CHAPTER ONE. Open investigation

The clock struck midnight, and the campus of Meryton Academy, usually peaceful under the cover of darkness, was shattered by a single scream. It cut through the stillness like a blade, sharp and unforgiving, jolting the night to life.

Doors creaked open one by one as sleepy students stumbled out of their dorms, their faces pale and confused in the dim light. Whispers rippled through the crowd, growing louder as more people gathered. Bare feet shuffled on the cobblestone paths, pajama pants and oversized sweatshirts blending into a sea of muted colors.

"What's going on?" someone muttered, their voice trembling.

"I think it came from the courtyard," another whispered, clutching their phone like a lifeline.

And then they saw it.

At the center of the courtyard, under the pale glow of a flickering lamp, Lucas St. Ambrose lay on the ground. His golden hair, always perfectly styled, was now matted and darkened with blood. It pooled around him, staining the pristine cobblestones and turning the air heavy with metallic bitterness. His lifeless eyes stared up at the sky, and for the first time, the golden boy was silent.

Gasps and cries echoed through the crowd as students recoiled in shock. A girl covered her mouth, backing away, while another boy muttered, "Oh my God," over and over again, his voice cracking.

"Is he...?" someone asked, but no one dared to answer.

The circle around Lucas grew tighter, curiosity and fear pulling the students closer despite the horror of what lay before them. Phones came out, shaky hands capturing blurry photos and videos as the whispers grew louder, spreading like wildfire.

"Who would do this?"

"It's Lucas. Lucas. Who'd have the guts to—"

Before the speculation could spiral further, the heavy thud of shoes against stone commanded attention. Principal Langley emerged from the administration building, his face ashen but composed. He was flanked by two campus security officers, their flashlights cutting through the crowd.

"Enough," Langley's voice boomed, silencing the murmurs. "Everyone, back to your dormitories. Now."

No one moved.

"I said, now!" His tone sharpened, and the weight of his authority snapped through the tension. The students hesitated, reluctant to look away from the tragedy before them, but one by one, they obeyed. Some lingered, glancing over their shoulders, while others hurried back inside, unable to stomach the sight any longer.

As the courtyard emptied, the weight of the moment hung thick in the air. Blood glistened under the moonlight, and the sound of distant sobs echoed faintly through the night.

Inside the dorms, no one slept. Whispers traveled between walls, theories brewing in the dark. The golden boy was gone, and with him, the fragile illusion of safety at Meryton Academy.

The sun rose reluctantly over Meryton Academy, as if it, too, hesitated to face the day. The once-lively campus was now shrouded in a heavy silence. Students shuffled through the halls, heads down, conversations muted. It was as though speaking too loudly might disturb the memory of the night before, the image of Lucas St. Ambrose lying in a pool of his own blood etched into everyone's mind.

At breakfast, the dining hall buzzed faintly with whispers. Plates clinked softly, but no one laughed, no one smiled. A group of juniors sat near the window, speaking in hushed tones.

"Do you think they'll cancel classes?" one girl asked, stirring her untouched oatmeal.

"They haven't said anything yet," a boy replied, glancing around nervously. "But...how can we just go on like nothing happened?"

No one answered.

The rest of the morning dragged on painfully. Professors pretended to lecture, their voices flat and lifeless, but most students didn't bother to take notes. How could they? Lucas's absence was a void that couldn't be ignored, even if everyone desperately wanted to pretend otherwise.

By midmorning, the sound of car doors slamming echoed across campus, drawing attention to the main building. Two figures emerged from a sleek black sedan, their expressions unreadable and their strides purposeful. The detectives had arrived.

They entered the auditorium, where Principal Langley waited with arms crossed and a grim expression. Students, summoned by the blaring speakers, trickled in reluctantly, filling the seats in slow, heavy waves.

When the room was finally silent, one of the detectives stepped forward. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his sharp suit doing little to soften the intensity of his presence.

"My name is Detective Reed," he began, his voice cutting cleanly through the tension. "This is Detective Allen. We're here to investigate the death of Lucas St. Ambrose."

A ripple of unease spread through the crowd. Heads turned. Eyes darted nervously.

"This is an open investigation," Detective Reed continued. "As of now, the school will remain on lockdown. No one leaves campus without explicit permission from the authorities. Security will be increased, and we will be speaking to many of you individually over the coming days."

Detective Allen, shorter but no less intimidating, stepped forward. "I want to make something very clear," she said, her tone firm. "We are treating this matter with the utmost seriousness. If anyone has information about what happened last night—anything, no matter how small—we urge you to come forward. Now is the time to speak."

The room was suffocatingly quiet.

"Do not interfere with the investigation," Reed added, his gaze sweeping the sea of faces. "And do not, under any circumstances, spread rumors or false information. This is not a game."

The detectives stepped back, signaling that their announcement was over. Principal Langley moved to the podium.

"Classes will resume on a modified schedule," he said stiffly. "But I expect all of you to cooperate fully with the investigation and to respect the process. That is all."

A WHILE LATER . . .

The bell rang, signaling the end of class, but Karissa barely noticed. She grabbed her notebook and slipped out of the room without a word. The atmosphere at Meryton Academy was oppressive, suffocating, as if every corner of the school carried the ghost of Lucas St. Ambrose. The whispers, the stares, the fake smiles—they all felt unbearable.

She needed a moment alone, away from the noise, the eyes, the weight of it all.

Karissa pushed open the door to the girl's bathroom and froze. A soft, muffled sob broke through the silence, coming from one of the stalls. She took a cautious step forward, her mary-janes squeaking against the tile.

"Hele?" she asked softly, her voice bouncing off the walls.

The sobbing stopped.

"Hele, it's me," Karissa said again, her tone more gentle this time.

The lock on one of the stalls clicked, and the door creaked open just enough for Karissa to see Helena's tear-streaked face. Without hesitation, Karissa slipped inside, shutting and locking the door behind her.

Helena sat on the closed toilet seat, her hands trembling as she tried to wipe her tears away. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, avoiding Karissa's gaze.

"Don't," Karissa said firmly, crouching down to Helena's level. She grabbed a wad of toilet paper from the dispenser and handed it to her. "Don't cry about him, okay? He doesn't deserve your tears."

"I know," Helena said, her voice cracking. "I know, I just—"

"Wipe your tears, babe," Karissa interrupted, her tone soft but commanding. "Don't let it get to your head."

Helena sniffled and dabbed at her eyes. "I know, I know. I'm over him, I swear, but—"

"There are no 'buts,' Hele," Karissa said, cutting her off again. She placed a hand on Helena's knee, her voice lowering to a whisper. "If you go out there crying, they'll think you're guilty. Which you're not. You hear me? You're not."

Helena's breath hitched, but she nodded.

"You had nothing to lose," Karissa continued, her tone steady. "He was the one who ended it. He was the one who walked away. And you know what? He's the one who lost an amazing girl."

Helena let out a shaky laugh, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips despite the tears still clinging to her lashes. "You're right."

"Damn right, I am," Karissa said, standing up and holding out a hand. "Now, fix your face and let's get out of here. You're Helena freaking Nicolls. You don't cry over boys, especially not Lucas St. Ambrose."

Helena took Karissa's hand, letting her pull her up. "Thanks, Rissa," she said, her voice steadier now.

"Anytime." Karissa winked, unlocking the stall door. "Now let's go. People are probably wondering where we are."

As they stepped out of the bathroom, the tension of the day still hung heavy in the air, but Karissa walked with her head high, and Helena followed, her tears gone and her shoulders squared. If there was one thing Karissa knew how to do, it was make sure her friends didn't crumble. Not now, not ever.

EJONA SPEAKS !!

Last update for "bury a friend" for today babes! This fic just takes so long to write ugh

BANNER CREDITS : starsturns

Thoughts??