3 Months Ago.

I clenched my fists hard enough that my nails dug into my palms, sharp and stinging, but it was the only way to keep from crying louder than I already was. The priest’s voice droned over the soft rustle of leaves and the distant hum of passing cars.

“Let us bow our heads and observe a moment of silence for the departed…” he said in that tired, practiced tone like he’d said it too many times for it to mean anything anymore.

Only a few people showed up.

Some of Aunt Tessa’s church friends. A couple of neighbors who probably didn’t even remember Cirrius’s middle name. None of his people, though. No one from Avard High.

That was the part that stuck in my throat.

Cirrius always said he had a lot of friends back at Avard High. “Real ones,” he told me one night, grinning in that lopsided way he did. “People who actually get me.” But where were they now? Now that he was dead?

Not one showed up. Jerks.

I sniffed, wiping under my nose with the sleeve of my black hoodie. My dress stuck to the back of my thighs, damp with sweat and tears. The air was cold, the sky overcast like even the sun didn’t want to come out for him. The ground smelled like wet grass and fresh dirt, like endings.

I glanced sideways at Aunt Tessa. Her face was crumpled in grief, her lips trembling as she dabbed her eyes with a folded tissue. I felt a sting in my chest. We only had each other now. That was it. Me and her. One tragic little team.

When it was all over, I wandered away toward the side of the cemetery, pretending to look for water. I just needed a second. A breath. My stomach was tight, throat dry, and my head felt like it was stuffed with wet cotton. Everything was wrong.

That’s when I felt the buzz in my palm.

I looked down. My phone screen lit up—1 New Message. No contact name. Just a private number.

I unlocked it without thinking.

> “Your brother, Cirrius, didn’t commit suicide. He was murdered. In Avard High.”

I froze.

The words didn’t make sense. They didn’t even look real. I read them again. And again. I swear my heart stopped for a second. Murdered?

I spun around, scanning the empty rows of tombstones like someone might be watching me. Like they were there—hiding behind a tree or crouched near a grave. But the cemetery was still. Dead quiet. Literally.

That message could’ve been a sick joke. Or maybe someone knew something. Someone in Avard. The message didn’t just say he was murdered—it said he was murdered there. At school.

I felt the weight of it settle deep in my gut like cold metal.

Cirrius didn’t kill himself. I always knew that. I felt it. And now someone else said it, too.

I didn’t care if it was anonymous. I didn’t care if it was vague. It was enough.

That message was my signal.

I was going to Avard High.

And I was going to find out who the hell killed my brother.

And why.

---

One Month Later.

“You really don’t have to do this, Camille,” Aunt Tessa said as she held out my admission letter like it was a death sentence. She looked like she hadn’t slept. Her eyes were puffy, her nails bitten down to the quick. “You still have time to change your mind.”

I zipped my duffel bag slowly. “It’s court-ordered,” I said, without meeting her eyes. “You know that.”

She gave me a look. The kind that saw right through me.

“I know you burned down that cafeteria on purpose. Don’t lie to me.” Her voice cracked. “You really want to throw yourself into the same hellhole that ruined your brother?”

Avard High wasn’t a normal school. Not even close. It was a Reform School. For kids who stole, fought, ran away, or just pissed off the wrong judge. The kind of place that turned punishment into a system.

Cirrius got sent there for something stupid. Petty theft. Some dumb mistake that spiraled too fast.

And now he was dead.

Since Avard High didn’t take transfers or applications, I had to earn my spot. So I set fire to my school cafeteria. Controlled. Empty. I made sure no one got hurt. But it was enough. It got me charged with arson and reassigned to Avard High.

I could still hear the flames crackling. Still feel the heat on my face. I’d never done anything like that before. But once the idea was in my head, I couldn’t let it go.

“I don’t care if it was intentional or not,” Aunt Tessa said, her voice rising. “That place is full of crazy people. Maybe that’s why Cirrius—”

“He didn’t commit suicide,” I snapped.

Her mouth clamped shut. We both went quiet.

She looked like she wanted to argue, but didn’t have the energy. Or maybe the heart.

Aunt Tessa had raised us after our parents died in that car accident.

“You’re all I’ve got left,” she said softly, brushing hair from my face like she used to when I was little. “If something happens to you… what am I supposed to do?”

“I’ll be fine,” I whispered, wrapping my arms around her. “I just need to find out what happened. If there’s even the smallest chance that someone killed him… I need to know.”

She didn’t answer. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears.

I hadn’t told her about the message. I didn’t tell the police either. That text was mine. And until I figured out what was real and what wasn’t—I was keeping it that way.

Aunt Tessa shook her head. “You’re not a detective, Camille. You’re seventeen.”

“I’m his sister,” I said. “That’s enough.”

A beat passed.

Then she stepped back and handed me the sealed envelope with my transfer details. Her hands trembled.

“If you're going to go… you better come back alive.”

“I promise.”

And I meant it.

But deep down, I already knew—I wasn’t going there just to survive.

I was going there to uncover the truth.

And bring someone down with it.

Even if it killed me.