The school day blurred.
Claire moved through her classes like a ghost, each teacher's voice muffled under the hum of her thoughts. Miko's words haunted her.
"Sam and Randy are close."
"He said Randy was involved."
"After everything."
She hadn't messaged Sam yet. She didn't know what to say.
Part of her wanted to demand answers. Another part—maybe the part that had always trusted Sam—hoped he'd come to her first. He always did. Quietly. Calmly. When she needed it most.
But that morning… he hadn't shown up at all.
And by mid-afternoon, the storm finally broke.
It started with whispers.
Students returning from lunch looked shaken, whispering in anxious bursts. A teacher abruptly closed the blinds during class. Phones buzzed in silent waves, glances being exchanged with widening eyes.
Claire sat frozen in her seat, her gut twisting.
Then came the announcement.
The intercom crackled, and the vice principal's voice came on, tight and urgent:
"All students are to return to their homeroom classes immediately and remain there until further notice."
The classroom erupted in murmurs. Claire's fingers dug into her desk.
She barely noticed when her homeroom teacher re-entered the class ten minutes later, pale and visibly shaken. The words that followed landed like cold steel in her chest.
"A student's body was found behind the old gym. Near the back fence."
Her voice trembled. "It was… it was Sam."
The world tilted.
Claire's breath caught so sharply she thought she might choke. She gripped the edge of her seat, her knuckles white, heart thundering in her ears.
Dead?
No. No. That couldn't be. Sam wasn't—
She stood abruptly, her chair scraping back. "I need to—"
"Claire," her teacher said sharply, "sit down."
But Claire didn't. She turned and rushed out the door.
Outside, the sky had gone dark again, clouds heavy with the threat of more rain.
Claire ran past the lockers, past the library, toward the edge of the school grounds. She wasn't the only one — clusters of students gathered behind caution tape and faculty members yelling for them to return inside. The far edge of the field was cordoned off with yellow tape. Several officers stood near a stretch of grass behind the gym, and Claire saw it:
A blue tarp.
Paramedics.
A body bag being zipped shut.
Her knees nearly gave out.
"Claire!"
A hand caught her arm. Miko.
His face was pale. His usual calm was gone. "You shouldn't be here—"
"It's him?" she whispered. "It's really Sam?"
Miko looked away. "Yeah. They said… it looked like he was killed last night."
Claire shook her head violently, heart pounding, chest aching. "No—no, he was fine. I saw him just two days ago. He… he said we'd talk again soon—"
"I know," Miko said. His voice cracked. "I know."
Claire stared at the tarp. The body underneath it. Her friend. Her quiet, steady friend — who always looked out for her, who never asked for anything, who kept her secrets without needing to hear the whole story.
Gone.
Murdered.
And something twisted deep inside her, like a door opening in her chest.
She remembered again —
a hand reaching out.
a warning whispered too late.
a boy pulling her away from stairs she never should have climbed.
Sam.
He had always known more.
And now he was dead.
Claire turned to Miko, eyes burning.
"You said Sam told you something. That Randy was involved."
Miko hesitated.
"Tell me everything he said."
Because now this wasn't just about memory.
Or love.
Or even betrayal.
Now, someone had killed Sam.
And Claire was done pretending she didn't feel it coming.
She was going to find out who —
even if it led her right back into the dark.
The next day, the school felt like a grave.
Police had returned early in the morning. Officers stood by the gym and the back fence, questioning students, collecting footage from campus cameras, and speaking with staff. Yellow tape still fluttered in the wind behind the gymnasium like an ugly reminder.
Claire sat in the guidance office, hands clasped tightly in her lap. She had already given her statement—what she knew about Sam, how close they were, when she last saw him.
But there was a hollow in her chest that no officer's question could fill.
She needed answers.
Not just from the investigation.
But from Randy.
That night, the wind was heavy again.
Claire didn't go straight home after school. Instead, she asked Randy to meet her outside the small café near the edge of the school district — quiet, tucked between closed shops, where no one would interrupt.
Randy arrived just as the streetlights blinked on. His usual smile faltered when he saw Claire's expression.
"I need to ask you something," she said without pleasantries, her arms crossed tightly.
He nodded slowly, sensing the weight in her voice. "Okay."
She looked him in the eye. "Why didn't you tell me that you were close to Sam?"
For a moment, Randy said nothing. Just silence. Then he looked away, jaw tightening, hands deep in his pockets.
"You heard that from Miko?"
Claire nodded. "Yes. Miko said Sam told him things — about you. About… what happened before. About how you were involved."
Her voice shook slightly. "Why didn't you ever tell me that you two were close?"
Randy's shoulders sagged a little. He let out a long, tired breath.
"Because I didn't want you to know the rest."
Claire stiffened. "What rest?"
Randy finally looked at her again, his gaze heavier than she'd ever seen it.
"Sam used to live in our house."
Claire's eyes widened. "What?"
"He and his mom. She was our housekeeper," Randy continued, voice quieter now. "They stayed with us for almost five years. I was a kid, but Sam… he was always there. Like a brother sometimes. He knew everything. About me. About my family. About what happened before you fell—before everything changed."
Claire stared, cold creeping into her chest.
"Why didn't you tell me any of this?"
"Because Sam made me promise," Randy said, tone rough. "He didn't want anyone knowing about his mom's job. He hated feeling like people saw him as 'the housekeeper's son.' He earned his way into everything — school, competitions, people's respect. He never used my name."
He paused, guilt flickering behind his eyes.
"When you got close to him, I didn't say anything because… I thought he'd look after you better than I could. And he did. Always."
Claire's breath trembled. "And now he's dead."
Randy looked down.
"I know."
She stepped forward, voice firmer now. "And you still haven't told me what he meant when he said you were involved in what happened to me. Why would Sam even say that?"
Randy's expression faltered. For a heartbeat, there was something like panic in his eyes.
"I don't know," he said. "I swear, Claire. I never hurt you. I wasn't there when it happened."
"But you knew something," she whispered.
Randy didn't respond.
And in that silence, the distance between them widened.
Claire stepped back. Her heart ached, but her resolve sharpened.
"I don't know if you're lying to protect me or yourself," she said quietly. "But either way, I'm going to find out the truth."
Randy took a breath, but before he could speak again, Claire turned and walked away.
That night, back in her room, Claire opened her notebook again.
This time, she circled Sam's name twice — bold, dark lines.
Underneath, she wrote:
"He knew everything."
And below that:
"He died before he could tell me."
She stared at the page, the ache of grief still raw in her chest.
Then she added one final line:
"I owe him the truth."
And for the first time in a long time…
Claire wasn't afraid of what she might remember. She was afraid of what she wouldn't if she didn't start now.