CELESTE'S JOURNAL

I didn't mean to find it.

Celeste Carmichael's journal was tucked behind a loose panel in the library's restricted section. Hidden. Forgotten. Bound in cracked leather with fraying corners and a faint scent of smoke.

I wasn't even looking for it. I was looking for blueprints.

But some secrets have a way of finding me.

Celeste had been a student at Vanguard ten years ago. The name wasn't familiar until I read the first page.

"We know what we did. The blood we buried. And the debt that will come due."

The page was dated exactly one month before my parents were killed.

My hands trembled as I turned the pages.

Celeste hadn't just been a student.

She had been the daughter of one of the Eight.

She wrote about whispers in the walls. About coded meetings, alliances formed behind champagne and billion dollar deals. And about a girl "the little ghost" who saw more than she should have.

Me?

No. Someone before me.

Celeste had known something. And then, the entries stopped.

Abruptly.

No farewell. No final page. Just a smear of ink and silence.

I sat alone on the marble floor, the journal heavy in my lap. Her last entry repeated like a curse:

"He said we were gods. But gods die too."

That night, I added a new file to my encrypted drive.

SUBJECT: Celeste Carmichael

Status: Presumed dead or disappeared.

Connection to Eight: Confirmed.

Threat level: Unknown.

Investigation: Ongoing.

I also scanned the journal cover to cover. Genevieve had to see this.

But something told me… she already knew.

At breakfast the next morning, I kept my expression neutral.

Caleb sat two tables away, flipping through a newspaper like he wasn't watching me. But I could feel it. His gaze grazed the back of my neck like a touch.

Lila rambled about a new tennis instructor and upcoming gala.

But my mind was elsewhere.

The Eight had secrets within secrets. Lies wrapped in silk.

Celeste's journal was a key.

The question was: What door did it open?

"He said the girl wouldn't survive. That the fire would cover the truth. But I saw her. I saw her crawl away. Bleeding. Breathing. He doesn't know. None of them do. But I do. And I think she'll come back."

Genevieve's reply to the journal scans came that night.

Burn it. Or bury it. Some things are too dangerous to hold.

I stared at the message.

Then stared at the journal.

I did neither.

Instead, I wrapped it in cloth and hid it behind the loose panel again.

Because Celeste's voice was too close to mine.

And I wasn't done listening yet.