Merlina's POV
Megan tucked her hair behind her ear, casual as ever. "Yeah," she said. "My brother mentioned it."
I slowed my pace, the hallway suddenly colder. "And?"
Phoebe didn't bother looking up from her book. "I read something online. Took my parents a while to stop freaking out."
A chill crept up my spine. I tried to keep my voice steady. "Did they ever figure out who did it? Like… officially?"
Megan gave a noncommittal shrug. "They had a suspect. Some student who was, like, obsessed with her or something. It was a big deal back then."
My stomach turned. "Do you remember his name?"
She frowned, thoughtful for a second, then shook her head. "No idea. They couldn't charge him—lack of evidence or whatever. Rich kid. Into drugs. Belview golden boy."
I stared at her. "And he's still here?"
"Probably." She said it like she was talking about an old classmate who'd failed to graduate. No concern. No weight behind the words.
He was still here. Alive. Free.
And I felt the ground tilt beneath me.
Phoebe flipped a page and raised an eyebrow. "Why do you care?" Her tone was light, bored. Like I'd just asked about the lunch menu.
I looked at her, then Megan. "Because someone lost their life. And the person who did it… just gets to walk away?"
Phoebe let out a snort. "God. Relax. You didn't even know her."
"Exactly," Megan chimed in. "It's not our problem. College is hard enough without turning it into a murder podcast."
My hands clenched at my sides. "You two are unbelievable," I snapped. "Someone was murdered—right here—and you're acting like it's gossip from Twitter."
Phoebe leaned back in her chair, lips curling into something smug. "Violence happens everywhere, babe. Professors are the worst anyway. If one croaks? That's one less lecture to sit through."
The words hit me like a slap. My breath caught.
Then she smiled, cruel and cutting. "Maybe she was just some desperate old lady who tried hooking up with the wrong guy. And he freaked out. Self-defense, oops."
Megan laughed like it was a joke.
And that was it. Something inside me snapped.
"You're disgusting," I said, my voice sharp and shaking. I turned to leave, heart hammering in my chest.
"Merlina—what the hell?" Phoebe called after me, clearly confused.
Megan sat up straighter, alarm dawning in her eyes. "Wait. What just happened?"
I stopped at the door.
My voice trembled. I looked them both dead in the eye.
"That 'desperate old lady'?" I said, barely above a whisper.
"She was my mother."
The door slammed behind me before they could say another word.
The motel parking lot was nearly empty. A flickering neon VACANCY sign buzzed above like it had a secret to tell but kept forgetting the words. I wrapped my arms tighter around myself, the cold seeping into my sleeves as I headed for the entrance.
Inside, the lobby was harsh with fluorescent light, the air thick with bleach and loneliness. The woman at the front desk didn't even look up.
"Room 213. Second floor," she said flatly, sliding the keycard toward me.
No questions. No concern. Just another girl in another sad little room.
The last place I wanted to be was back at my dorm, with Phoebe and Megan.
Even the thought of hearing their voices again made my skin crawl. I tightened my grip on the motel keycard, like it could anchor me to anywhere but there.
My footsteps echoed off stained wallpaper and sticky tile. Room 213 opened with a soft click, like even the door didn't want to bother.
The room looked like it hadn't been touched in years. A faded bedspread, a yellow lamp trying its best to stay alive, a desk with water rings and burn marks. Everything reeked of temporary.
I dropped my bag and just stood there, hollow. The silence pressed in.
And then, without warning, the memories came rushing in.
I remember when the world stopped moving.
It was a year ago. The living room was still warm with breakfast smells—burnt toast and over-sweetened coffee. Melissa and Alistair were curled up on either side of me, scrolling on their phones, half-watching some game show on mute.
Dad was at the table, tapping his fingers on a cracked mug. The air buzzed with something I couldn't name. Then his phone rang. One sharp, shrill tone—and he picked up immediately.
"Yeah?"
His voice changed. His eyes darkened. I knew that voice. It was the one he used when bills were overdue or someone from work screwed up.
"Uh-huh. I see."
He didn't look at us when he ended the call. Just stared past us like we weren't there. Then, quietly:
"Your mother's dead."
Silence.
I blinked. Thought I'd misheard.
"What?" I whispered.
Alistair sat up. "Dad… What do you mean? What are you talking about?"
Melissa clutched the pillow like it could anchor her. "No. No, she just went to work—she's supposed to come back—"
Dad stood up. His mouth was set in a hard, straight line. "I always knew that school would ruin her."
Then he walked out of the room.
Just like that.
And I sat there, staring at the empty doorway, waiting for her to walk through it and tell us it was all some horrible mistake.
She didn't.
She never would.
The memory faded, but it left something raw behind. Like it had torn through my chest on the way out.
I was still on the motel bed, knees hugged to my chest, the lamp flickering in the corner. The air felt too thin. My lungs couldn't catch enough of it.
"I can't keep doing this," I said out loud. My voice barely made a sound.
Then—
My phone buzzed.
I flinched, reaching for it with shaky fingers.
One new message. Unknown number.
Stop digging, Merlina. There are eyes on you. Eyes that can see everything.
The truth isn't what you think it is.
My grip tightened on the phone.
I stared at the screen, heart pounding in my ears.
Who the hell knew I was here?