Chapter 8
Violet
I was still shaking.
Even three hours later, my hands wouldn’t stay still. They trembled in my lap as I sat across from the dean of students in her office, the morning light slicing through the blinds in clean, sterile lines.
“I’m so sorry this happened to you, Violet,” she said, her tone careful but sincere. She was younger than I'd expected. Maybe mid-forties, with sharp eyes that didn't miss much. “Can I get you anything? Water? Tea?”
“No thanks,” I murmured. “I don’t think I can stomach anything right now.”
“I understand. But the offer stands if you change your mind.
" She gave me a brief, sympathetic smile before opening a manila folder with my name on the tab.
"Now, I wanted to update you on where things stand.
Campus security finished sweeping your room about an hour ago, and they've turned everything over to Blackthorne Harbor PD.
The detectives should be wrapping up soon. "
I nodded, though my throat felt too tight to speak. The taste of fear hadn’t left my mouth yet. It was metallic and bitter, like I’d bitten down on a coin. Or maybe that was just from the blood that had been splashed across my bed as I slept.
"We've arranged for a professional cleaning service to handle your dorm," Weiss continued. "Everything will be taken care of, so you won’t have to see any of it when you return.”
Return.
The word caught in my chest.
“I… I don’t know if I can,” I managed. My voice cracked halfway through the sentence. “At least… not for a few days.”
“That’s completely understandable,” she said quickly. “You don't have to decide about this right now, but if you don't feel safe going back to your dorm at all, we can arrange a permanent room transfer.”
I wasn't sure I'd feel safe anywhere on this campus. Not when I was almost certain I knew who'd done this to me.
“For now, we’ve booked you a room at the Harbor Inn,” Weiss added. “It’s a small hotel just off campus, but you’ll have full security coverage and staff members on-site at all times. You’ll be perfectly safe there.”
“Thanks,” I murmured. “I already packed a bag, like the police told me to. It's outside.”
“Good. That's good.” Weiss leaned back slightly, her expression softening. “I also want you to know that counseling services are available to you. Free of charge, for as long as you need them.”
My gaze drifted past her to the window. Outside, students were crossing the quad in lazy morning patterns, laughing, holding coffee cups, completely unaware that a few hours earlier, someone had broken into my brand new world and shattered it into pieces.
“You said you spoke to the police already?” Weiss asked, forehead wrinkling.
I swallowed. “Yeah. They said it might be a prank. Apparently someone did something similar a few years ago. They got animal blood from a butcher and poured it all over a lecture hall.”
Weiss's jaw tightened. “Even if it was intended as a prank, what happened to you crosses every line. When we find who did this, I can promise you they'll face serious consequences.”
If you find them, I thought. And only if they're not untouchable.
She tilted her head, studying me. “The message on your wall. 'Stop asking questions'. Do you have any idea what that might refer to? Or who might have written it? That could help us track down the perpetrator.”
I hesitated. I’d initially planned on keeping quiet about everything for two main reasons.
Firstly, I was ninety-nine percent certain that the awful ‘prank’ wasn’t a prank at all, and was actually a warning from the Dionysus Club about my search for answers.
But I didn’t want to mention their name to anyone in case it somehow got back to them, as that could cause even more trouble for me.
Secondly, I wasn’t sure if I could trust anyone in the BHU administration, given their close ties with the Club, so I didn’t want to let any of them know I was actively looking into my sister’s death.
But now that I was thinking about it again, I realized that Dean Weiss was eventually going to find out exactly who I was, and from there she might guess why I was here. So maybe a partial truth was safer than a full lie.
“My sister used to go here,” I said softly. “But she died last year. I’ve been asking around about her. Like, asking if people knew her, or if they can share stories about her. Stuff like that. So… maybe it’s an angry ex who doesn’t want anyone talking about her, or something like that.”
“I suppose that could be it.” Sympathy flickered in Weiss’s eyes. “And I’m so sorry to hear about your sister’s passing. That must’ve been devastating for you.”
“Yes, it was.”
“You said she was a student here at BHU?”
“Yes.” I lifted my gaze to meet hers dead-on, wanting to gauge her reaction. “She was the one who fell from the clock tower last October.”
Weiss went very still. Then she flipped open my file again, scanning the page. “Your sister was Calista Hoffman?”
“Yes.” I kept staring at her, searching for even the slightest hint in her expression that she’d been involved in the coverup. “It must’ve been a difficult situation for you and the university, so I’m sure you remember it all too well.”
“I wasn't here when it happened,” she said. “I started this position in December, so my predecessor handled it. But I was briefed, and I remember thinking how tragic it was. I'm truly sorry.”
I blinked. A new dean, hired just a few weeks after Cal's death? That seemed... convenient.
“Oh, I forgot there was a different dean here last fall. Now I’ve gone completely blank on his name,” I said, subtly fishing for more details.
“Michael Harrier.”
“Oh, that’s right. Why did he leave?”
Weiss's expression didn't change, but something shuttered behind her eyes. “Early retirement. That's all I was told.”
My mind was spinning now. What were the odds of a dean just happening to take an early retirement not long after Calista’s death?
It reeked of a payoff from the Dionysus Club in return for a coverup.
“Is that normal?” I asked, brows rising. “For a dean to retire early?”
“It's not common,” Weiss admitted. “But it's not unheard of either. The position comes with significant stress. Burnout is real.”
She was either lying or genuinely didn't know anything. I couldn't tell which.
“I see,” I murmured, making a mental note to look into it later.
Weiss leaned forward, her voice dropping.
“Listen, Violet. I can't imagine what you've been through.
First losing your sister here, and now this break-in at your dorm.
It reflects terribly on this institution, and I'm ashamed of that.” She paused.
“If there's anything I can do to help you—anything at all—please tell me.”
This was an opportunity for me.
I could hear it in her voice, see it in the tension around her eyes. She was worried. About liability, about bad press, about a grieving student going public with how unsafe she felt at BHU.
I could use that.
“One of my friends already knows what happened,” I said slowly. “He's really into activism. Social justice, that kind of thing. He wanted to post about it on TikTok. You know, to warn other students. But… I told him I'd think about it first.”
Weiss didn't blink, but her fingers tightened almost imperceptibly on the edge of my file. “What would it take for you to ask him not to do that?”
“I’d like a meeting with Professor Piermont.”
Her brows rose. Clearly, she’d expected me to request special consideration on my grades, or perhaps even brazenly ask for a discount on my tuition. Not a meeting with the dean of the history department, of all things.
“Professor Piermont?” she repeated.
I nodded. “I’ve emailed him a few times over the last few months, but I’ve never heard back from him.”
I’d first contacted Professor Piermont after I saw the strange ring that had been found in Calista’s pocket after her death. He was an expert on symbology and mythology, so if anyone could tell me what it meant, it was him.
Also, now that I knew about the Dionysus Club, I wanted to speak with him more than ever. He'd been studying and teaching history here at BHU for decades, so he had to know something about the Club.
“Professor Piermont doesn't teach undergraduates anymore,” Weiss said. “Only postgraduate seminars. That's probably why he didn't respond.”
“I don't want to take one of his classes,” I replied. “I just want to meet with him.”
She studied me for a long moment, clearly trying to decide if I was serious. Then she turned to her computer. “May I ask why?”
I gave her my most innocent smile. “I'm a total history nerd. He wrote a journal article years ago that I'm kind of obsessed with, and I want to talk to him about it.”
Weiss's fingers hovered over her keyboard. “Well, I'm sure we can arrange something. Let me see.” She went quiet for a moment, eyes scanning her monitor. Then she looked back at me. “He finishes his Monday seminars at two o’clock, so would half past two work for you? This coming Monday?”
I nodded. “I can do that.”
“Good. I’ll reach out to him and let him know.”
“Thank you.”
“Is there anything else?”
I shook my head. “That's all.”
“All right.” She stood, and I did the same.
“Someone from campus security will drive you to the Harbor Inn, or if you have your own car, you can just follow them.
Your room key will be waiting at the front desk, and we'll keep you updated on the investigation.” She paused.
“And Violet? If anything else happens, call me immediately. Day or night.”
She handed me a business card with her cell number written on the back. I took it, even though I knew I wouldn't use it. Because if the Dionysus Club decided to come for me—really come for me—Dean Weiss wouldn't be able to stop them.
No one would.
After I was finally settled into my room at the inn, I sat on the edge of the bed for a long moment, listening to the hum of the heater and the faint whisper of rain outside. The curtains were drawn, but I still had the uneasy sense of being watched.