Chapter 11 Midnight Meeting – Belle
The chapel has been abandoned for at least a decade, maybe longer.
Ivy crawls up the stone walls like grasping fingers, and several of the stained glass windows are cracked or missing entirely, leaving gaping holes that let in the cold October wind.
The roof sags dangerously in places, and the wooden pews are rotting, covered in bird droppings and dead leaves that have blown through the broken windows.
It’s perfect.
I discovered it during my second week back on the island, when I was cataloging every building on campus, looking for blind spots in Selena’s surveillance network.
The old chapel sits at the very edge of the main campus, technically still academy property but clearly deemed too expensive or too troublesome to repair.
There are no cameras visible anywhere—no smoke detectors with hidden lenses, no decorative molding with drilled holes, no portraits with watching eyes.
Either Selena doesn’t monitor abandoned buildings, or she assumes no one would be stupid enough to use a structurally unsound chapel for secret meetings.
I’m betting on the former.
The walk here was nerve-wracking. I left Max’s room at 1:52 AM, dressed in dark clothes, moving through corridors I’ve memorized over the past week.
Three cameras between the dorm and the chapel—I timed their rotation patterns, found the gaps where I could slip past unobserved.
Twice, I had to press myself into alcoves when I heard footsteps, waiting with my heart hammering until whatever security patrol passed.
Now I stand in the chapel’s ruined nave, surrounded by broken beauty—shattered glass that once depicted saints, crumbling stone that once supported prayers, wooden beams that once held up hope.
It’s a fitting metaphor for what Selena has done to this place.
Shark Bay University was supposed to be a sanctuary, and she’s turned it into a gilded cage.
The door creaks open behind me, and I spin, my hand instinctively going to the heavy flashlight I brought—the only weapon I could carry without raising suspicions.
“It’s me.” Max slips inside, closing the door carefully behind him. He’s breathing hard, his dark hair disheveled. We made sure not to leave at the same time to avoid calling more attention to ourselves. “Jesus, Belle. This place is a lawsuit waiting to happen.”
“That’s why it’s perfect. Selena won’t have cameras in a building that could collapse at any moment.” I lower the flashlight. “Did anyone see you?”
“No. I used the route you mapped out.” He crosses to me, his footsteps echoing in the empty space. “Luna and Erik?”
“Should be here any minute. They had a longer route—more cameras to avoid.”
We wait in tense silence, listening to the wind howl through the broken windows and the distant crash of waves against the cliffs.
Every sound makes me jump—every creak of old wood, every rustle of leaves, every groan of settling stone.
If this building decides to finally give up its structural integrity while we’re inside, we’re fucked.
But it’s a risk we have to take. We haven’t been able to have a real conversation since we found out about the surveillance, though we did steal a moment here or there.
Every word we’ve spoken has been monitored, every gesture cataloged, every expression analyzed.
I’m going insane pretending everything is fine while knowing Selena is watching my every move.
The door opens again—Luna and Erik, both dressed in dark clothing, both looking as terrified as I feel.
“This is insane,” Luna hisses as they hurry inside. “If anyone saw us—”
“They didn’t.” Erik closes the door, then produces a small device from his pocket—something that looks like a phone but isn’t.
“And just in case, I brought this. David gave it to me before… before everything. It’s a signal jammer.
Creates interference that makes it harder to pick up audio surveillance within about a twenty-foot radius. ”
“Will Selena notice the interference?” Max asks.
“Possibly. But she’ll have a hard time pinpointing where it’s coming from, especially in an abandoned building that already has shit electrical systems.” Erik activates the device, and a small green light appears. “We’ve got maybe thirty minutes before someone investigates. Talk fast.”
I take a breath, letting myself drop the mask I’ve been wearing for days. “Okay. First things first—we’re all agreed that we need to take Selena down and then get off this island, right?”
“Agreed,” Luna says immediately. The others nod.
“Good. Then we need a coordinated plan. We can’t just run around like headless chickens. We need to divide and conquer.”
“I found something.” Max pulls a folded paper from his jacket—old, yellowed, clearly from the library archives. He spreads it on one of the less-rotted pews, and we gather around. “It’s a map of the original academy grounds. From 1947, when Shark Bay was first established.”
The map shows the island in intricate detail—buildings that no longer exist, paths that have been abandoned, and something that makes my heart skip: a network of tunnels connecting various points on campus.
“Maintenance tunnels,” Max explains, tracing the lines with his finger.
“They were built to allow workers to move between buildings during the winter storms without having to go outside. Most of them have been sealed off or forgotten, but according to this map, there should be at least three that are still accessible.”
“And where do they lead?” Erik leans closer, studying the map.
“This one connects the old boiler room beneath Founders Hall to the north shore maintenance dock.” Max points to a dotted line. “If we can access it, we could potentially reach the boats without being seen by surface cameras or patrols.”
“That’s assuming the tunnel hasn’t collapsed,” Luna points out. “Or been deliberately sealed by Selena.”
“Only one way to find out.” Max folds the map carefully. “I’ve been researching the boiler room. It’s still used for heating, but there’s a sub-basement that’s supposedly off-limits due to asbestos concerns. I think that’s where the tunnel entrance would be.”
“So we explore it,” I say. “Carefully. See if it’s viable.”
“I’ll go,” Max offers. “It’s less suspicious if I’m caught exploring old buildings. My family has construction connections—I can claim I was curious about the architecture.”
“Not alone.” The words come out sharper than I intend. “If something happens down there, if you get trapped or hurt—”
“Then I’ll go with him.” Erik’s voice is steady. “Two people exploring is still explainable. Four people disappearing into condemned tunnels is not.”
Luna doesn’t look happy about this, but she nods.
“Okay. You two handle the tunnel. But that’s only half the problem.
Even if we can reach the boats, even if we can get off the island—we’re running away without evidence.
Selena will just disappear, rebuild somewhere else.
Or worse, she’ll convince everyone that we’re delusional, that we made up stories about her to cover our own crimes. ”
“Professor Austin’s files were our best shot at evidence, and they auto-deleted,” I remind her. “We have three surveillance videos that prove nothing on their own, and my half-remembered childhood encounter with Selena that any lawyer would dismiss as unreliable memory.”
“Then we need new evidence.” Luna’s green eyes are fierce in the flashlight’s beam. “We need something concrete. Financial records, communication logs, something that proves what she’s been doing.”
“Her office,” I say slowly, an idea forming. “Her personal files. If Austin could hack her system, there must be physical evidence somewhere. Hard drives, documents, something she can’t just delete remotely.”
“Breaking into Selena’s office is suicide,” Max protests. “The administrative building is the most heavily monitored location on campus. There’s no way to get in without being seen.”
“Unless we’re invited.” I look at Luna. “You have a mandatory meeting with Dr. Moore on Thursday, right? The counselor Selena assigned you?”
“Yes. In the counseling center, which is—”
“In the administrative building. Two floors below Selena’s office.” I’m thinking out loud now, the plan crystallizing. “What if you could extend that meeting? Keep Dr. Moore occupied while I slip into Selena’s office?”
“How would you get past Victoria Charlson?” Erik asks. “She sits right outside.”
“Thursday is when something important is happening—we know that from what Luna overheard. What if Selena has other meetings scheduled? What if Victoria is pulled away for something, leaving the office momentarily accessible?”
“That’s a lot of ‘what-ifs,’” Max says.
“It’s all we have.” Luna’s voice is hard. “Belle’s right. We need evidence, and Selena’s office is where it would be. If we can coordinate it—if I keep Dr. Moore occupied, if Belle can get inside during a gap in security—”
“And if I’m wrong?” I cut in. “If Selena catches me in her office, there’s no talking my way out of that. She’ll know we’ve figured out her game.”
“Then we run.” Erik’s gray eyes meet mine. “Max and I will have already scouted the tunnel by Thursday. If things go wrong, if you trigger an alarm or get caught, we get you out, and we run. No evidence, no plan, just pure escape.”
“And hope we survive long enough to tell someone who’ll actually listen,” Luna adds grimly.
It’s a terrible plan. So many points of failure, so many ways for this to go catastrophically wrong. But it’s also the only plan that gives us a chance at both escaping and stopping Selena.
“Okay.” I take a breath. “Max and Erik handle the tunnel reconnaissance. Luna and I get as close to Selena as possible without raising suspicions. On Thursday, we make our move—either we get evidence and escape, or we just escape. Either way, we’re getting off this island.”
“What about Leyla?” Luna asks. “She’s been following us constantly. If she reports unusual behavior—”
“We use her.” The idea comes to me suddenly. “We include her in things. Make her think we’re bonding, that we’re settling into campus life. She reports back to Selena that we’re adjusting perfectly, becoming model students. It lowers their guard.”
“That’s risky,” Max says. “What if she notices something?”
“Then we adapt.” I check my phone—2:25 AM. We’ve been here too long already. “We need to get back before anyone realizes we’re gone. Erik, turn off the jammer.”
He deactivates the device, and suddenly the chapel feels more exposed, more vulnerable. We’re no longer protected by electronic interference, which means if there are hidden surveillance methods we haven’t detected, we’re about to be caught.
“Max and I leave first,” I decide. “Wait five minutes, then you two follow. Use different routes back. And for God’s sake, be careful.”
Luna hugs me fiercely before we leave. “Don’t get caught.”
“Don’t let Selena poison your coffee,” I reply, and it’s meant to be a joke, but none of us laugh. I force a smile I don’t feel. “See you at breakfast. Act normal.”
Max and I slip out into the night, leaving Luna and Erik in the abandoned chapel. The wind has picked up, making the trees around us groan and sway. Perfect cover for any sounds we might make moving through campus.
We don’t acknowledge the very real possibility that this might be the last time we coordinate freely, that Thursday might end with some or all of us dead or disappeared or worse.
Max and I make it back to our room at 2:37 AM. I immediately strip off my dark clothes. My hands are shaking as I change into the oversized t-shirt I sleep in, as Max and I slide back into bed and arrange the blankets exactly as they were.
The smoke detector blinks its steady red rhythm. Recording everything. Cataloging my movements.
But it didn’t see me leave. Didn’t track my route to the chapel. Didn’t hear our desperate planning session.
Small victories.
I lie in the dark, staring at the ceiling, my mind racing through everything that could go wrong. Max getting trapped in the tunnels. Luna being drugged by Dr. Moore. Selena catching me in her office. The security guards with their hidden guns stopping us before we reach the boats.
My wrist itches where the invisible mark lives under my skin. Property of The Architect. Branded since childhood, marked for a role in her network that I still don’t fully understand.
But I understand enough now. Understand that Selena has been pulling strings in my life since I was eleven years old, maybe younger.
Understand that she orchestrated Janet Wilson’s murder and made me believe I was responsible.
Understand that she brought us back to this island not to protect us but to control us, to ensure we’d play whatever parts she has planned in her continuing conspiracy.
She made one critical mistake, though.
She assumed that because she broke us once, we’d stay broken.
She assumed that survivors can’t become fighters.
“It’s going to work,” Max whispers, so quietly I can barely hear him. “The plan. It’s going to work.”
I don’t answer. Can’t promise something I’m not sure I believe.
Instead, I lace my fingers through his and hold on tight, counting down the hours until Thursday.
Until the first part of our plan begins.
Until the hunt starts.