CHAPTER 3

Jackson couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched.

The strange encounter on the path to his dorm had left him rattled. He hadn't seen anyone, but he knew someone had been there. He barely slept that night, tossing and turning as unease gnawed at him. By morning, he told himself it was just his imagination, but the thought lingered like a shadow he couldn't outrun.

The campus buzzed with its usual energy the next day, but Jackson's nerves were on edge. He spotted Matilda across the quad, surrounded by her usual crowd of admirers. She caught his eye and smiled—a sly, knowing smile that sent a chill down his spine.

"Jackson!"

He turned to see Cassandra hurrying toward him, her face bright despite the clouded look in her eyes.

"Hey, Cass," he said, forcing a smile.

"Did you sleep at all?" she asked, eyeing the dark circles under his eyes.

"Not much," he admitted. "I kept thinking about last night."

Her expression darkened. "What happened?"

"Probably nothing," he said, not wanting to worry her. "Just felt like someone was following me."

Cassandra's lips tightened. "Did you see who it was?"

"No. It was weird, though. For a second, I thought I saw…" He trailed off, shaking his head. "Never mind. It's nothing."

Cassandra frowned but didn't press further. "You should be careful, Jackson. This place isn't as safe as it looks."

Her words stayed with him as they walked to class. He had always seen the campus as a place of freedom, a fresh start. But now, it felt like there were secrets lurking around every corner.

Later that afternoon, Jackson headed to the library. It had always been his sanctuary, a place where he could lose himself in books and forget the world outside. But today, even the quiet halls of the library felt different—darker, heavier.

He was flipping through a textbook when a voice broke the silence.

"Always studying, huh?"

Jackson looked up to see Matilda standing across the table, her hands resting lightly on the chair in front of her.

"Trying to," he said, his tone neutral.

She smirked, pulling out the chair and sitting down. "You're so serious all the time. Don't you ever take a break?"

"Not really," he said, keeping his eyes on his book.

Matilda leaned forward, her voice dropping to a whisper. "You know, there's something about you, Jackson. Something… different."

He glanced at her, unsure of what she meant. "What are you talking about?"

"You're not like the others here," she said, her eyes narrowing slightly. "You don't belong in their world. You're too… quiet. Too guarded."

Jackson frowned. "I don't see how that's any of your business."

Matilda's smile widened, but there was no warmth in it. "I'm just trying to understand you. That's all."

Before he could respond, she stood up and walked away, her heels clicking against the polished floor. Jackson watched her go, a knot forming in his stomach.

That evening, Cassandra knocked on Jackson's door. He opened it to find her holding a small stack of papers.

"What's this?" he asked.

"Something you need to see," she said, stepping inside.

Jackson closed the door behind her and took the papers. The first page was a photocopy of a news article—one he recognized immediately.

"The plane crash," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Cassandra nodded. "I found it in the archives. There's something strange about it, Jackson."

He scanned the article, his heart pounding. It detailed the crash that had killed his father, but there were parts of the report that seemed vague—details about the cause of the crash, inconsistencies in the timeline.

"What are you saying?" he asked, looking up at her.

"I'm saying it doesn't add up," Cassandra said, her voice firm. "There's more to this than they're letting on."

Jackson shook his head. "No. It was an accident. Everyone said so."

"Did they?" Cassandra's eyes bore into his. "Or did they just want you to believe that?"

The room fell silent. Jackson's mind raced with questions he didn't want to ask, with answers he wasn't ready to hear.

"Why are you showing me this?" he finally said.

"Because you deserve to know the truth," Cassandra said. "And because I think… I think someone's trying to cover it up."

Jackson stared at the papers in his hand, his stomach twisting. He had spent so long trying to move on, trying to bury the pain of losing his father. But now, it felt like that pain was clawing its way back to the surface.

As the days passed, Jackson couldn't stop thinking about what Cassandra had shown him. He began to notice things he hadn't before—whispers in the hallways, strange looks from people he barely knew. It was as if the entire campus was hiding something from him.

One night, unable to sleep, he decided to go for a walk. The campus was eerily quiet, the only sound the rustling of leaves in the breeze. He found himself drawn to the old administration building, a place he rarely visited.

The door was unlocked, which struck him as odd. He stepped inside, the air cold and still. The building felt abandoned, its walls lined with old portraits and dusty plaques.

As he wandered through the halls, he heard a faint sound—footsteps, distant but growing closer.

"Hello?" he called out, his voice echoing.

No answer.

Jackson's pulse quickened as he turned a corner and found himself in a dimly lit office. A desk sat in the center of the room, papers scattered across its surface. One paper caught his eye—a list of names, including his father's.

"What is this?" he muttered, picking it up.

Before he could read further, a shadow moved in the doorway.

"Jackson."

He spun around to see Cassandra standing there, her face pale.

"Cass, what are you doing here?" he asked, his voice trembling.

"I could ask you the same thing," she said, stepping inside.

"I found this," he said, holding up the paper. "What does it mean?"

Cassandra's eyes flicked to the list, and for a moment, he saw something in her expression—fear, or maybe guilt.

"I don't know," she said, her voice barely audible.

Jackson frowned. "You're lying."

"Jackson, please," she said, her voice urgent. "You shouldn't be here."

"Why not?" he demanded.

"Because it's not safe!"

Her words sent a chill down his spine. He stared at her, trying to make sense of what was happening. But before he could say anything, the sound of footsteps filled the hallway, heavy and fast.

"Someone's coming," Cassandra whispered, grabbing his arm. "We have to go."

Jackson hesitated, but the fear in her eyes convinced him. They slipped out of the office and into the shadows, moving as quietly as they could.

As they reached the exit, Jackson glanced back and saw a figure standing in the hallway, watching them.

"Who was that?" he asked once they were outside.

Cassandra shook her head, her face pale. "I don't know."

But Jackson didn't believe her.

For the first time, he realized that Cassandra wasn't just hiding something—she was hiding everything.

And he was determined to find out what it was.