𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍
dead air isn't always empty
❪ Ridgeway High, 1087 Blackthorn Drive, Oregon ❫
⏰  8:00 a.m.

──────────────────

The school day begins like any other.

Students shuffle through the front gates in half-zombie states — coffee cups clutched, headphones in, eyes on their phones. Lockers slam open. Laughter and gossip curl through the halls, but there's an undercurrent of tension.

Always is now.

The group pretends it's normal. They nod in passing, make casual eye contact. Jaydee adjusts his headphones. Nadia's posting donation drive flyers. Jules walks faster than usual.

At 8:02 a.m., the buzz of the school intercom clicks on.

Students barely look up — it's the usual morning announcements. The AV Club President's voice, nasally and dry, starts reading the daily line-up.

"Morning, Ridgeway. Welcome back from the weekend. Just a few reminders—"

Then, mid-sentence, the voice cuts out.

A burst of static.

Then... something else.

A new voice takes over. Distorted. Mechanized. Playful.

"Good morning, Ridgeway High."

A pause. You could hear a pin drop.

"Another week, another lie. Another student pretending their hands are clean. But I know what you've done. I always have."

"We'll see how well you handle exposure."

Students shift in their seats. Some exchange confused glances. Teachers are frozen, hands hovering near the intercom switches.

The line clicks off.

Stunned silence.

Then a wave of whispers explodes through every hallway, every classroom.

"Was that real?"
"Who was that about?"
"Is this another prank?"

Jaydee doesn't move for several seconds. He doesn't dare look at the others, but he knows they heard it too.

From across the room, Gabrielle's eyes lock with his for a brief second — sharp. Suspicious.

Mattheo slouches in his chair. "What the fuck..."

Nadia is already pulling out her phone, scanning X and Reddit threads. There's nothing yet.

The teachers scramble to move on, but the damage is done.

Something just shifted.

And the group knows — this wasn't just another threat. It was a declaration.

Someone's about to be exposed.

──

The bell hasn't even fully rung before Nadia is already there, pacing with her arms crossed. The weight of the morning's broadcast still sits heavy on her chest. It wasn't just a taunt — it was public.

Jaydee walks in next. His jaw is tight, his usual sarcasm absent. He doesn't meet anyone's eyes.

Gabrielle arrives with Mari close behind. Gabby's still in her cheer hoodie, hair up in a high ponytail, but her usual swagger is gone. She throws her bag on the floor.

"Okay, what the hell was that?" she says sharply, breaking the silence.

The others trickle in — Mattheo, Jules, Yuki, Eli, Yale — one by one, until the full group is there, seated in an awkward, tense semi-circle.

Mattheo is the first to speak. "That voice this morning... it wasn't just creepy. That was targeted. Someone's playing a game."

"It wasn't just a game," Jules says, arms wrapped tightly around her midsection. She's paler than usual. "It was a threat. Humiliation."

"I hate to say it," Mari adds, quieter, "but... someone's feeding them this. Or they're closer than we think. Too close."

Yuki shifts uncomfortably near the wall. "So what, one of us is the mole?"

That lands like a slap. Everyone freezes.

"Are we really sure it's not someone here?" Gabrielle says slowly. "Come on, think about it. We've all got secrets. What if one of us is leaking stuff—intentionally or not?"

"People do weird shit when they're scared," Eli mutters from the side, but there's a sting in his tone.

Nadia steps in, trying to steady the mood. "We're scared. That's fair. But we're not going to survive this if we tear each other apart now."

Silence.

Jules speaks up last, her voice small. "It's personal now. Not just death... it's exposure. Shame. They want us to panic."

"We already are," Yale replies quietly.

Mattheo runs his hands through his hair. "So what do we do now? Wait until a person gets roasted over the PA system?"

"We get ahead of it," Nadia says firmly. "We watch each other. No one walks alone. And... we don't keep things from each other anymore."

Her eyes land briefly on Jules, who flinches.

Trust, once splintered, doesn't come back easily. But for now, they sit in uneasy truce — not friends, not enemies, just people tied together by the same looming threat.

──

The halls are nearly empty. The last bell rang thirty minutes ago, but Jules walks like she doesn't hear time anymore — just the ringing echo of her own shame.

No one knows she's in here. No one even saw her slip behind the locked doors of the media room, which still smells faintly of dust and old wires.

It's where the school broadcasts morning announcements, edits promotional videos, and houses ancient AV equipment no one cares to upgrade.

She stares at the intercom board, her fingers brushing the edges of the panel.

She's been obsessed ever since the broadcast. She hears that voice in her sleep — warped, cold, just human enough to be real.

"How?" she mutters to herself. "Who has access?"

She digs through the logbooks, the laminated training manuals, drawers full of SD cards, labeled and not.

It's all very official — until it isn't.

Half an hour in, she discovers a side panel in the broadcasting system labeled AUX LINE 3. The wiring looks newer than everything else. Not school-issued. No tags. Not on the manual.

Plugged into a splitter.

And taped underneath it — literally taped under the desk, like an afterthought or a rush job — is a small USB voice module.

Jules freezes.

That's how.

She kneels, pulling it carefully. It's hot. Like it was just used.

She plugs it into one of the editing desktops, breath shaky, and finds a single audio file. One she recognizes instantly.

The exact voice broadcasted that morning. Word for word.

She hits pause before it finishes. Her breath catches. Her hands tremble.

There's metadata in the corner. Edited on a free online voice distortion tool. File downloaded... two nights ago.

Two.

She leans back in the chair, heart pounding. Someone was in here, on school grounds, pre-recording it. Planning it.

Suddenly the room feels too cold. Like she's being watched even now.

Jules backs up, scans the corners, eyes darting to the slightly ajar storage closet in the corner.

She doesn't check it.

She bolts out the room, clutching the USB like it might explode.

──

The school courtyard hums with casual lunchtime chatter. Students sit around picnic tables or lean against brick walls with their phones and sandwiches.

At a far corner, tucked beneath a shaded tree, Eli and Nadia sit with trays of mostly untouched food.

Eli pokes at his fruit cup, not looking up. "So... did you notice anything weird in AP Physics this morning?"

Nadia squints, taking a sip from her water bottle. "Other than my brain disintegrating halfway through a pop quiz? No."

Eli shakes his head. "Not the work. I mean him. Mr. Callahan. He stopped mid-sentence, stared at the projector like it was bleeding or something. Then said, 'they're always watching,' and just... continued teaching like nothing happened."

Nadia's hand freezes over her tray. "Wait, seriously?"

Eli leans in. "Dead serious. And he kept checking his phone under the desk like he was waiting for something. I wasn't the only one who saw. Jaydee even texted me a '???' from across the room."

Nadia lowers her voice. "This isn't the first weird teacher moment I've seen. Mrs. Valdez — home ec — jumped when the fire alarm test went off last week and nearly cried. She muttered 'not again' before leaving the room for ten minutes."

They both exchange a glance. Something unspoken. The same thought creeping in.

What if the students aren't the only ones being taunted?

Eli finally mutters, "We should... start keeping track."

Nadia pulls out her phone and opens the notes app. "Alright. Operation: Creep Watch is a go."

They begin to list out the suspicious faculty.

SUS FACULTY NOTES
• Mr. Callahan (AP Physics B) – paranoia during lecture, muttered 'they're always watching.'
• Mrs. Valdez (Home Ec) – emotional reaction to alarms, muttered 'not again.'
• Ms. Russo (Theater) – skipping rehearsal calls, visibly anxious, defensive when asked about missing props.
• Ms. Belle (English) – sudden absences during office hours, recently requested leave... then cancelled it.

Nadia frowns as she types Miss Belle's name. "Honestly, she's been so... checked out lately."

Eli shrugs. "She used to have the chillest class. Now she looks like she hasn't slept in weeks."

They don't know about her and Mattheo. Not yet. But the pieces are being quietly shuffled into place.

"Think this could be connected?" Nadia whispers.

Eli looks around, then leans closer. "If it is, it means we're not the only ones being watched."

They pause as the bell rings — jolting them back to the "normal" school day.

They gather their things, but before walking off, Nadia mutters, "Whoever's behind this... they're not just targeting us anymore."

──

❪ Ridgeway High, 1087 Blackthorn Drive, Oregon ❫
⏰  10:03 p.m.

──

The school looked different at night.

The halls that once buzzed with teenage chatter now stood in eerie silence, washed in bluish light from the streetlamps filtering through the windows. Shadows stretched long across the linoleum floors. Ridgeway High, a place meant for learning and laughter, felt more like a crime scene waiting to happen.

A car door clicked shut.

Gabrielle pulled her hoodie tighter over her head as she approached the rear gate, where most of the group was already huddled. Mattheo stood with his arms crossed, his dark jacket blending into the shadows. Mari leaned against the chain-link fence, chewing gum like it was her last source of sanity. Yuki and Jules arrived seconds later, side by side but wordlessly distant.

Nadia checked the time. "We're late."

Jaydee replied with a quick shrug, flicking off the flashlight on his phone. "It's not like they're expecting us."

Inside the school, lights were dimmed but not entirely off — a few were still powered in the east wing and upstairs faculty floor, just enough to keep it from total darkness. Perfect for sneaking.

"We split up," Nadia whispered, pulling out the list they created earlier. The names of four teachers stared back at her.

"Pairs," Eli added. "Don't go alone. You see something, hear something, take a picture. No dumb hero moves."

"Who said I'd do anything dumb?" Mattheo muttered.

Gabrielle smirked. "Literally everyone."

──

The hallway leading to the Home Ec room smelled faintly like scorched bread and cheap floor cleaner — a lingering reminder of failed sophomore soufflés and years of forgotten classroom memories. The lockers gleamed dully under the emergency lighting, casting faint reflections as the two girls walked side by side in uneasy silence.

Gabrielle had her flashlight aimed low, the beam bouncing with every impatient step. Mari trailed slightly behind her, hands stuffed into the pockets of her oversized jacket, sneakers squeaking every few steps.

"You walk like you're leading a heist," Mari finally muttered, voice just above a whisper.
Gabrielle didn't turn. "And you walk like we're here for snacks."

Mari rolled her eyes. "I wouldn't say no to snacks, honestly."

Gabrielle glanced over her shoulder, raising an eyebrow. "You literally had three hash browns before we even went here." Mari's lips quirked up. "And I regret none of them."

They reached the door to Room 108 — the Home Ec lab. Gabrielle jiggled the handle... locked.

Without missing a beat, she pulled a slim card from her back pocket — clearly practiced. Mari blinked. "Since when do you know how to break into rooms?"

Gabrielle smirked, sliding the card between the frame. "Since I started babysitting cheerleaders with secrets and possible murder targets."

Click.

The door creaked open, and they slipped inside.

Inside, the air was colder. The long rows of stoves and counters were covered with plastic sheeting, like the room had been half-prepped for summer renovations. Everything looked normal — too normal.

Mari pulled out her phone and turned on the flashlight. "Alright, what exactly are we looking for? A bloodstained apron? A Home Ec teacher moonlighting as a serial killer?"

Gabrielle was already heading toward the cabinets. "Anything suspicious. Files, notes, receipts, burner phones—"

"—a cookbook full of coded threats," Mari added helpfully.

Gabrielle gave her a dry look. "You're hilarious."

Mari hopped onto a nearby countertop with a lazy grin. "You think so?"

Gabrielle paused mid-search. A beat passed.

"Don't."

Mari hopped down, the smile fading from her face. "Fine. You wanna be serious tonight, I can be serious."

They fell into a tense silence, rummaging separately now — Gabrielle sorting through drawers of lesson plans and sticky notes, Mari checking the teacher's desk. The only sound was the hum of the air vent and the soft rustle of paper.

After a few minutes, Gabrielle held something up. "Hey."

Mari turned. It was a crumpled sheet of paper shoved between the pages of a recipe binder. Gabrielle smoothed it out under the flashlight.

It was a permission slip... for off-campus tutoring sessions. Signed by Eliza Park.

"Why would Mrs. Valdez have this?" Gabrielle asked, voice low.

Mari took the paper, brows furrowing. "I heard Eliza hated Home Ec. She only signed up because she thought Valdez would let her skip finals."

They both stared at the signature. It was old — from nearly a year ago. But fresh enough to raise new questions.

Gabrielle leaned closer to the desk, checking the drawers again. "Okay... something's weird. Why does a Home Ec teacher need private tutoring with students? Especially ones who are now dead?"

Mari glanced sideways. "You don't think Mrs. Valdez is behind all this, do you?"

Gabrielle looked back at her. "I think... we've got a hell of a lot more questions."

Mari nodded slowly. "And no snacks."

Gabrielle cracked a smile. "If we make it out of this, I'll buy you fries."

Mari grinned. "Curly ones. With extra cheese."

"Deal."

They turned toward the door, pocketing the paper. As they stepped back into the hallway, the silence of the school felt heavier now.

──

The lab smelled faintly of whiteboard marker, antiseptic, and copper — the aftertaste of equations and experiments long since erased.

Room 302 was dim, only the red glow of an emergency light casting eerie shadows on the metal lab tables and hanging models of Newton's Laws.

Jaydee lingered near the door as Eli pushed it open with the casual air of someone who definitely had a spare key to the chem and physics rooms. It wasn't his first time after-hours, clearly.

Jaydee crossed his arms. "You sure you're not secretly plotting to bomb the midterm curve? You break into this room too easily."

Eli glanced back with a smirk. "Please. I'm the curve."

Jaydee rolled his eyes, though the tension in his shoulders never eased.

They stepped in and closed the door gently behind them. The walls were plastered with posters of Einstein, Feynman quotes, and failed student attempts at balancing forces. Mr. Callahan's desk sat messily at the front — chaotic, cluttered, but organized in a way that said he knew where everything was.

Jaydee flicked his flashlight around. "So we're looking for... what, exactly?"

"Anything," Eli murmured, heading for the file cabinet. "Class rosters, tutoring records, private notes. Remember what Callahan said last month about Eliza always asking to stay after class?"

Jaydee paused. "You think she was being... mentored?"

Eli yanked a drawer open, papers rustling like dry leaves. "I think she was being watched."

They worked quietly, Jaydee carefully checking drawers while Eli combed through manila folders. The silence buzzed with fluorescent tension, punctuated only by the occasional metal clink or shuffle.

Eli opened the bottom drawer of the desk. Inside was a small stack of student reflection essays, all dated from last semester. He skimmed them quickly. "These are from the previous AP Physics B class. Mine, Sierra Vance, Evan Marsh... all of them wrote one."

Jaydee's eyes narrowed. "Why keep them?"

Eli didn't answer. He just flipped to the last paper.

Jaydee leaned over. The name on the top, Sierra Vance. The essay title, "The Law of Consequences."

Before either could read it, the sound of a door creaking down the hall made them both freeze.

Jaydee immediately clicked off his flashlight. Eli tucked the papers back in the drawer, lips pressed thin.

Footsteps.

Neither moved — breaths shallow, hearts thudding. Then silence.

After a moment, Eli whispered, "We should go."

──

The theater was cloaked in shadows, only lit by the silvery blue glow of the emergency lights lining the backstage halls. The wide velvet curtains loomed like silent guards as Yuki, Jules, and Yale stepped onto the scuffed wooden stage, careful to close the side door behind them.

Yale turned on his phone flashlight. "Okay. Let's make this quick. We're looking for anything that explains why Ms. Russo's been bailing on rehearsals."

Yuki stayed quiet, already making her way past the tech table and toward the cramped costume storage room Ms. Russo often disappeared into.

The air smelled like dust, paint, and sweat. Someone had definitely been here recently.

Yale walked toward the rehearsal schedule board. Half the calendar was scratched out and rewritten — cast meetings canceled, music rehearsals crossed off, blocking changes that no one had announced.

"See this?" he called. "She's been canceling stuff last minute."

Meanwhile, Jules wandered over to the props table. A few things were missing.

Yuki returned from the side room, holding a half-crumpled paper in her hand. "Guys..."

She placed it gently on the table. A printout of a hospital bill, half-torn, and stained with coffee.

Name: Carla Russo
Diagnosis: Generalized Anxiety Disorder – Severe / Burnout-Related Episode
Status: Under evaluation. Advised extended leave.

Yale exhaled. "Holy crap."

"She didn't tell the school," Yuki murmured. "She's trying to keep this covered up."

"No wonder she's been so off," She added. "Last week she snapped at Justin just for adjusting the light levels."

"I also overheard her crying in the dressing room two days ago. I thought maybe it was about the play..."

They stood in a brief, uncomfortable silence.

Jules crossed her arms. "Okay. So not kill list material. But still... this is bad."

"She's not the threat," Yuki said firmly. "She's the one barely hanging on."

Yale folded the paper and set it back gently. "Let's not say anything. She deserves privacy."

They nodded. This time, no leads. Just a human being crumbling under pressure.

They left quietly, the weight of someone else's secret tugging at their heels.

──

The door to Room 108, Ms. Belle's classroom, creaked open. Mattheo held it long enough for Nadia to slip in, flashlight tucked between her arm and chest as she clutched a worn notebook filled with scribbled questions and group theories.

The classroom was still — neat, perfectly arranged, like no chaos had ever existed here. Desks in rows. Notes still on the board from last Friday. Essay prompt: What truth do we choose to tell?

Nadia gave a tight sigh, sweeping her light over the desks. "Okay. We just check her drawers, maybe the cabinet, and we're out."

Mattheo was quieter than usual. Hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets. He wasn't even pretending to joke like he usually did.

Nadia noticed. "You okay?"

He gave a shrug. "Peachy. Just breaking into a teacher's classroom with the president. Living the dream."

She rolled her eyes. "Cut the sarcasm. You've been weird since we drew this assignment."

Mattheo ignored that. Instead, he moved toward Ms. Belle's desk, scanning the surface. Pens, a stack of ungraded essays, a half-full water bottle, and a small silver key.

Nadia crouched by the filing cabinet. "Did she always talk to you after class?"

That made him pause.

"What?"

Nadia looked up at him. "Ms. Belle. You and her — were you close?"

Mattheo's jaw ticked.

"When I see you two in the halls. Well, she just... always seemed to pay special attention to you," Nadia said carefully, rising from her crouch. "Not saying that's weird or anything. But maybe it's worth asking if there's a reason."

He stiffened. "Drop it, Nadia."

Her brows furrowed. "Mattheo—"

"I said drop it."

The room grew thick with tension.

She stepped back, hurt flashing in her eyes. "Why are you being so defensive?"

He turned sharply, voice lower, sharper. "Because maybe not everything needs to be dissected by the school's top student, okay?"

Nadia recoiled like she'd been slapped.

Before she could snap back, the click of a door opening down the hallway froze them both.

Mattheo grabbed her wrist and pulled her behind the teacher's desk, ducking low just as a flashlight beam flickered into the room from outside. Someone — probably a night janitor — peered in.

Footsteps paused.

Mattheo and Nadia crouched beneath the desk, breaths held tight, knees bumping into one another. She could feel the tension vibrating off him.

The door closed. Footsteps faded.

Silence.

Nadia whispered, "You didn't have to snap like that."

Mattheo stared ahead, fists clenched. Then finally, he muttered, low and strained, "I'm sorry."

Nadia glanced over, surprised. "Okay."

They stayed there for a moment longer, breathing in the cold hush of the classroom, the words between them louder than the silence.

──

They gathered near the greenhouse, the only place with enough cover and benches. Crickets chirped in the tall grass. A flickering security light buzzed overhead as everyone trickled back from their respective "assignments."

Mattheo and Nadia arrived first, followed by Gabrielle and Mari still mid-bicker, and then Jules, Yuki, and Yale — all silent with unspoken tension. Jaydee and Eli were last, Eli nervously glancing over his shoulder every few seconds.

"Okay," Gabrielle clapped once, stepping forward. "Anyone find anything?"

A beat of silence.

Nadia glanced at Mattheo, but said nothing. Instead, she cleared her throat. "Ms. Belle's too clean. Too careful."

"Ms. Russo's on the verge of a breakdown," Jules added. "It's not her. She's barely functioning."

"Mr. Callahan keeps previous essays to himself including those who have died that took his class," Jaydee said. "But nothing useful."

Yale slumped onto the bench, tossing his backpack beside him. "We're wasting our time. We're getting paranoid, seeing ghosts in shadows."

"So we did all this for nothing?" Jules frowned. "Risking detention, suspension, whatever?"

"No," Yuki said softly, tugging at the edge of her hoodie sleeve. "We proved it's not them. That's something."

Mattheo nodded. "But we're still back at square one."

A moment of silence settled over them.

Then...

"HEY!"

A booming voice echoed across the courtyard. A flashlight beam sliced through the darkness.

The janitor.

"Shit," Jaydee muttered.

"GO!" Gabrielle yelled.

They bolted — bags flapping, sneakers slapping against the pavement. Laughter burst from Jules as she grabbed Yuki's arm and dragged her along. Mattheo shoved a gate open while Nadia slid through. Mari leapt a bush with unexpected grace, and Yale helped Eli scramble over a bench.

"Stop! You kids think this is funny?!"

"Kind of!" Yale called behind him, grinning.

They didn't stop running until they hit the street outside the school, breathless, messy, and flushed with adrenaline. For the first time in days — maybe weeks — they laughed.

Real laughter.

Even if it was fleeting.

Even if the killer was still watching.

For a moment... they felt like kids again.