Behind the Hollow Eyes (REWRITE IN PROGRESS)

Chapter 3: Documentation

The classroom clock ticked too loud.

I stared at my notebook, the same sentence written three times in a row before I even realized I wasn't moving forward. Just circling. Like my brain was skipping.

I didn't remember walking here.

My shoulder ached. The place where Dahlia shoved me—was still shoving me, if I thought about it long enough. Her hand was gone but the pressure lingered.

So did Jason's silence.

And him.

That was the strangest part. The way he stood between us like he knew me. Like he was supposed to be there.

But I didn't know him. I didn't even know his name.

The more I thought about it, the more it unsettled me. Not because he helped. Not because he hit her. But because it didn't feel random. It felt planned.

Like he had been waiting.

And maybe the worst part was—I didn't feel afraid of him. I should be. Shouldn't I?

Someone like that—calm, unreadable, quiet in a way that felt aware—he should've scared me. But he didn't.

He felt familiar. In a way that wasn't comfortable, but wasn't threatening either. Like a memory I couldn't place.

The teacher droned on, something about the Treaty of Versailles, but I couldn't hear any of it. All I could hear was the echo of Dahlia's slap against his face. The way he didn't even blink.

My pen dropped to the desk. I didn't pick it up.

Someone passed me a note. Folded twice. The paper soft and warm, like it had been held too long.

I didn't recognize the handwriting.

Meet me by the green stairs. After school.

I shouldn't have gone. But I did.

The last bell rang, and my body moved before I made a decision. Like muscle memory I didn't have. I walked past my locker. Past the usual exits. Past where Jason used to wait.

The green stairs were at the edge of the old wing—half-forgotten, peeling paint, the air cooler there. The kind of place teachers didn't check unless they had a reason.

He was already there.

Leaning against the railing, arms folded loosely like he hadn't just asked me to show up in secret.

"I didn't think you'd come," he said.

"I almost didn't," I replied.

"You're curious."

It wasn't a question.

I nodded once. "Was it you?"

He tilted his head. "What do you think?"

"You were watching me," I said.

"I notice things," he replied.

"Like what?"

"Like you don't eat when you're anxious. Like you don't trust easy. Like today wasn't the first time someone failed you."

I stared at him. "How do you know that?"

He didn't answer.

Just looked at me, steady and still.

And somehow, that silence said more than any explanation could have. Then he spoke. "I've seen her do that before."

I blinked. "What?"

"To other people. Not like that. Not so loud. But... yeah. I've been watching."

My mouth went dry. "Why?"