The woods behind West Hill High were no longer quiet.
Search-and-rescue teams combed the underbrush in wide arcs. Orange markers fluttered from tree trunks. Flashlights swept across the forest floor in daylight. Drones buzzed overhead, weaving through the branches like insects with cold eyes.
Police dogs barked in bursts, pulling handlers toward faint scents, then veering off when the trail grew cold.
Every few minutes, someone shouted Oliver's name into the void.
Nothing answered.
Detective Elena Reed stood at the edge of the tape, hands on her hips, jaw tight. Her boots were muddy. Her badge glinted in the slanted light.
"This is where we found the bag," said an officer beside her, pointing. "Fresh prints about ten feet out. Then… nothing."
Reed crouched low, brushing a gloved hand over a patch of flattened leaves. "It rained the night after the last ping. Washed away most of the trail."
She looked up.
"Wherever he went—he went willingly. Or was taken before the storm."
Back at school, the news spread fast.
Oliver wasn't just missing.
He was the center of an active search.
Posters appeared in the hallways. A new announcement played over the intercom asking students to come forward with anything they'd seen or heard—even "something that didn't feel important at the time."
But no one stepped forward.
Because deep down, most of them knew it wasn't just bad luck.
And fear kept their mouths shut.
Jessica stood in front of the bathroom mirror during fifth period, her hands trembling as she reapplied lip gloss for the third time. She hadn't eaten. She hadn't spoken to Adam or Christen all day. The circles beneath her eyes were now a permanent shadow.
The voice messages still echoed in her head.
"They're all listening now."
"They'll believe it when it's you."
She hadn't told anyone. Not even her parents.
She'd deleted the audio. Twice.
But somehow, it returned each time.
The last message came an hour ago:
"The trail ends with you."
She dropped her lip gloss into the sink, stared at herself, and finally saw it.
The hairline cracks.
The panic in her pupils.
The mask breaking.
That afternoon, she skipped sixth period and fled into the counselor's office without an appointment.
Mrs. Calhoun, the school counselor, looked up in surprise.
"Jessica?" she said gently. "Come in, please."
Jessica dropped into the nearest chair, legs shaking.
"I need help," she said, voice barely audible.
Mrs. Calhoun reached across the desk slowly. "What's going on?"
Jessica hesitated.
But something about the woman's voice made her cave.
"It's not just Jeremy," she whispered. "It's Oliver. And me. I think someone's after us."
Mrs. Calhoun blinked. "What do you mean 'after' you?"
Jessica gripped her phone and held it out, her thumb hovering over the screen.
But she didn't press play.
She couldn't.
Because she knew what came next.
And she was terrified someone might actually believe it.
Outside, Mr. Peterson walked the length of the main hallway, stopping near the bulletin board where Oliver's poster had been freshly pinned.
MISSING: OLIVER WINSLOW
Last seen Tuesday morning. If you have any information, contact—
He stared at the photo.
He remembered the kid from class: smug, sharp-tongued, too quick to laugh when someone else flinched.
He remembered the smirk.
And then he remembered how pale he'd looked that last day—hollow, frayed, like someone already unraveling.
His thoughts flicked back to the clearing. The bag. The note.
"You laughed. Now listen."
Something deeper than revenge was playing out.
Something colder.
Smarter.
Peterson glanced down at his notebook again. A new question now circled beneath the list of names:
What happens when it gets to the end of the list?
Adam found Jessica sitting alone on the far side of the soccer bleachers after school.
She didn't look up when he called her name.
She just sat there, staring at nothing.
He approached slowly.
"You've been off," he said. "You know that, right?"
Jessica let out a hollow laugh. "You mean since our friends started disappearing one by one?"
Adam sat beside her, arms draped over his knees. "You think it's connected?"
"I know it is."
"Did you get a message too?"
She turned her head sharply. "Did you?"
Adam didn't answer.
She scoffed. "You think staying silent's gonna save you?"
His jaw clenched. "I think panic gets you caught."
"Oliver's missing, Adam."
"I know."
Jessica's voice cracked. "And Jeremy's dead."
For a long moment, they just sat there, the setting sun casting long shadows over the field.
Then Adam finally said, quietly, "I don't think this ends with us."
Jessica closed her eyes.
And for the first time since this all began—
She cried.
That evening, police search crews remained in the woods past sunset.
Flashlights moved like fireflies across the trees.
A second drone was deployed after the first lost signal near the creek bend.
Still no Oliver.
But near the base of an old maple tree, a K-9 unit uncovered something strange.
Half-buried in wet leaves:
A cheerleading ribbon. Torn. Mud-stained.
Detective Reed crouched beside the officer who found it.
"Is it Jessica's?" she asked.
"We don't know," he said. "Could be hers. Could be planted."
She didn't reply.
But the look in her eyes said it all.
Whoever was behind this—
They weren't done yet.