Lena sat cross-legged on the floor of her dorm, the glow of her laptop painting her face in pale blue light. Katelyn was gone for the night—probably sneaking into the theater wing to rehearse with her latest crush—which gave Lena the perfect window.
She plugged in the flash drive.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then a folder appeared:
"SE_EVIDENCE"
She clicked.
Inside were three files:
1. Security_Footage_11.3.mov
2. Notes.docx
3. REDACTED_TRANSCRIPT.pdf
Her heart rate picked up.
She opened the footage first.
A grainy hallway outside Coach Kasekende's office. Time stamp: 11:52 PM — March 3rd. The hallway was still for nearly a full minute… until someone stepped into view.
Ssegona Emma.
He knocked on the door. Waited.
Coach Kasekende opened it. Said something.
Emma stepped inside.
Then—just before the door closed—Emma glanced over his shoulder. Right into the camera.
And smiled.
Then it went black.
That was it. The footage ended abruptly, like someone had cut it mid-record.
Lena sat frozen. A knot tightened in her stomach.
She opened the notes file next. They were hand-typed, detailed. Jace must have transcribed them himself.
> March 3rd — Emma went into Kasekende's office at 11:52 PM. Never seen again. Roommate reported him missing 3 days later. No public statement from the school. Only note sent to faculty: "Emma has withdrawn for personal reasons." Files in Admin Office were locked. Transfer form had Coach Kasekende's signature but NO parent documentation.
And finally, the PDF.
A transcript. A recording between Coach Kasekende and someone else. The name of the other speaker was redacted.
> Kasekende: "He knows too much. He's been poking around where he shouldn't."
Redacted: "Handle it quietly."
Kasekende: "What if someone finds out?"
Redacted: "Then we take them out too."
Lena slammed the laptop shut.
Her blood ran cold.
There was no way this was just a disciplinary issue. No prank. No overblown misunderstanding.
Someone at East Haven was covering something up.
And now, she and Jace were tangled in it.
Jovic barely had time to speak before Dora was on him.
Her kiss wasn't soft—it was hungry, fierce, like she'd been waiting all day to get her hands on him. He stumbled back, laughing into her mouth as they collided with the edge of his bed.
"Missed me?" he muttered.
Dora didn't answer. Her fingers were already under his shirt, tugging, nails grazing his skin. She pushed him down and climbed over him, straddling him like she owned the moment—and she did.
"I had a terrible day," she whispered against his neck, "and you're going to make it a good one.
Just touch me,' she whined, arching impatiently against his hand. He couldn't make either of them wait any longer. Slowly, he brought his middle finger down and slid it gently over her folds. Jasmine threw her head back. 'God, yes. Keep going.' He did it again, this time his fingertip slipping between and gathering her wetness. He parted her with two fingers and found her clit, rubbing it in small circles. She cried out against his lips, and was lost. The taste of her, the smell of her, the feel of her so close against him, skin to skin. Time and space had no meaning anymore. There was only her."
When it was over, they lay tangled in the sheets, sweat-slick and silent. Dora's head rested on his chest, rising and falling with his breath.
"You're dangerous," Jovic said quietly, brushing a curl away from her cheek.
She grinned without opening her eyes. "So are you."
After a moment, she sat up, reaching for his oversized shirt. "Bathroom," she said, already walking away.
Jovic stayed behind, body still humming, but something itched at the edge of his thoughts. That's when he saw it.
A flicker.
Red.
Near the closet, tucked up by the ceiling.
A blinking light.
His breath caught. The high vanished.
He stood slowly, naked, staring up at it.
That was no smoke detector.
It was a camera.
And it had just watched everything.