanning the faded handwriting.

"To Isabella…"

The words leaped out at me, sending a chill down my spine. I flipped through a few more pages, each one addressed to Isabella, some with dates scribbled in the corner. Letters to Isabella, written by someone who clearly knew her well.

But why would someone break in just to steal these?

My mind raced as I flipped through the letters, my curiosity intensifying with each word I read. There was something here—something that someone didn't want anyone else to find. Whoever had broken in had been looking for these letters, or maybe something connected to them.

I couldn't read them all now, but I needed to take them with me. I needed to figure out what they meant and why they were hidden in Isabella's house. Carefully, I tucked a few of the letters into my jacket pocket, my mind already spinning with possibilities.

As I stood up, I glanced around the room one last time. There was a creeping unease settling in my stomach, the weight of the unknown pressing down on me. Whatever had happened to Isabella, it was more complicated than anyone had thought. And now, I was caught up in it, whether I liked it or not.

I closed the box, leaving everything else as it was, and slipped back out of the room. The house was silent once more, the weight of its secrets lingering in the air as I made my way to the window. I climbed out quickly, my heart racing as I landed back on the street.

The night was still quiet, the town oblivious to what had just happened inside that old house. But I knew things were different now. I had something that could lead to answers—answers that no one else seemed to care about.

As I walked away from the house, my thoughts whirled with what I had found. The letters, the break-in, Isabella's disappearance—it was all connected, and I was determined to figure out how.

And if someone else was looking for those letters, it meant I wasn't the only one who knew something was off about Isabella Monroe's case.

I just had to find out what that something was before it was too late.

I walked down the quiet streets, my mind swirling with the weight of the letters I had taken. The cold night air stung my face, but I barely felt it, lost in thought. What could those letters mean? Why had someone broken in to find them? And why were they still hidden in Isabella's house if they were so important?

The questions gnawed at me, but I knew I had to wait until I was in a safe place before digging deeper into their contents. A sudden wave of guilt swept over me. I wasn't the type of person to steal things, especially from someone's home—even if that person was missing. But something about this situation felt different, more urgent. I couldn't shake the feeling that this was my only chance to learn what had happened to Isabella.

The town around me was dark and quiet, as if nothing strange had ever happened here. Hawthorne had a way of masking its secrets with its sleepy streets and charming façade. But I knew better. The truth was hiding somewhere, and now I had a piece of it in my hands.

I quickened my pace, eager to reach the solitude of my dorm. As I rounded the corner, the campus of Hawthorne College came into view. It stood tall and elegant, a sharp contrast to the rest of the town, its gothic architecture towering over the landscape like a beacon of prestige and old-world charm. It looked beautiful in the moonlight, but to me, it felt more like a cage—trapping me in a life I hadn't chosen.

my phone buzzed in my pocket, startling me out of my thoughts. For a brief second, I hoped it wasn't another message from my father, but the pit in my stomach told me otherwise. I pulled it out and saw his name flash across the screen.

You think you can just ignore me?! Answer your damn phone! I didn't raise you to be disrespectful! Get your act together before you ruin everything for us.

My hands tightened around the phone, anger bubbling beneath my skin. I hated him—hated the way he always tried to control me, even from miles away. I hated the constant berating, the way he never cared to ask how I was or what I was going through. It was always about him, always about maintaining his authority.

With a shaky breath, I shoved the phone back into my pocket without replying. I didn't have the energy to deal with him tonight. Not after everything that had happened.

Reaching my dorm, I slipped inside quietly, glad for the late hour and the absence of my roommate. I quickly locked the door behind me and pulled the letters from my jacket. I stared at them for a long moment, my heart racing. Part of me wanted to open them right away, but I knew I needed to be careful. Whoever had written these letters had a connection to Isabella, and that connection could lead me deeper into this mystery than I was prepared for.

For now, I carefully tucked them into my desk drawer, my mind already calculating the next steps. Tomorrow, I would find a quiet spot to read them, away from the prying eyes of the campus. I wasn't sure what they would reveal, but I knew one thing—I was in too deep to turn back now.

The next day came quietly, as the gray light of dawn filtered through her window. I got ready for my classes in a daze, still thinking about the letters and what they could mean. I wasn't ready to read them yet, but they loomed in the back of my mind like a puzzle waiting to be solved.

As I walked across campus, I heard someone call my name. I glanced over and saw Olivia, the girl who had approached me the day before, hurrying toward me with an eager smile.

"Priscilla! Wait up!"

I sighed inwardly. I wasn't in the mood for small talk, but something about Olivia's persistence intrigued me. Most people would have given up by now, especially since I had made it clear I wasn't interested in making friends.

"Hey," I said, my voice neutral as Olivia fell into step beside me.

"I was wondering if we could hang out after class," Olivia said, her voice bright despite my coldness. "You know, get to know each other better. I always see you alone, and I thought maybe you could use someone to talk to."

I shot her a sideways glance. Olivia's sincerity was almost disarming. I seemed genuinely interested, but I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. Trust didn't come easily to me, and Olivia's friendliness felt foreign—almost uncomfortable.

"I'm fine," I replied curtly, hoping to end the conversation there.

But Olivia wasn't deterred. "Are you sure? I just think it might be nice to have someone to hang out with. College can be kind of lonely, you know?"

I clenched my jaw, trying to keep my irritation in check. Olivia didn't know anything about her, about the kind of loneliness she carried. But the girl's persistence was wearing me down, and part of me wondered what it would be like to let someone in, even just a little.

"Maybe," I said finally, my tone begrudging.

Olivia's face lit up with excitement. "Really? Great! We can grab coffee after class."

I nodded, not committing to anything more than that. I wasn't sure if I wanted to get coffee, but I also didn't want to shut Olivia down completely. Maybe there was something to be gained from this—some sort of distraction from the chaos of my life.

As they reached the lecture hall, I noticed a tall figure leaning against the wall, his green eyes scanning the crowd with disinterest. Alessandro De Berlusconi.

His aloof demeanor and towering presence had made him an instant hit on campus. He was the new star of the football team and, rumor had it, the next captain. But I felt nothing but disdain for him. His arrogant attitude, the way he carried himself like he owned the place—it grated on my nerves.

As if sensing my gaze, Alessandro glanced over at me. Our eyes met for a brief second, and my irritation flared. I looked away quickly, my chest tightening with annoyance.

"What's wrong?" Olivia asked, noticing the shift in my expression.

"Nothing," I muttered, my eyes narrowing as I walked past Alessandro without acknowledging him.

Olivia followed me into the classroom, chattering away about plans for the afternoon. But my mind was elsewhere, focused on the mystery I was slowly unraveling and the people around me who only seemed to complicate things further.