Harsh crouched beside the battered body at New Borden Lake, the morning sunlight thin and cold upon the water’s edge. The world around him felt suspended, the usual sounds of the shore replaced by a hush so deep it seemed to press against his skin. He examined the wounds—torn flesh, unnatural angles, and something else, something wrong.

  “Looking at his condition,” Harsh murmured, his words breathless and heavy, “it doesn’t seem this is the work of any human.” His voice was low, edged with disbelief, a chill crawling down his spine. “This… this is the work of some animal,” he said, yet the doubt in his voice betrayed him. No animal he knew left marks like these. He turned sharply to the officer at his side. “Where’s the girl who was with him?” The officer’s face was pale, eyes darting everywhere but the body. “She fainted from fear, sir. We’ve taken her to the hospital. She hasn’t spoken a word.”

  Harsh’s gaze dropped to the strange words scrawled in the mud: 'Wait For.' The message pulsed with menace, the meaning hanging in the air like a curse. “What does it mean, ‘Wait For’?” Harsh muttered, frustration and unease mingling in his chest. “Get me everything on this boy. I don’t care what it takes.” But fate rarely bends to the force of will. To gain, you must lose, Harsh thought, the truth of it sour on his tongue. His phone buzzed, cutting through the silence. Ella’s name flashed on the screen, her voice impatient when he answered. “Did you forget? We were meeting at the coffee shop today.”

  He winced, guilt flaring. “How could I forget, Ella? But… this case—” “So you’re not coming?” she pressed, disappointment raw in her words. “No, I’m coming,” he replied, forcing a gentleness he didn’t feel. He glanced one last time at the lake—its depths calm, its secrets anything but—before turning away.

  ***

  The coffee shop was a world apart from the lake: warm, golden, filled with the low murmur of conversation and the sharp scent of roasted beans. But the tension followed Harsh inside. Ella sat at a corner table, arms folded, eyes storm-dark.

  He slid into the seat across from her, his apology genuine. “I’m sorry, Ella. I caught a new case—a strange one. The attack at New Borden Lake… I’ve never seen anything like it. I can’t tell if it was human or animal. It doesn’t make sense.” Ella’s anger softened, concern breaking through. “Promise me you’ll be careful, Harsh. Sometimes the things we don’t understand are the ones that hurt us most.” He managed a small, grateful smile, but before he could reply, his phone buzzed again. “Sir, I have the boy’s details,” came the assistant’s voice, brisk and businesslike. “Good work. I’ll be at the office in ten minutes.” He turned to Ella, regret in his eyes. “I have to go. We’ll talk soon.”

  ***

  Harsh arrived at the office, the air inside stale and heavy, a contrast to the sharp winter outside. “What have you found?” he demanded. “His name is John,” the assistant began, shuffling her notes. “His parents died two years ago. He has a sister—she’s at Riverstrom Academy. John studied at Bridgelay, lived apart.” Harsh’s impatience flared. “So?” The assistant hesitated. “Should we tell her? She’s his only family.”

  “Of course. Why are you hesitating?” Harsh snapped.

  “…Because it’s a dark school, sir,” she finished quietly. Harsh’s eyes narrowed, but he nodded. “We’ll go together. And the girl with John?”        “She’s regained consciousness, but she’s very frightened.” Harsh’s tone softened, a flicker of empathy beneath the exhaustion. “Then you go to the school. I’ll see the girl and handle the funeral arrangements. There’s no time to lose.”

  “Understood, sir.”

  ***

  Driving through the city, Harsh’s thoughts churned—fragments of horror, questions without answers. Suddenly, a black crow smashed into his windshield, feathers exploding like dark confetti. He jerked the wheel, heart hammering, and pulled over to the side of the road.

  When he stepped out, the crow was gone. There was no blood, no body—just silence, uncanny and thick. Then he saw it: on the worn asphalt, in stark, glistening red, a single word had been written—‘Next’. The message was fresh. The blood gleamed, and a chill gripped his heart, squeezing tight. Harsh fumbled for his phone, hands shaking as he snapped a photo. The world felt suddenly thinner, the air colder. As he stood there, the phone rang again—this time, the hospital.

  “Sir, the girl is awake. She’s terrified. Please, come quickly.” Harsh climbed back into his car, the image of ‘Next’ burned behind his eyes. The drive to the hospital was a blur, every shadow on the road a threat, every passing face a potential witness or suspect.

  ***

  At the hospital, the antiseptic brightness felt harsh, almost cruel. A nurse met him at the door, relief and urgency warring in her eyes. “Thank god you’re here. She won’t talk to anyone—she’s waiting for you.” Harsh nodded, his jaw set. With a deep breath, he walked down the corridor, bracing himself for whatever truth—or terror—awaited him in that room. “She’s been frightened for hours,” the nurse whispered, anxiety creasing her brow. “She won’t speak to anyone.” Harsh nodded, his own features shadowed by fatigue and concern. “Let me try.”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  He entered the hospital room, where the sterile light seemed both too bright and too cold. Jenny sat curled on the far edge of the bed, knees drawn to her chest, arms wrapped tight as if she could hold herself together. Her face was blotched from crying; her gaze fixed on the wall, unseeing.

  Harsh approached slowly, careful not to startle her. His voice was gentle but unwavering. “Jenny, you don’t have to carry this alone. Hiding won’t bring John back—or bring you peace. If you talk to us, we can help.” Jenny didn’t look at him. Her voice was a faint, broken thread. “I don’t want to talk to anyone. Not now.”

  Harsh crouched down to her level, the lines of exhaustion on his face softening into empathy. “I know what it’s like to lose someone you love. I know how it feels to have the world collapse in a single moment. But if you stay silent, we can’t help you—and we can’t help John. If you tell me the truth, maybe we can find out who did this. For John’s sake. Please.”

  For a long moment, only the hush of medical machinery filled the room. Then, shivering, Jenny found her voice. “I live in Bridgelay. John’s family lived next door. We grew up together—we were always close. But then his parents died in that accident, and everything changed. John stayed in Bridgelay, but his sister went to Riverstrom Academy. John and I… we used to go camping in the forest. It was our secret place.” Harsh nodded, drawing her gently onward. “Did you see what happened to John?”

  Tears trembled on Jenny’s lashes. “No. I heard him scream. I ran to the river, following his voice. When I got there… it was already over. He was just lying there. I never saw anyone else. I didn’t even know the river was there—I just followed his voice through the trees.” Harsh’s reply was soft and steady. “That’s enough for now. You’ve been braver than you know, Jenny. If we need to talk again, I’ll come back. For now, try to rest. You’re safe.”

  He watched her curl tighter into herself, grief and fear wrapping her in silence once again as he slipped quietly from the room.

  ***

  Elsewhere in the Riverstrom Academy, Principal Winley’s office was a place of precise order—books aligned, sunlight filtered through spotless windows, and the faint scent of old paper and polish. Winley listened as the officer finished the report, her expression unreadable. “Thank you for telling me. We’ve arranged the funeral for John,” she said, her voice clipped but heavy with unspoken gravity.

  Winley was famed for her strictness, her punishments legendary. She rang the bell at her desk, summoning a student. A boy entered, posture tense under her gaze. “How may I help you?”

  “Go and fetch Elena,” Winley commanded. He nodded and hurried away.

  Outside, the archery field thrummed with youthful energy. Jayson, focused and confident, nocked two arrows. Both struck the 9-point ring, drawing a chorus of cheers. He smirked at his rival. “You should give up hope, Elena. This is the last round—and I’m already at 42 points.” Elena’s gaze was cool, unshaken. “You forget I have 35 points—and I’m not one to owe anyone anything. Not even you.” Jayson blinked, caught off guard. “What?” Elena raised her bow with calm precision and released—her first arrow hit the 10-point mark dead center. Her second arrow split the first, both buried deep in the bull’s eye. The crowd erupted. She turned to Jayson, a wry smile on her lips. “How does it feel to lose?”

  A student hurried up, breathless. “Elena, Principal Winley wants you in her office.” Jayson offered a nod. “Go on. The principal’s waiting.”

  Inside the office, Elena entered with a steady gait, shoulders squared, but there was a tension in her muscles as if she were holding herself together by sheer force of will. “May I come in?” Her voice was steady, but her heart hammered with unease. Winley’s voice, so often sharp, was unexpectedly gentle. “Come in, Elena. I have something important to tell you.”

  Elena’s brows drew together, concern flickering in her eyes. “Please, just say it. I don’t want riddles. Not today.” Winley hesitated, her strict mask faltering, and when she spoke, her words quivered. “I’m sorry, Elena. Your brother… he’s gone.”

  For a moment, time fractured. The world seemed to tilt and blur—the framed certificates on the walls, the dust motes swirling in the pale light, all dissolving into a numb, echoing silence. Elena stared at Winley, her mouth opening, but no sound came. “What are you saying?” The words were little more than a breath, a plea for the world to rewind.

  Winley’s own eyes shone with sorrow. “It’s true. Today is his funeral. Sometimes, life drags us down paths we never would have chosen, no matter how we fight.” Elena’s hands curled into fists, nails biting deep. Her chest felt tight, as if her heart itself was shattering. Grief surged up, hot and blinding, and then cold—a hollow ache swallowing her whole. She wanted to cry, to scream, to deny—but nothing came. Only a silent, burning resolve.

  She turned from the office before the tears could fall, her vision blurred, the hallways stretching before her like a waking nightmare. Each step felt heavy, her grief a storm threatening to break. Outside, the winter wind stung her skin, sharp as broken glass. She stood in the shadow of the academy, her shoulders trembling as grief and rage warred inside her. For a moment, she was just a girl, shivering and alone, the world too cruel, the sky too wide.

  But then she straightened, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. Her sorrow hardened into something sharper—a vow forged in pain. “Whoever killed my brother,” Elena whispered to the empty street, her voice trembling but fierce, “your time is ending. I won’t rest. I won’t breathe. I will hunt you through every shadow and secret until I find you. And when I do, nothing will save you.”

  Her words hung in the icy air, a promise and a threat. As the sun slipped behind the clouds and Riverstrom’s secrets gathered in the lengthening dusk, Elena’s grief became a blade. And somewhere in that gathering darkness, fate was already shifting—waiting for her next move.

  Chapter 3 arrives soon.