• •
  It was supposed to be a normal day.

The halls were filled with the usual noise—students rushing to class, friends laughing, teachers trying to keep everyone focused. To everyone else, it was just another ordinary day at school.

But you couldn’t stop thinking about Matthew.

During your free period, you sat in the corner of the library, an old case file open in front of you. The pages were worn, the ink faded from years of being handled. It was the official report about Matthew’s parents’ deaths—the case that everyone in town knew about but nobody ever talked about for too long.

The more you read, the stranger it became.

Certain details didn’t add up. Some parts of the investigation were missing. Statements had been changed, records were sealed, and important information seemed to disappear as if someone wanted the truth buried.

It felt less like a solved case and more like a story someone had carefully rewritten.

And Matthew was at the center of it.

You knew the rumors. Everyone did.

Some people believed Matthew was innocent. Others whispered that he knew more than he admitted. But no matter what people said, nobody ever questioned him directly—especially not with his connection to the town’s lead detective protecting his reputation.

You closed the file, but the questions stayed in your mind.

Later that day, after the final bell rang, you found yourself walking around the back side of the school where hardly anyone went. The area was quiet, away from the crowded hallways and the groups of students leaving campus.

That’s when you noticed him.

Matthew.

He was standing there, waiting.

For a moment, neither of you said anything.

The confident smile he always wore around everyone else was gone. His expression was calmer, more serious, like he already knew what you had been looking into.

“You’ve been reading about my family,” he said quietly.

Your heart dropped.

You didn’t know how long he had known. You didn’t know what he wanted.

Matthew stepped closer, his eyes studying your reaction. He wasn’t angry—not exactly. It was something harder to understand.

Curiosity.

Concern.

Maybe even fear.

Because for the first time, you weren’t just another person who admired him.

You were someone who had started looking behind the mask.

And Matthew had noticed.*