He stood there, framed in the doorlight, like the shadow of a truth I didn't want to face.
Killian Vale.
Project PRAXIS observer.
My ally… or my mistake.
He didn't move. Didn't plead. Just waited for me to decide if I'd let him in — again.
I didn't.
I closed the door.
Not hard. Not dramatic.
Just enough to leave him standing on the other side.
And then I sank to the floor, knees pulled tight to my chest, files scattered around me like broken glass.
I don't remember falling asleep.
But I remember waking up.
Eyes gritty. Throat raw. Fingers numb from gripping a pen I must've used to scribble something in Lila's journal.
When I opened it, one line stared back at me in my own handwriting:
"Don't trust the boy who always shows up when it's too late."
At breakfast, Jules slid into the seat beside me.
"You look like hell," she said gently.
"I'm working on it."
She pushed a chocolate muffin toward me. "Did you read the new campus bulletin?"
I shook my head.
She opened her phone, thumbed to a screenshot, and turned it my way.
"Campus-wide network maintenance will occur this weekend. All server-based archives will be temporarily inaccessible."
I blinked.
Killian had told me once: "They do that before erasing things."
I grabbed my bag and stood.
"Whoa—where are you going?" Jules asked.
"To stop a digital murder."
The basement under the tech building was colder than I remembered.
It smelled like server coolant, dust, and old secrets — a place where nothing living belonged.
I snuck in through the back, past a half-jammed security door Killian had pointed out weeks ago.
He wasn't with me now.
That was the point.
I wasn't going to be someone's assignment anymore.
I reached the control room — a wall of humming machines, flickering monitors, and a single terminal glowing with a login screen.
I slid into the chair, typed in the administrator credentials I'd found in Halvers's file, and braced myself.
Access granted.
I dove into the archive folders: PRAXIS | Observation Logs | Tagged Subjects.
My name was there. So was Lila's.
And thirty-two others.
Some names I recognized from yearbooks. Some I didn't.
But one name stopped everything:
Jules M.
I stared at the screen.
Then opened her file.
Subject marked Level 1 Watch.
Assigned to establish contact with Subject Z. Monroe.
Monitor emotional response. Report resistance.
I didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
Until footsteps echoed behind me.
"I told you not to come alone," said a voice.
I turned.
Killian.
He looked more exhausted than I felt.
I pointed at the screen. "You knew about her?"
He glanced once — and cursed under his breath.
"I suspected," he said. "She got close too fast. Asked the wrong questions. But I didn't have proof."
"I let her in," I whispered. "I told her things—"
"Because you thought she was a friend."
"She was."
"She played the part," he said. "Just like I did."
My chest cracked.
"So this was all fake?"
"No," he said firmly. "Not all of it."
He crouched next to me, lowered his voice.
"You changed things, Zara. They didn't expect you to get this far. You weren't supposed to be a fighter. You weren't supposed to be her again."
I blinked. "Her?"
"Your sister."
My breath hitched.
"Lila made it this far too," he whispered. "She broke into this room. She saw these files. But she didn't have anyone on the inside."
"And I do?"
He nodded.
"Even if I don't trust you?"
He stood. "I don't need your trust. I need your help."
We downloaded the entire PRAXIS folder to an encrypted drive.
Killian wiped the terminal. Reset the logs. Closed the door behind us.
The second we stepped into daylight again, it was like we'd surfaced from a dream.
One where the air tasted like betrayal.
I confronted Jules that night.
No warning. No softness.
Just a screenshot of her file left on her desk and a sticky note that read:
"Talk. Or I will."
She found me an hour later behind the dining hall.
Alone.
She looked… destroyed.
Mascara smudged. Fingers twitching. Voice barely a whisper.
"I didn't have a choice," she said. "They came to me last year. Said I was being watched. That I'd failed a 'behavioral integrity check.' Told me if I didn't help them, I'd be expelled."
"Did you know who I was?" I asked.
She nodded. "The second I saw your name on the transfer list."
Tears welled in her eyes.
"I liked Lila. I liked you. But they control everything. Grades. Housing. Careers. I didn't know how to get out."
"You still don't," I said quietly. "But you have a choice."
She swallowed.
"I have files," she whispered. "Print copies. Hidden. If I give them to you…"
I looked at her.
"I'll protect you," I said. "But you have to stop lying."
She nodded.
And for the first time, I believed her.
But later that night, Killian's voice echoed in my mind.
"She played the part. Just like I did."
I dreamt of Lila.
Falling.
Only this time, she didn't scream.
She just looked up at me.
And mouthed: "Tell them everything."
[Creator's Note – oh HELL no 😭📁]
Jules?? Our sweet meme-sending muffin-gifting Jules??? A PRAXIS monitor all along??
Killian wasn't lying when he said everyone plays a part at Blackmere 😵💫
And now Zara has the files. All of them. Lila's legacy. The real reason people are disappearing. But how long can she stay safe before someone pulls the plug?
Also... THAT DREAM? That line from Lila? I have chills.
Drop your pain, rage, and predictions below, besties.
Because Chapter 10 is coming in hot 🔥
xoxo
–Smith_10