Chapter One — The Locker That Wasn't Mine

The first thing I noticed about Rosewood High wasn't the building.

It was the silence that hid beneath all the noise.

Hundreds of students moved through the halls like they'd been rehearsing for years — laughter too loud, footsteps too fast, conversations too easy. I stood there, clutching my backpack straps, trying to blend into a place that already felt allergic to new people.

I told myself to breathe.

New neighborhood. New school. New start.

Except I'd said that exact same thing before. And before that, too.

The smell of old textbooks and lemon disinfectant filled the air as I found my locker — 217. The metal was dented, scratched, painted over one too many times. Someone had written "forever tired" on it in black marker, which felt a little too relatable.

The hallway around me was alive — people hugging, gossiping, slamming lockers, shouting names. And yet, somehow, I felt like the ghost in the middle of it all.

"Hey, you're new, right?"

A voice came from beside me.

I turned to see a girl with curly brown hair tied up in two messy buns. She was holding a coffee cup and smiling like she already knew my life story.

"Yeah," I said quietly. "Zara."

"Cool. I'm Chloe. Locker buddy." She pointed to the one beside mine, number 216. "Welcome to Rosewood, population: drama and caffeine addiction."

I smiled a little. "Sounds… fun?"

"Oh, totally," she said, rolling her eyes. "You'll get used to it. Just don't make eye contact with the cheer squad during lunch. They feed on fear."

Her humor eased something inside me. Maybe, just maybe, I could survive here.

But that hope cracked when I opened my locker.

There was something already inside.

A folded piece of paper, pale blue and slightly crumpled.

At first, I thought it was from whoever used this locker before me. But when I picked it up, my stomach twisted.

On the outside, written in shaky ink, was a single number:

1.

I hesitated. My hands were cold. I opened it.

And it read:

> "He didn't leave. He was taken because of you."

The hallway noise faded.

My heart thudded in my ears, slow and heavy.

No one here should've known about Eli. Not a single person.

We moved to Rosewood for a reason — to escape the stares, the whispers, the pity.

My brother had been missing for one hundred and forty-three days.

One hundred and forty-three mornings of pretending everything was fine.

And now, this note.

Someone knew.

"Hey, you okay?" Chloe's voice pulled me back.

I blinked and shoved the paper deep into my jacket pocket. "Yeah. Just… dust."

She didn't look convinced, but the bell rang, saving me from more questions.

English class smelled like chalk and lavender hand sanitizer. I sat by the window, half-listening to the teacher talk about themes and symbolism. My mind was somewhere else — on that note, on Eli, on the way his voice had sounded the last time I heard it.

He'd said he was going out to meet someone.

He'd said he'd be home before dinner.

He never came back.

The police had searched. The neighborhood had whispered. Mom had stopped sleeping. And me? I'd stopped talking.

Everyone said he'd probably run away. But Eli wouldn't. Not him.

My eyes drifted toward the window, where sunlight painted gold stripes across the floor. A reflection caught my attention — someone standing outside, just beyond the courtyard fence.

A boy in a dark hoodie.

He wasn't moving. Just standing there, watching the classroom. Watching me.

For a second, our eyes met — or I thought they did. And then, just as the teacher turned toward the board, he was gone.

I swallowed hard, my pulse hammering.

Maybe it was nothing. Maybe my mind was just playing tricks again.

But when the final bell rang and I returned to my locker, there was another note taped to the door. Smaller this time.

The same blue paper. The same messy handwriting.

> "Find number two before they find you."

I stood there, frozen, my reflection trembling against the locker's metal.

And just like that, the fresh start I'd been hoping for disappeared — replaced by the same old shadow I thought I'd left behind.

Rosewood wasn't supposed to know my secrets.

But someone did.

And they were already one step ahead.

Chapter Two — Whispers and Warnings

Sleep didn't visit me that night.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the notes.

The number 1. The words: He didn't leave. He was taken because of you.

And the second one — Find number two before they find you.

I must have reread them a hundred times, holding them under my lamp's light until the paper felt warm in my hands. I tried to think of anyone, anyone, who could've written them.

But Rosewood was new. Nobody here even knew me — or so I thought.

By morning, I'd convinced myself it was a prank. Maybe someone found out about Eli from an online post or one of those missing-person sites. Maybe they thought it'd be funny.

Except it wasn't funny. It was cruel.

---

The next day at school, I kept my head down. The hallway chatter felt heavier now, like every laugh was about me.

Chloe caught up beside me, her backpack hanging off one shoulder.

"Hey, Zara," she said. "You look like you didn't sleep."

"I didn't."

"Welcome to Rosewood. Insomnia's our unofficial school mascot."

I smiled faintly. She always had a joke ready, like a tiny spark against all the dullness.

We walked toward the lockers, and for a second, everything felt almost normal. Until I saw it.

My locker door.

There was something different about it — the faintest smudge, like someone's hand had been there.

I opened it carefully.

Empty.

No new notes.

But taped to the inside of the door this time, hidden behind the shelf, was a corner of paper peeking out.

My stomach sank.

I pulled it free.

A number again — 2.

This one said:

> "You can't erase what he saw."

I blinked, trying to process the words. What he saw? Eli hadn't told me anything before he disappeared. Just that he was meeting someone that night.

My throat felt tight.

Chloe was watching me. "Zara, what's wrong?"

"Nothing. Just… old stuff."

She tilted her head. "You sure? You look like you've seen a ghost."

If only she knew how close that felt.

---

Third period dragged on forever. The words on the whiteboard blurred together — symbolism, metaphors, irony. My pencil tapped the desk in uneven rhythm, my mind spinning around one thought:

Someone's playing with me.

After class, I went to the courtyard, where a few students hung out near the fountain. The autumn wind carried dry leaves across the pavement. That's when I noticed him.

The boy from yesterday.

He was sitting alone under the oak tree, hoodie up, sketching in a notebook. From where I stood, I could see his lips moving slightly, like he was talking to himself.

I hesitated, then started toward him.

When he noticed me, he stopped drawing. "You're the new girl," he said, voice low.

"Yeah. Zara."

"I know."

That answer threw me off. "You… know?"

He shut the notebook and stood. He was taller up close, maybe eighteen, with dark eyes that looked older than his face.

"I'm River," he said. "Don't trust the notes."

I froze. "What did you just say?"

"I said don't trust them. Whoever's sending them… they don't want you to find the truth. They want to scare you."

My heart was hammering. "How do you know about them?"

He glanced around the courtyard, then lowered his voice. "Because I got them too."

For a moment, everything inside me went still.

"You—what?"

He took a step closer. "Two months ago. Same handwriting. Different numbers."

I stared at him, trying to tell if he was lying, but there was something raw in his eyes. Something real.

Before I could ask anything else, he slipped a folded paper into my hand.

> "Meet me behind the gym after class. Don't tell anyone."

Then he walked away.

---

The rest of the day passed in a blur of confusion and nerves. I could barely focus on my teachers' voices. Every sound — the slam of lockers, the squeak of sneakers on the floor — made me flinch.

When the final bell rang, I hesitated outside the gym, clutching the note River had given me.

Maybe this was stupid. Maybe it was a setup.

But something inside me whispered: Go.

So I did.

The back of the gym was quiet, all shadows and peeling paint. The air smelled like rain and old grass. River was already there, leaning against the wall, hands in his hoodie pocket.

"I didn't think you'd come," he said.

"I almost didn't."

He nodded slowly, like he understood that more than he should. "The first time I got a note, I thought it was a prank too. But then things started happening. People stopped talking to me. Someone broke into my locker. I found my bike in the lake behind the school."

My skin went cold.

"What do they want?" I asked.

River's eyes darkened. "Maybe they want us to remember. Or maybe they just want to make sure we never forget."

He looked past me then, toward the corner of the building. His face changed — sharp, alert.

"Don't turn around," he whispered.

"Why—"

"Because someone's watching us."

---

My breath caught.

The air felt heavier suddenly, like the space behind me wasn't empty anymore.

A few seconds passed — long, stretching, silent. Then River's voice again, lower this time:

"Walk away slowly. Don't run. Just go."

I nodded once, heart racing, and started to move.

As I turned the corner, I couldn't help glancing back.

There was no one there.

Just a crumpled piece of blue paper fluttering on the ground.

And written on it, in the same messy handwriting, were three new words:

> "Number Three Knows."

Chapter Three — Number Three Knows

By the time I got home, my hands wouldn't stop shaking.

Mom was in the kitchen, humming to herself as she stirred something on the stove. The smell of garlic and onions should've felt comforting, but it didn't. It just made me realize how far my world had drifted from hers.

"You're home late," she said without turning around.

"Yeah. Stayed back for… gym."

A lie. It came too easily.

She nodded absently, and I slipped past her before she could ask more questions.

Upstairs, in my room, I dumped my bag onto the bed and pulled out the papers — Notes 1 and 2, and now the third one. Blue ink, messy letters. No fingerprints, no name.

> "Number Three Knows."

I stared at those words for what felt like hours. Knows what? Who's number three?

Outside, the sky was bleeding into twilight. Shadows stretched across the walls, making my room feel smaller. My reflection in the window looked pale and strange — like someone else entirely.

River's warning echoed in my head: Don't trust the notes.

But how could I ignore them now?

Because if Number Three knew something… maybe it was about Eli.

---

The next morning, I waited by the old oak tree in the courtyard. The one where I'd met River. The wind tugged at my hair and carried that crisp scent of rain-soaked leaves.

He showed up five minutes later, hood up as usual.

"You came," he said.

"I didn't really have a choice, did I?"

He almost smiled. "Guess not."

I held up the paper. "Number Three. Any idea who that is?"

River looked thoughtful, scanning the courtyard. "There were thirteen notes in my set. Thirteen people. Each one connected somehow."

"Connected how?"

He met my eyes. "Secrets. Things they wanted hidden. Things someone else wanted exposed."

I felt my stomach knot. "You think this has to do with Eli?"

He hesitated. "Maybe. The timing fits. My first note came a week before your brother disappeared."

That hit me like a punch. "You—what?"

"I didn't know him," River said quickly. "But I heard the rumors. People said he was asking questions. About a girl. About what happened behind the gym last spring."

My pulse quickened. "What happened?"

He looked away. "Someone got hurt. Maybe worse. The story died before it spread — but people remember."

I was about to ask who the girl was when a voice interrupted us.

"Zara Myles."

I turned.

A tall boy with blond hair and a letterman jacket stood a few feet away, expression unreadable. He looked like he belonged on the cover of the school yearbook — clean, confident, perfect.

"I'm Evan," he said. "Your locker neighbor."

I blinked. "Right. Uh, hi?"

He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "You've been getting strange notes, haven't you?"

Every nerve in my body froze.

River stepped slightly in front of me. "What's it to you?"

Evan ignored him. "You shouldn't be seen with him," he said to me. "People talk. And some of them don't like being talked about."

Then he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"Number Three knows. But Number Three also lies."

Before I could respond, he turned and walked away — leaving the scent of cologne and tension hanging in the air.

I stared after him, heart racing. "Did he just—?"

River's jaw tightened. "Yeah. He knows something."

I folded the note again and tucked it into my pocket. "Then he's number three."

River nodded slowly. "Looks like it."

---

The rest of the day, I couldn't focus. Every time I passed Evan in the hallway, I felt his eyes on me — calm, assessing, almost daring me to ask.

During lunch, Chloe waved me over to her table, but I just shook my head and pretended I had to study. She frowned, confused, and I hated how easily I was already lying to the only friend I had.

When the final bell rang, I didn't head home. I followed Evan.

He walked through the parking lot, down the side road that led behind the school. I kept my distance. The sky was turning gray, clouds heavy with rain.

He stopped near the old sports shed — the one no one used anymore — and pulled something from his pocket. A phone. He made a call, pacing slowly.

I moved closer, hiding behind a rusted fence.

"…yeah, I saw her with him," he was saying. His voice was low, careful. "No, she doesn't know yet. But if she keeps digging, we'll have a problem."

A pause. Then:

"I told you, she's not supposed to find out. Not like he did."

My breath caught.

He.

He had to mean Eli.

Lightning cracked somewhere in the distance, followed by a low rumble of thunder. I stepped back, my shoe hitting a metal can.

The sound made him turn.

"Who's there?"

I froze.

Evan's gaze swept the area. For a terrifying second, I thought he'd seen me — but a car honked nearby, and he glanced toward it instead. Then he muttered something under his breath and walked away.

When he was gone, I stepped out, trembling. The phone call replayed in my mind over and over.

Someone didn't want me to know the truth.

And Evan was working for them.

As I turned to leave, I noticed something on the shed wall — scratched into the peeling paint.

Thirteen numbers.

Lined up in a row.

And next to 3, my name.