Jeremy barely slept anymore.
Every night, he lay stiff in bed, staring at the ceiling as shadows stretched across the room. His phone sat on the pillow beside him like a cursed object. He didn't want to look. But he always did.
Because the messages never stopped.
And last night's had been the worst so far.
"I wonder what your dad's coworkers would think if they saw the video. I hear HR at his firm is strict about image."
He stared at the glowing screen in disbelief, heart thudding against his ribs.
"Mom's a public school administrator, right? Westbridge District? I bet they'd love to know her son's a thug. Should I CC the superintendent or just her boss?"
Jeremy had bolted upright, his face pale. That was too specific. That wasn't just schoolyard drama anymore. That was targeted.
He didn't remember falling asleep. But he remembered waking—panicked and drenched in sweat.
The next morning, Jeremy looked like he was unraveling. He came to school wearing the same hoodie from the day before. His hair was greasy. He hadn't shaved.
Even his signature smirk was gone.
The halls, once his domain, now felt alien. The posters about Anti-Bullying Day lined every corridor like accusations.
"Silence protects the aggressor."
"No more shadows."
He spotted Liam near his locker, talking to Theo and pulling out a folded worksheet. The moment felt slow, stretched thin by dread.
Jeremy's feet moved before his mind caught up.
He stormed over and grabbed Liam's wrist—not hard, but firm enough to make Theo step between them immediately.
"What the hell, Jeremy?" Theo snapped.
Liam flinched but didn't pull away. "What's your problem?"
Jeremy's voice cracked. "Are you sending the messages?"
Liam blinked. "What?"
"The threats. The photos. The ones that say they're gonna destroy my life. You—it's you, isn't it?"
Liam looked genuinely stunned. "I haven't sent you anything."
Jeremy laughed, bitter and brittle. "Yeah, because you're just some poor little saint. The school's golden victim."
"I'm not a saint," Liam said quietly. "But I'm not your enemy either."
Jeremy's jaw tightened. "You don't know what it's like. Everyone treats you like this fragile little flower, but at least your mom cares about you. Mine hasn't looked at me properly in months. My dad's more interested in the stock market than me. And I—"
He stopped.
Too much.
Too loud.
Too exposed.
He turned and fled before he could say something he couldn't take back.
He barely made it to the bathroom before the next message buzzed in:
"There it is. The truth underneath the jokes."
"All those one-liners and cheap shots—just a boy screaming into a void, hoping his parents would hear him."
Jeremy froze. His chest felt tight.
"You envy him."
"He may have nothing, but he has a mother who sees him. Who listens. Yours forgot you exist."
"You act out to be seen. Now? You are."
"Meet me in the woods after school. Come alone. I'll show you who I am."
He stared at the words.
And for a long time, he didn't move.
Last period dragged like a funeral march.
Jeremy didn't speak to anyone. Not Adam. Not Oliver. Jessica hadn't shown up.
His teachers barely noticed. Maybe they were used to his attitude. Maybe they just thought he was sulking.
But this wasn't sulking.
This was cracking.
At 3:10, he walked past the bike racks. Past the lot. Past the last exit before the trail.
And then he stepped off the path and into the woods.
The same woods where they'd dragged Liam.
The same woods where he had laughed.
The branches creaked under a soft wind. Leaves whispered beneath his sneakers.
Jeremy walked slowly now, every sound amplified. A squirrel scurrying in the brush made him jump.
He reached the clearing—the clearing—and stopped.
No one.
Nothing.
He pulled out his phone.
The last message was still there, glowing in the dim light:
"I'm watching."
"Come closer."
"Or I'll send the final photo to your parents."
He looked up.
The trees stood silent, indifferent.
"Hello?" he called.
Silence.
He took a step forward.
Another twig snapped—this time behind him.
He turned.
Nothing.
Another buzz.
He looked down.
But the screen had gone black.
Dead.
Battery drained.
Or… something else.
Jeremy stood alone in the center of the woods, surrounded by trees that had seen too much.
"Hello?" he tried again, softer this time.
The wind rose, carrying with it something else.
A whisper.
Or was it?
The next morning, the halls of West Hill High were buzzing again—but this time, it was fear, not gossip, in the air.
Jeremy wasn't at school.
Not for detention. Not for class. Not even online.
Calls to his phone went unanswered.
His parents had already contacted the police.
Posters were being printed. Teachers were called into emergency meetings. Students whispered between classes like the walls had ears.
Even Adam looked uneasy.
"Where the hell is he?" Oliver muttered.
No one answered.
Because no one knew.