Chapter 20 The Silence – Luna
My phone vibrates against my thigh during Advanced Literature. Professor Bennet is dissecting the symbolism in some Victorian novel, but her voice fades to static as I pull out my phone under the desk.
Three messages from David. All marked urgent.
My stomach drops.
I open the first one. A link. No explanation. Just a URL that looks like random letters and numbers.
The second message: Watch this. Now.
The third: Tell me Erik made it out.
My hands start shaking before I even click the link. Something’s wrong. David wouldn’t contact me unless something was catastrophically wrong.
I glance at Belle across the room. She’s watching me, her blue eyes sharp. She knows. Somehow she knows that whatever’s on my phone is going to destroy everything.
I excuse myself with a muttered apology about feeling sick. Professor Bennet barely glances up as I grab my bag and bolt.
The corridor outside is empty. I lean against the cold stone wall and open the link with fingers that won’t stop trembling.
The video player loads. Black screen. Then Erik’s voice fills my ears through my headphones.
“This is Erik Stone. I’m in Selena Harpsons’ private office at Shark Bay University on Harpsons’ Haven Island. What you’re seeing is evidence of decades of exploitation.”
The camera pans across walls covered in photographs. Children at parties. Students in classrooms. Faces I recognize. Faces I don’t. All of them cataloged like specimens in a collection.
I slide down the wall until I’m sitting on the floor, phone clutched in both hands, watching Erik document every piece of evidence we’ve been searching for.
He’s so focused. So methodical. His voice stays steady as he reads annotations, films contracts, captures names and dates and damning proof that Selena Harpsons is The Architect.
Pride swells in my chest despite the terror. He’s doing it. He’s actually doing it. Getting everything we need to bring her down.
Then I see the photo of myself at thirteen. White dress. Blue ribbons. Eyes glassy and distant. The Queens and Gallaghers surrounding me like proud parents showing off their prized possession.
And in the background, partially obscured but unmistakable, is Selena.
“Excellent manipulation skills,” Erik reads from the annotation beside my photo. “Capable of high-level intelligence gathering. Recommendation: continued monitoring and occasional intervention to maintain compliance.”
Bile rises in my throat. They’ve been watching me for years. Documenting my trauma. Planning how to use me.
The video continues. Erik moves through files, filming documents, capturing??evidence of payments and placements and a network that extends far beyond what we imagined.
“They’re planning to offer us at the Harvest,” he says, and his voice finally wavers. “All of us. Students who’ve been through trauma, who’ve been groomed and controlled and broken down. They’re going to present us to buyers like we’re merchandise.”
My vision blurs. I blink hard, refusing to miss a second of this footage.
Erik keeps filming. Twelve minutes. Thirteen. Fourteen. He’s getting everything. Every piece of proof we need.
Then I hear it. A faint creak in the audio. Erik’s camera shifts slightly.
The gunshot is deafening even through my headphones.
The phone drops. The camera hits the floor at an angle, lens cracked but still recording. I catch a glimpse of Erik’s hand at the edge of the frame.
Unmoving.
Then the stream cuts to black.
“No.”
The word comes out strangled. I stare at the blank screen, waiting for it to come back. Waiting for Erik to pick up the phone. Waiting for anything that proves he’s okay.
Nothing.
I replay the last ten seconds. The creak. The shift. The gunshot. His hand.
Unmoving.
“No, no, no.”
My fingers fly across the screen, pulling up Erik’s contact. I hit call. The phone rings once. Twice. Three times.
Voicemail.
“Erik, pick up. Please pick up. I just watched the stream, and I need to know you’re okay. Please be okay. Please.”
I hang up and immediately call again. Straight to voicemail this time.
I text instead, fingers fumbling. Where are you? Are you okay? PLEASE answer me.
The message shows as delivered. Not read.
I try calling again. Voicemail.
I push to my feet, my legs unsteady. The corridor spins slightly. I grab the wall for support, forcing air into my lungs.
Erik could be hurt. Could be captured. Could be dead.
The thought makes something in my chest crack open, spilling ice water through my veins.
I can’t think about that. Can’t let myself go there. I need to find him. Need to make sure he’s alive.
But I can’t run through campus screaming his name. Can’t draw attention to what he was doing or why I’m looking for him. Selena is watching. Always watching. If she knows I know what happened, we’re all dead.
I force myself to walk normally down the corridor. Just a student heading to her next class. Nothing unusual. Nothing suspicious.
Belle appears at the end of the hallway, Max close behind her. They must have followed me out of class.
“What happened?” Belle’s voice is low, urgent.
I can’t speak. Can’t form words around the terror clogging my throat. I just hand her my phone, the paused video still on screen.
She takes it, her expression shifting from confusion to horror as she watches. Max leans over her shoulder, his face going pale.
“When did this happen?” Max asks.
“Just now. I don’t know. During the assembly, maybe. He must have slipped out to…” I can’t finish. Can’t say it out loud.
Belle replays the ending. The gunshot. The hand. The black screen.
“We need to find him,” she says, her voice hard. Clinical. The tone she uses when she’s pushing emotion down to focus on strategy. “Quietly. Without alerting Selena that we know anything.”
“How?” The word comes out broken. “He’s not answering his phone. The stream cut off. He could be anywhere. He could be…”
“Don’t.” Max grabs my shoulders, forcing me to look at him. “Don’t go there. We don’t know anything yet.”
“I know a gunshot when I hear one.”
“Which means someone shot at him. Not necessarily that they hit him.” Max’s dark eyes are fierce. “Erik’s smart. Fast. He knew the risks going in. He might have gotten away.”
I want to believe him. Want to cling to the possibility that Erik is somewhere safe, hiding, waiting for the right moment to contact us.
But that hand. Unmoving. At the edge of the frame.
Belle hands back my phone. “We split up. Cover more ground. But we have to be careful. If Selena realizes we’re looking for him, she’ll know we’re onto her.”
“I don’t care.” My voice comes out savage. “I don’t care if she knows. I need to find him.”
“And you will. But not by getting yourself killed, too.” Belle’s grip on my arm is bruising. “Think, Luna. If Erik got that footage out, if David has everything, then Erik’s sacrifice means something. Don’t waste it by getting caught before we can use what he found.”
Sacrifice.
The word hits like a punch. Because that’s what this might be. Erik’s final act. His last contribution to bringing down the network.
I shove the thought away violently. He’s not dead. He can’t be dead. I only just found him. Only just let myself love him without fear or manipulation or any of the poison my family put in my head.
He can’t be gone.
“The infirmary,” Max says suddenly. “If someone shot him, he might have made it to the infirmary.”
“Or he’s in Selena’s custody,” Belle counters. “Locked up somewhere we can’t reach him.”
“Then we check both.” I’m already moving, heading for the stairs. “Max, you take the infirmary. Belle, check the administrative building. I’ll search the dorms.”
We separate without another word. I take the stairs two at a time, my heart hammering against my ribs.
The men’s dormitory is on the opposite side of campus. I cut across the quad, forcing myself to maintain a normal pace even though every instinct screams at me to run.
Students lounge on benches, enjoying the afternoon sun. Someone’s playing music from an open window. A couple makes out against a tree, completely oblivious to everything happening around them.
Normal. Everything is so horrifyingly normal.
I reach the dorm and slip inside. The common area is empty except for one guy watching something on his laptop. He doesn’t look up as I pass.
Erik’s room is on the third floor. I take the stairs, my breath coming faster. The corridor stretches ahead of me, doors closed, everything quiet.
His door is locked. I knock softly. “Erik?”
Nothing.
I knock harder. “Erik, if you’re in there, please answer.”
Silence.
I try the handle. It doesn’t budge. I don’t have the keys on me, so I consider breaking in, but that would definitely draw attention. Instead, I press my ear against the wood, listening for any sound of movement inside.
Nothing.
“Luna?”
I spin around. Jack Hunt stands at the end of the corridor, his father’s key ring dangling from his fingers.
“Have you seen Erik?” I ask, not bothering to hide the desperation in my voice.
“Not since the assembly.” Jack moves closer, concern creasing his forehead. “Is something wrong?”
Everything is wrong. The world is ending and Erik might be dead and I don’t know how to keep breathing through this crushing weight on my chest.
“I can’t find him,” I manage. “I need to check the room.”
Jack studies me for a moment, then nods. He produces the master key and unlocks Erik’s door.
The room is empty. Bed made. Desk neat. No sign that Erik was here recently.
I move inside anyway, checking the bathroom, the closet, under the bed. Anywhere he might be hiding or hurt or worse.
Nothing.
My phone buzzes. Text from Belle: Not in admin building. No sign of him anywhere.
Another buzz. Max: Infirmary says they haven’t seen him. Nurse seems genuine.
I sink onto Erik’s bed, my legs finally giving out. The room smells like him. That subtle cologne he wears. Clean laundry. The mint gum he’s always chewing.
The scent makes my eyes burn.
“Luna.” Jack’s voice is gentle. “What’s going on?”