The campus gates appeared sooner than she expected.

Vivian stopped at the entrance, the sight of the familiar pathways and buildings making something deep in her chest twist painfully.

It looked the same.

The same sidewalks she had walked a hundred times. The same streetlights flickering overhead. The same library windows glowing softly in the distance.

Like the world hadn’t changed.

Like she hadn’t changed.

Her fingers curled around the strap of Noah’s jacket, pulling it tighter around herself as she stepped forward.

She kept her head down, her pace quick but not too quick, forcing herself to look normal.

Noah’s words echoed in her mind.

“Go home. Sleep. Eat. Act normal.”

The idea of normal was so absurd she almost wanted to laugh.

The dorm buildings rose ahead of her, warm light spilling from the common room windows. A couple of students sat on the steps outside, chatting quietly, their laughter breaking through the cold evening air.

Vivian kept walking.

She passed them without so much as a glance, praying they wouldn’t look at her too closely.

She didn’t know what she looked like right now.

Did she look like someone who had spent the last few hours scrubbing blood from her skin? Did she look like someone who had stood in a motel room while a monster picked her apart with nothing but words?

Did she look like someone who had killed?

She reached her building. Climbed the steps. Slipped inside.

The hallway was quiet, the walls painted in dull beige, the air smelling faintly of laundry detergent and old carpet.

Her dorm was on the third floor.

She climbed the stairs without thinking, each step feeling heavier than the last.

Her room was just ahead.

She reached into the pocket of Noah’s jacket for her key—then froze.

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Her hands were shaking.

She clenched them into fists, forcing the tremor down before trying again.

The key slid into the lock.

The door swung open.

Vivian stepped inside, shut it behind her—

And locked it.

The click of the deadbolt sent something deep into her gut, something that felt like relief but was too hollow to hold onto.

She turned, staring at the empty room.

The bed was made, the desk untouched, her books still stacked neatly where she had left them.

Like nothing had happened.

Like she hadn’t changed.

Her chest tightened, something creeping up her throat, something she refused to name.

She pulled off Noah’s jacket.

The fabric was too soft, too warm, his scent still clinging to it. She balled it up, shoved it under her bed, out of sight, out of reach.

Then, finally, she looked at her hands.

The water had washed away the blood.

But under her nails—

A thin line of red.

Not hers.

His.

A sharp breath shuddered through her, and she turned, stumbling toward the sink, twisting the faucet so hard the water blasted against the porcelain.

She scrubbed.

Fingers digging, nails scraping against her skin, the soap too thin, the water too cold, the scent of metal still in her nose—

Her breath stuttered, nausea clawing up her throat—

She choked on it.

Bent over the sink.

Her stomach heaved, but there was nothing left.

Nothing except the sharp, aching reality that this wasn’t a dream.

That Vince was dead.

That she had killed a man.

That Noah had watched.

Vivian wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, gripping the edge of the sink to steady herself. The taste of bile lingered, acrid and sharp, burning the back of her throat.

The water was still running.

She shoved her hands beneath it, scrubbing harder, nails digging into her skin as she worked the soap between her fingers. She wasn’t sure how long she stood there, watching the water run clear, watching it swirl down the drain.

She still felt dirty.

Like something had settled beneath her skin, sinking into the marrow of her bones.

Like Noah’s voice was still pressed against the edges of her thoughts.

“Go to class. Cry when the news breaks. Be boring. Aren’t you good at that?”

She squeezed her eyes shut.

She needed to sleep.

If she could sleep, she could wake up and—

And what?

Pretend none of this had happened?

Pretend that tomorrow wasn’t waiting for her, coiled and ready to snap?

Her hands trembled as she turned off the water, ripping herself away from the sink before she could start scrubbing again.

Her bed was only a few steps away.

She sat down slowly, the mattress dipping beneath her weight, her body suddenly feeling too heavy, too stiff.

She lay back, staring at the ceiling, but she didn’t close her eyes.

She couldn’t.

Because if she did—

She’d see Vince’s body.

She’d see the hammer.

She’d see Noah, crouched beside her, smiling like he had been waiting for this all along.

She swallowed hard, turning onto her side, curling her fingers into the blanket like it could anchor her to something solid.

Tomorrow, everyone would know Vince was dead.

Tomorrow, she had to act normal.

Tomorrow, she would see Noah again.

And he would be smiling.