Killian was gone.
Vanished without warning. Without goodbyes.
And no one was talking about it.
The professors didn't mark him absent. No emails were sent. His name was silently wiped from the group project list in Lit Theory. Even his seat — two rows behind mine — was already filled by someone else.
Like he'd never existed.
Like he'd been erased.
Just like Lila.
I stared at the photo for the hundredth time.
Killian. With Dean Soren. Laughing like he belonged there.
It wasn't just a betrayal.
It was proof.
Proof that someone I trusted — the only person I trusted — had played me.
Or maybe... was still playing me.
And now he was gone.
But not because he ran.
Because someone didn't want him talking.
Jules cornered me between classes.
"They took him," she whispered. "Last night. Two men in suits. Off-campus car. No plates."
My heart dropped.
"They grabbed him?"
She nodded. "A maintenance guy saw it. Said Killian didn't fight. Just... walked out with them like he knew there was no point."
I clutched the photo tighter.
"I need to know who gave that order," I said. "Was it Marrin? Was it someone higher?"
Jules glanced around, eyes wide.
"There's a name I've heard," she whispered. "But I don't know what it means."
I waited.
She leaned in close.
"Alecta."
The name meant nothing to me.
Not at first.
But the way Jules said it — like it tasted like blood — stuck in my throat all day.
I spent five hours in the library combing through donor records, private endowments, special projects.
Nothing.
Until I stumbled on a thin folder misfiled in the alumni archives.
"Alecta Institute – Foundational Partner, Behavioral Division (est. 1982)"
Not a person.
A private think tank.
Affiliated with three universities.
One of them: Blackmere.
Inside the folder were old memos.
Meetings between Alecta reps and campus administration.
Sponsorship of "advanced student resilience testing."
A series of handwritten notes in the margins:
"Subject compliance expected. Failures to be noted. Control groups must be isolated."
My hands trembled.
Alecta wasn't just funding PRAXIS.
They designed it.
I barely noticed when the sun set outside the library windows.
The only thing that broke my focus was a soft ping.
An email.
No sender. No subject.
Just one line:
"He's not dead. Not yet."
And a location tag.
Underground parking garage. Off-campus. Faculty-only access.
I didn't hesitate.
Didn't tell Jules.
Didn't stop to change.
I grabbed my hoodie, the flash drive, and the photo.
And ran.
The garage was cold. Empty. Lit by harsh fluorescent strips that buzzed like broken nerves.
I followed the tag to the far corner.
Unit 17.
Empty.
Except for a phone. Sitting on the floor. Face-up. Camera on.
Recording.
I picked it up.
A video was already queued.
I hit play.
Killian.
Tied to a chair.
Face bruised. Lip cracked. Eyes steady.
The room around him was dark, concrete-walled, windowless. Somewhere underground.
His voice, barely above a whisper:
"If you're seeing this, they're trying to use me to scare you. Don't let them."
"I didn't betray you. I swear to God, Zara, I didn't."
"Soren recruited me. Yes. But not the way it looked. They told me I could keep others safe if I cooperated. So I played their game."
"Until you showed up. And then I remembered what it felt like to want to fight."
"Don't stop. Don't let this place win."
A pause.
Then softer:
"If I don't make it out... tell them the truth killed me."
The screen went black.
My chest was ice.
I stood there, frozen, until another sound echoed through the garage.
Footsteps.
Deliberate.
Measured.
I turned slowly.
And saw her.
Dr. Marrin.
Flanked by two men in black.
"Nice to see you again, Miss Monroe," she said, voice cool. "We were wondering when you'd come looking."
I didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
"Where is he?" I demanded.
She smiled like a knife.
"Alive. For now. But very tired of protecting someone who doesn't listen."
I stepped back.
"You're bluffing."
"Am I?"
She motioned to the men.
One handed her a folder.
She held it out.
Inside — photos.
Of me.
Every moment I'd thought I was alone.
The greenhouse.
The tech lab.
The library basement.
All of it.
Cataloged.
Labeled.
Watched.
"You were never off-grid," Marrin said. "You were studied."
My throat closed.
She leaned in.
"Just like your sister."
I ran.
I don't remember making it back to campus.
I don't remember the cold or the night or the cracked sidewalk under my feet.
All I remember is throwing the flash drive into my desk drawer and slamming it shut like I could keep my soul from falling out.
That night, I dreamed of Killian.
Still in the chair.
Still whispering.
But this time he said:
"They always erase the loud ones."
[Creator's Note – breathing? Never heard of her 😭🔥]
Okay OKAY but HOW are we supposed to emotionally recover from THAT!?
Zara just saw Killian tied up and tortured, Marrin is fully unhinged, and the "Alecta Institute" twist??? Absolute elite villain reveal energy 😮💨
Also… we need to talk about that line:
"They always erase the loud ones."
IYKYK 😭
Drop your pain, panic, and guesses:
Will Zara try to break Killian out?
Is Jules even safe anymore?
WHO THE HELL RUNS ALECTA??
Chapter 13 is going to be pure rebellion 🔥
xoxo
–Smith_10