Rain fell hard that afternoon, turning the school's walkways into rivers of gray. The halls were nearly empty—most students had gone home early due to the weather. Only a few stayed behind for club duties or detention.
Leo was among them, organizing files in the student council room, trying not to think about Kieran's cold distance. His thoughts kept circling back to that look—the fear Kieran tried so hard to hide.
Then came the scream.
High-pitched. Echoing down the west wing.
Leo dropped the folders and sprinted toward the sound.
It led him to the art corridor, where a teacher and two students stood frozen near the stairwell. On the wall beside them—painted in bright red—was a word.
TRAITOR.
Below it, streaked like falling tears, was blood.
Not paint. Real blood.
Leo's stomach turned.
"W-what the hell…" one student whispered.
The teacher snapped out of her trance and ordered them all back, calling the principal over the radio.
Leo's eyes darted around. No sign of who did it. But something about the handwriting—it was jagged. Furious. And eerily familiar.
He backed away, heart pounding.
This wasn't just a threat.
It was a warning.
And somehow, Leo knew…
It was meant for Kieran.