Whispered Shadows

Chapter Six

A Fragile Facade

Noa

The morning light filters through the thin curtains of my dorm room, doing little to chase away the chill lingering in the air. I sit on the edge of my bed, staring at my schedule on my phone, willing myself to follow it. Ryder's words echo in my head like a mantra: "Live your life as normally as you can."

Normal.

It's a cruel joke at this point, but I won't give them the satisfaction of breaking me. Whoever they are, they don't get to control me. They don't get to win.

I pull out a white crop knitted sweater and black skinny jeans from the drawer, keeping my movements deliberate, and measured. Everything about today will be as routine as I can make it, even if my heart is pounding in my chest and my stomach feels like it's tied in knots.

Except for getting dressed. I can feel eyes on me. I don't know if it's from last night lingering over to this morning, but if Ryder's right and I am being watched no way am I letting them see me naked.

I grab my outfit for the day and walk into the bathroom. Piper rubs her body along my legs meowing as if she hasn't been fed in her entire life. I pull out her food from under the sink and dump some in her bowl which seems to make her happier.

My hand hesitates on the black knob. My fingers rest there for a second but move. I take a second to suck in a breath and put on the face that I will be showing the world. I take a few deep breaths and finally open the door.

I throw my bag over my shoulder, glancing once at the desk where Ryder left the spare phone. It's fully charged and sitting on top of my notebook. I grab it, stuff it into my bag along with the rest of my things, and head out the door.

The hallway is quiet, save for the distant hum of a vacuum down the corridor. My steps echo against the walls as I make my way to the main stairwell. I pass a few students on my way down—faces I don't recognize—and I force myself to smile politely, even though all I want to do is keep my head down and disappear.

My first class is history, tucked away in one of the older buildings on campus. The walk is short, but it feels like miles. Every person I pass feels like a potential threat. Every shadow in the corner of my vision feels like someone lurking, watching.

But I don't let it show. My face is calm, and my posture is straight. Let them think I'm unbothered. Let them see I'm not afraid.

The classroom is already half full when I arrive. I slide into a seat near the middle—neither too conspicuous nor too hidden—and pull out my notebook. The professor, a wiry man with round glasses, is shuffling papers at the front of the room.

Class starts, and I focus on taking notes, letting the rhythm of it anchor me. The scratching of pens, the shuffle of pages—it's all so normal. For a moment, I almost forget about the note, the figure in the hallway, the feeling of someone being one step ahead of me.

But the moment doesn't last.

About halfway through the lecture, I catch a movement out of the corner of my eye. A girl a few rows ahead shifts in her seat, glancing back over her shoulder. Her gaze lands on me for a fraction of a second before she turns away.

My chest tightens. Was that intentional? Am I imagining things?

I force myself to look back down at my notebook, pretending not to notice. The rational part of me knows it's probably nothing, but the paranoia is harder to silence.

The lecture ends, and I'm the last to leave the room, letting the crowd of students filter out ahead of me. I keep my pace steady and deliberate then head toward my next class.