The Boy with Bloody Hands

*— Elara Voss's POV —*

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They move faster now.

I used to think I had time — seconds between steps, minutes between moves. But today proved otherwise.

By the time the whispers started, it was already too late.

---

It began in first period — a shift in the room I couldn't name.

Eyes that used to avoid me were watching. Conversations fell silent the moment I walked past. Not the usual discomfort I'd grown used to. This was different. **Sharp. Tense. Curated.**

By second period, two girls were huddled in the stairwell, not even bothering to whisper.

"She was with him."

"She handed him something."

"Did you hear? He was seen at the auditorium."

I didn't stop. I didn't correct them.

If I started defending myself now, I'd never stop.

---

By lunch, it was no longer rumor.

It was *everywhere.*

The school app buzzed once.

Then twice.

I checked my screen, already expecting it.

> **Principal Adrian Routh reported missing.**

> Last seen on school premises at 7:42 a.m.

> Ongoing investigation in progress.

> Confidential tip submitted.

Attached below it?

A photo.

I froze.

Rowan. Standing on the auditorium stage.

The same place I confronted Routh last night.

The same place I died — in a life no one remembered but me.

Rowan was holding something in the photo.

**The file.**

The one I gave him.

His head was down. Shadows hiding half his face.

He looked like a villain.

Framed perfectly.

Beautifully.

**Intentionally.**

---

I could feel the eyes now. Heavy on my skin.

"She gave him the file."

"He's probably the reason the principal's missing."

"They were seen arguing, weren't they?"

I didn't correct them.

I didn't have to.

They were never meant to believe me anyway.

They weren't the audience.

**He was.**

---

Rowan didn't return to the dorm after classes.

His bed was untouched. His phone — off. His books? Gone.

When I checked the security office, the hallway was cordoned off.

"Pending internal protocol," they said.

"Emergency shutdown."

"No interviews."

All lies.

They weren't investigating him.

They were **erasing** him.

Fast. Quiet. Clean.

And the worst part?

They knew I'd hesitate.

They wanted me to ask the question.

**Did Rowan betray me?**

Just once.

Because once I let doubt in…

I lose.

---

I waited until midnight to find him.

I don't know how I knew where he'd be — maybe I didn't.

But I ended up at the old library wing.

The one they shut down last year after the fire.

Still broken windows. Still damp floors and falling plaster.

It was quiet inside.

Except for the sound of breathing.

I turned the corner.

There he was.

Sitting on the floor against the wall, hood half up, head back, eyes closed.

His fists were red. Bleeding.

The wall behind him cracked.

"Rowan," I said.

He didn't look at me right away.

When he did, his voice was raw.

"You think I did it?"

---

I didn't answer.

Because I knew that if I opened my mouth too fast, I'd say something I'd regret.

"You've been quiet all day," he said, standing slowly.

The bruises across his knuckles looked like they were painted on.

"That picture wasn't supposed to exist," he muttered. "I went there to— I just wanted to see it again. What you saw."

I looked at him, really looked.

His shoulders were tight. Eyes unfocused. Like he'd been running from something in his own head all day.

"I wasn't supposed to touch the file."

"No," I said finally. "You weren't."

He blinked.

"But I did."

"You trusted me," I said softly. "And they used that."

---

He looked away, jaw clenched. "You think they'll pin this on me?"

"They already have."

"What are you going to do?"

I walked toward him, slow.

Then I sat beside him, back against the same cracked wall.

I reached for his hand.

He flinched.

"You're not the one I'm afraid of, Rowan."

He didn't say anything.

And neither did I.

We just sat there, blood drying on his knuckles, silence settling between us like fog.

The weight of everything we hadn't said pressing down harder than the truth ever could.

---

Whoever was behind this didn't just want the principal gone.

They didn't just want to erase the file.

**They wanted me alone.**

They knew what I became when I trusted no one.

Predictable. Cold. Careful.

Easy to track. Easy to corner.

But with Rowan?

I was a threat again.

They were trying to break me apart at the seams.

And it almost worked.

Almost.

---

I rested my head against the cold wall and closed my eyes.

"They made you look like a villain," I said.

Rowan breathed out a laugh. "That's what happens when you follow you around."

I smiled — just barely.

"Good," I whispered. "Let them think that."

---

Because the truth is dangerous.

And right now?

So are we.

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