Zoey’s POV

  I searched everywhere. Under the bed, in the dresser, even in the bathtub. The fifth vessel. Gone. Vanished. Nowhere to be found. I was one hundred percent sure that I hadn't moved it. I'd placed it with the others in the closet, a neat row of five. Now, only four.

  My heart hammered against my ribs as I scoured the room, my exhausted brain cataloging every detail. The lock on my door was undisturbed. My money was still in the top drawer of the nightstand. Hunter’s notebook remained tucked under my pillow. Nothing was out of place, nothing broken—except for the fucking vessel.

  Someone broke in. Someone skilled enough to pick a lock, steal a single, specific item, and leave no trace behind. Only one name rang in my head: Armani. Yes, I don't have proof, but my gut knows best. I mean, who else could it be? Given his history of being a thief and the way he’s been hovering too close to Bryan lately, of course it must be him. It's his job to mess with people, and taking just one vessel would be exactly the kind of mind game he loves. If he wanted to manipulate the game, turn others against me, or carry out a secret plan with Bryan... it all makes sense now. He wouldn’t steal everything. He’d steal just enough to make me go nuts.

  I shook my head. Benjamin would have told me to stick to facts, not emotions. He’d have called me reckless for suspecting someone just because I felt like it. For days, I’ve stared at the thousands of unread messages, wondering what else to say to make him stop ghosting me. Maybe—just maybe—if I didn’t act on impulse this time, if I got real evidence, maybe he’d pick up the phone. Maybe he’d text me back.

  The desperation for his presence has been gnawing at my chest. I hate feeling useless without him, even for something as simple as venting or voicing my suspicions.

  I shoved the desk behind the door and stacked the chair on top of it, barricading any attempt to enter. Despite the chaos, I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, waking only when my phone alarm went off. My head felt groggy, but I had a crystal clear goal for the day—breaking into Armani's room and proving he stole the vessel.

  I got dressed in my uniform, wrapped the bandages around my neck, put on my wig, and slipped my phone into the hidden pocket inside my coat. I’m not going to class today. I don’t care about the two-step verification where the nuns check for phones on the first floor of the school building. I’m not even going to leave the campus until the school day is over.

  I put the desk and chair back in place, letting a beam of morning sunlight spill across the red carpet. I froze. The proof I needed was right there. Dusty footprints around my size, and streaks of mud smeared into the fibers. I’d say it was me, but I never enter my room without taking off my shoes. And yesterday, when Laura and Annie came in, the carpet was spotless. And thus, I knew, with the certainty of a chemical reaction, that someone had broken into my room in dirty shoes, then left without bothering to hide the evidence. There’s only one person careless enough—and stupid enough—to leave tracks like this. I mean, who else could it be besides him?

  I quickly took a picture with my phone, a strong piece of evidence against the motherfucking thief. Now all that’s left is proving the vessel is in his room, and I’d be able to teach him a good lesson for trespassing.

  I’m sitting at the same table as yesterday, facing the corner, my back to everyone in the cafeteria. I pull my mask down to eat my breakfast. I purposely avoided the others. I didn’t need Laura dragging me into an awkward social interaction, or Annie being glued to my side. And I definitely didn’t need to be at the same table as Armani.

  As for Jaiden… the thought makes my face flush. Every time his gentle features flash before my eyes, my cheeks burn. I can't let myself have feelings for him. He's a year younger, for fuck’s sake. The age difference is a total deal-breaker. It’s illogical. He doesn’t even look younger than me, especially since he’s so tall. Still, thinking about him is cringe-worthy.

  "Hi!" Annie's voice cuts through my thoughts. Her tray clatters onto my table.

  I scramble to pull my mask up. One by one, the others follow, trays and all. They’re invading my personal bubble, again.

  "Eating alone is not accepted," Jaiden says with a warm smile, taking the seat next to me.

  Armani, already halfway through his sandwich, mumbles, "She's just shy, right?" He flashes a smirk that feels like a slap in the face.

  Shy, my ass.

  Annie's hand lands on mine, so heavy that she pins my fork, loaded with scrambled eggs, to the table. "We are all friends, aren't we? We don't let friends be alone." I try to move my hand, but the eggs I so meticulously gathered with my fork fall back onto my plate.

  Laura coughs, drawing everyone's attention.

  "Guys, I don't think I'll make it today." Her nose is red, her voice raspy. "Does anyone have tissues?"

  Annie turns to her. "Are you okay?" She puts a hand on Laura's forehead and gasps. "You're hot!"

  "She's always hot," Armani teases.

  Laura manages a weak laugh. "She means my temperature is off."

  "You caught a cold, Laura?" Jaiden asks, swallowing his food.

  Armani frowns and puts down his sandwich. "Who gets sick in September? It's not even cold." His eyes dart to me. Jaiden too.

  Laura sniffs. "I don't know. Since I came here, I haven't felt well." She turns to shout at the nearby tables, "Anyone got tissues?" A few students toss her a pack, and she blows her nose with a loud honk.

  Jaiden leans over the table, his voice dropping to a low whisper. "Weren't we supposed to spread a virus and make others sick? Now Laura is sick? That doesn't look good, right?"

  "I saw Zoey yesterday running in the dorm building, alone, at night." Annie’s eyes widened at me. "Maybe she did the thing on her own?"

  Laura’s brows rise and gasps silently, "Could she…?" she mumbles something incomprehensible.

  Armani’s face changes, something in his voice makes him menacing. "What does that mean?" His eyes lock with mine, an intense gaze that contradicts his usual clown self. "What happened to the virus vessels?"

  I pull my mask higher up my nose bridge and shrug. My heart is kicking against my ribcage as I hold this eye contact, but I can’t lose this staring contest. Of course he knows that I lost a vessel. Does he want to frame me for it in front of others? My mind races, a thousand possibilities flashing through my head. He's onto something.

  "They're still in my closet," my voice as flat as possible. "I didn't touch them."

  Armani, slowly, puts down his elbows on the table, carefully on the sides of his plate. "So, you didn't mess with any of them?" Each word was pronounced slowly and calmly.

  "Nope."

  He gives me a sharp look that says I know you’re lying, but lemme play along.

  "So, the five vessels are unopened in your closet?" The stress on 'unopened' challenges my calm fa?ade, the last straw of patience in this game.

  "Exactly." I shoot each of them a hard look. "Don't look at me like that. Just because someone's sick doesn't mean you can blame me for it."

  They do that thing again where they glance at each other, as if they’re having a silent conversation.

  "No one blamed you," Annie says in a flimsy voice.

  "It was just a question," Laura adds, exchanging eye contact with Armani, her tone is low and bitchy. "You don't have to get so worked up."

  I have nothing to say. Each of them turns back to their breakfast. I turn back to mine, too. We eat in silence, though it isn't peaceful. Across the table, Laura and Armani exchange glances and whispers, some kind of gossip is going on about me. Laura moves her chair closer to him and leans in, whispering something in his ear. Annie stares at them and glances at me, munching away on her sandwich. She abruptly turns to me.

  "Did they put something in the juice today? It looks good."

  "Yeah, looks good." I nod.

  Both of us take a sip of our coffee in awkward silence.

  "Will you join the Sprouts Scouts?" Jaiden's voice is a low whisper; he has this kind smile that’s impossible to turn down.

  "Why not?"

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  The duo across the table is still whispering, but their eyes are elsewhere now. It doesn’t make me feel any safer.

  "Can you join me today after lunch?" His soft voice finally pulls me back to him.

  He presses his lips together as I look into his deep brown eyes, which are shimmering in the bright sunlight pouring through the long glass windows. My heart stops for a moment. He looks good. No. He looks better than usual.

  "Y—yeah. I—um," my tongue suddenly malfunctions, turning me into an awkward idiot. And for a moment, my brain can’t fish out a proper answer.

  He beams at me. "Cool. Let's go together after lunch."

  I mumble an okay, which of course, he couldn’t hear. I hope I don’t look ridiculous speaking gibberish. For the first time ever, I'm grateful for my mask. He doesn't have to witness my ridiculous, embarrassed face underneath.

  Jaiden looks at Armani and narrows his eyes. "Bro, you look different today."

  Armani gulps his tea, glancing between Jaiden and me. "I'm always different."

  Jaiden pauses, observing the blond idiot for a moment. "Ah! Where's that thing you wear around your neck?"

  I notice that Armani has the first three buttons of his shirt closed, and there's no gay choker. He looks straighter today, straighter than ever. Still a faggot though.

  "Those annoying hags kept yelling at me," Armani grumbles, shoving a massive bite of his pancakes into his mouth. "Said I'd get suspended for how I look. Stupid bitches." At the last word, his eyes lock with mine, for a bit too long that it feels personal.

  Annie rests her smiling face on the palms of her hands. "You still look handsome."

  Armani nods proudly, swallows, then says, "I'm always handsome."

  Something about this dynamic just pisses me off.

  "You look less gay, that's it," I say. "Mr. always handsome."

  His gaze lingers on me, just like the others. "So, you admit it?"

  I look up from my plate with a questioning hum.

  "You admit that I'm handsome?" he asks. His tone is more of a statement, and it pisses me off.

  "I don't know. Lose your earrings first. You'd look more like a man." I shrug.

  He mocks, imitating my voice by softening his. "Lose your arm fat. You'd look more lovable."

  "My arms aren't fat! Are you blind? These are muscles!" I'm aware that I have broad shoulders, but they are definitely not fat!

  "Yeah, yeah. Of course they're muscles. It's not like you're getting fat because of how much you eat." He scoffs.

  Laura smacks him on the arm. "What's wrong with being fat?"

  He turns to her. "You, too, you're fat as fuck."

  Laura smacks him one more time. He laughs.

  I take a deep breath. I won’t escalate this into a fight. For his sake and mine, I toss his words into an imaginary bin, saving my energy for something bigger. I return to my food, leaving them to debate whatever nonsense they're talking about. Thankfully, I have my now-lukewarm coffee to sip on through my metal straw, a treat after the bullshit going on. Only a few minutes pass before our meals are finished and we all stand. Time for class. For them.

  Jaiden, Armani, and Annie are all in the same grade. Ninth grade. I'm in tenth, and Laura is in eleventh. Logically, the three freshmen will go together, and I'll have Laura glued to me.

  "I don't think I can make it today," Laura says, a hand to her forehead. "I feel so sick. I'm going to rest."

  Armani moves toward her. "We can go to the nurse together."

  "No. I don't like nurses. I'll just rest in my room, and I'll be fine."

  Lucky me. Laura will be off my back, at least for now. The three ninth-graders agree to go together, Laura heads back to the dormitory, and that leaves me alone at the table.

  "Zoey, you can come with us," Annie says, holding her boyfriend's hand. He's still giving me those uncomfortable looks.

  "I forgot to leave my phone in my room," I lie. "I'll go put it back first."

  "But there's that digital lockup station for you to leave your phone in at the gate," Jaiden points out.

  "I prefer leaving it in my room. I don’t want someone mistaking my phone as theirs."

  The three freshmen leave me in the cafeteria. Laura is long gone. I make my way back to my room and quickly change. I swap my uniform for an oversized black hoodie—another one of Bryan's, which I somehow found in my closet back home and decided to bring with me. It smells like him. It puts me in the mood for doing something illegal. I trade my tight pencil skirt and uncomfortable shoes for comfy pants and sneakers. Perfect for running in case I get caught. I keep my wig but tie it in a low, loose bun. I avoid stepping on the carpet as I move across the room to keep the evidence of the break-in untouched. Then I gather a few hairpins of different sizes. They're enough to pick a lock. I’m not an expert at opening locked doors, but let’s give it a try.

  I head to the boys' dormitory territory, my oversized hoodie pulled up, the hood covering my wig's bangs and casting a shadow over my eyes. My mask conceals the lower half of my face, giving me just enough plausible deniability to ignore the 'Girls Not Allowed' signs.

  And now for the big question: How do I find Armani’s room in a place with five separate buildings? Well, it couldn’t be easier. In the reception area of each building, there’s a large digital display listing every resident’s name and room number. It scrolls through slowly, occasionally flashing school rules, some smug infographic about the ‘Health Benefits of Sleeping Early,’ and a random picture of Jesus with a quote that has nothing to do with dorm assignments. The only problem is the dorm supervisors who stare me down every time I step inside, asking questions like, "Are you lost?" or, "What are you doing here? Go back to class!"

  After a quick check of buildings A and B, I find Armani’s name in Building C. I spot it on the board just as a supervisor, an old woman with rectangular glasses, looks up from her computer screen, her eyes narrowing as she takes me in.

  "What are you looking for, boy?" Her voice is calm but sharp.

  I fake a cough and clutch my throat, making sure the bandages peek out. My feet are wobbly and cold. If she asks me to remove my mask, my mission is over.

  "You’re not in uniform. Are you sick?" she presses.

  I nod and inch toward the board, waiting for the random Bible quote to disappear. A long list of names flashes again, and Armani's name is among them. His room is on the second-floor. After a few more names, there’s Jaiden’s.

  "What are you looking for?" Her eyebrows stretch upward, suspicion in her voice. She's not buying my act.

  I point at myself, then fake another cough. My eyes are not leaving the screen.

  "Do you need help, boy?" she asks, her voice softening.

  Finally, I catch it. Room 237. I turn to the supervisor, give her a thumbs-up, and head for the elevator. But I can feel her eyes on me, piercing my soul. Every second waiting for the elevator doors to open feels like an eternity. I glance over my shoulder. She's still staring. My heart drops into my stomach.

  Her voice, now a command, gives me a shiver. "Boy, do you live here? What’s your name?"

  The elevator door opens, and I dive inside.

  She stands up. "Wait! I’m talking to you!"

  The door closes, but I’m still holding my breath. I know there are cameras everywhere. And a few elderly guards patrol the campus, but they look about a hundred years old. If things went south, I doubt even a report from this receptionist could get them to move fast enough to catch me.

  I reach the second floor. It's dead quiet. I stride down the hall, my footsteps muffled on the carpet underneath. My last remaining worry is a cleaner showing up, but it's only the second day of school. How much cleaning could kids need? It's not like someone could make a total mess in a single day.

  I go straight to room 237. I've watched Bryan picking locks before, so I slide a hairpin into the keyhole and twist it around the way he does it. It takes me a couple of tries until the door opens with a satisfying click. The idiot didn’t lock his room well. I doubt he even—holy shit. The room looks like it was hit by a tornado: clothes everywhere, used tissues and empty snack bags scattered across the floor, and a bathroom towel lying in the middle of the room. And why are there sneakers hanging on the clothes rack? I'm not even going to complain about the dirty socks on the desk. The whole place smells like a locker room, a mix of stale sweat and old socks. Now I understand what they mean when they say it smells like a boy in here.

  I silently close the door behind me and tiptoe through this dumpster. I refuse to touch anything, not because of a fear of leaving fingerprints behind, but because I’m utterly disgusted. I check the drawers, the dresser, the closet, the bathroom, and the nightstand. Nothing. Just clothes, tissues, some surprisingly well-stocked hygiene products, perfumes, hair products, and the weird choker he was wearing yesterday. Nothing of use. No vessels. No hidden agendas. Nothing.

  My mind races. Maybe something is hidden among the clothes in the closet? Or at the bottom of the laundry basket that’s overflowing onto the floor? Maybe under the bed? No. I won’t dip my hands in any of that. Who knows what’s lying at the end of the laundry basket or among the clothes?

  A knock on the door distracts my investigation. Did the supervisor call security on me?

  "Hey, are you inside?" A sweet female voice comes from the other side.

  I freeze. Who could that be? It's not the old supervisor, and it's not a voice I recognize.

  "I think I saw you walking in… Can you open the door for a moment? Don’t be shy, I’m your friend."

  Friend?

  I tiptoe to the door and peer through the peephole. A smiley nun with a fair, youthful face stares back at me. The peephole magnifies her gentle blue eyes, making it hard to see her full face.

  "I know you’re inside, and I know you’re looking at me right now."

  My heart jumps to my throat.

  The nun glances around quickly. "I don’t have much time left. Take this." She slides a folded piece of yellowish paper under the door.

  "Don’t be late," her kind voice drops into a pained, agonizing whisper. "I need to see you in person."

  I wait until she’s gone before turning to the piece of paper at my feet. I flip it around, making sure there’s no vicious liquid or chemical powder inside. Who knows what this woman put in this thing? But nothing spills. I pick it up with the tips of my fingers and open it. It reads: "Meet me at 5 in the evening underneath the big oak tree. Don’t bring anyone else. Sincerely, your friend."

  This is getting out of hand. I no longer believe Armani wrote the other letter to himself yesterday. Today, he’s getting a second one, from a nun, asking him to meet alone. Why him? Why not any one of us? Maybe each of us has gotten a letter and there's one waiting for me back in my room, a letter from a 'friend' I don’t know? If anyone told me this, I’d think they lost their mind, but I just saw it with my own eyes.

  The oak tree. I peek out the window and spot a huge tree behind the campus surrounded by a secluded garden. The area seems isolated and quiet, just like so many places here. Is the nun going to kill him? Or is that what she wants me to believe? Maybe the dorm supervisor saw me and told her? Maybe they're plotting something together?

  I can't be sure unless I go see for myself.

  Either this idiot is planning something behind my back, or he’s really in danger. Either way, someone has to stand up against this mess.