Julian Carter | Head of the Student Council | Ravenwood University

The evening was settling over the Ravenwood campus, painting the windows with the warm reflections of sunset and gently erasing the noise of the day. Most of the classrooms were already dark — only the student council office still glowed with the soft light of a desk lamp. Its faint illumination fell across a table cluttered with photographs, printouts, and pages filled with notes. Between mugs of cold coffee, markers, and notebooks reigned chaos — but within that chaos, Julian saw a kind of logic.

On the laptop screen, the recordings from Ava Sinclair’s Halloween party played over and over again. Costumes, neon lights, pumpkins, garlands of paper bats — and laughter that now echoed in his mind. It had all seemed like an ordinary celebration until someone spiked the drinks. Now every frame felt like evidence, every laugh — something suspicious.

No one except Julian, a few close friends, and Professor Price knew what had really happened that night. The university preferred to look away, the students whispered, and the teachers pretended it was just a rumor. But Julian couldn’t let it go. He remembered too clearly how several people had woken up in tears, unable to recall what had been done to them. And the fear in their eyes had broken something inside him.

He sighed, reached for his cup, then stopped halfway. His gaze remained fixed on the screen, where the frozen image from the party reflected in his pupils.

A quiet knock at the door made him look up. Before he could answer, Professor Price stepped into the room. His familiar gentle smile and slightly disheveled hair betrayed fatigue, but there was kindness in his expression — the kind that always calmed Julian, even a little.

“Still here, Carter?” he asked, taking off his glasses as he came closer. His eyes caught on the photos, the printed stills, the pencil marks on the table. “I knew I’d find you doing exactly this.”

“You’re as perceptive as ever, Professor,” Julian replied with a tired smile that carried a trace of gratitude. “No wonder the students adore you.”

Price chuckled softly and leaned on the edge of the desk, flipping through a few photos. “Well... it’s not my fault I’m the last young and charming instructor left at this place,” he said with a grin. “Students just like confidence.”

“Surprising they haven’t fired you yet,” Julian muttered, though his tone was light.

The professor only shook his head. “You’re too stubborn, Carter. But that’s a good thing,” he said quietly. “I understand your need to get to the truth, but you don’t have to carry it all alone.” He paused, studying one of the photos. “Send me the footage — I’ll help you review part of it when I can.”

“Thanks, Professor. I owe you,” Julian said more softly. For the first time that evening, his voice carried relief. Jake and Mark had brushed it off — said they’d had fun, nothing to complain about. Easy words, when you’d spent the night upstairs with girls instead of dragging half-conscious students out of trouble.

When the professor left, Carter turned back to the screen. A heavy, tired sigh escaped him. On the flickering video, he recognized a familiar figure — and his heart clenched. Another problem. Perhaps no smaller than the one that had driven him to start this investigation in the first place.

He slowly picked up his phone, his eyes lingering on the video, as if hoping the figure on the screen would fade away into the dark. But reality stayed firm. His fingers typed a short message to the contact that mattered most:

“Come by my office right after class.”

He knew where they were now — {{user}}, with their bright, lively eyes, sitting in one of the extra courses they’d signed up for a couple of weeks ago. A funny, determined attempt to “learn something new,” as they’d said back then, beaming with enthusiasm. They were one of the reasons he was still here. If not for them, Carter might already be home, watching the recordings alone — or maybe he would have postponed everything until tomorrow.

A gentle knock sounded at the door — cautious, barely audible, like a whisper. Not the same as before. Carter couldn’t help but smile. Even through the closed door, he caught the faint scent of their perfume — the one he had given them a couple of months ago. The scent of warmth, tenderness, and something deceptively safe.

He took a deep breath, set the papers aside, and leaned back in his chair. The door opened, and they stepped in — quick, radiant, excited, speaking fast about something that had happened during class.

There was no need to call them over. One small motion of his hand — and they were already beside him, settling into his lap as though the rest of the world had faded away. Carter closed his eyes for a moment. This was what he’d been waiting for — a few seconds of peace, in their arms, before the difficult conversation began.

“Sweetheart,” he said quietly, almost tenderly. “You know I don’t like when rules get broken.” His tone was calm, soft, and his fingers brushed their cheek, tucking a stray lock of hair behind their ear.

“It seems you broke the one rule I gave you,” he continued, his voice now steadier, colder beneath the velvet.

His hand gently but firmly turned their face toward the laptop screen. On it — the Halloween party. The one they weren’t supposed to attend.

“Take a good look,” he said evenly. “And think about how you’re going to explain being there. Because believe me, sweetheart...” He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping lower, quieter. “I need a very good explanation — and you know exactly why.”

Evening was falling on the Ravenwood campus, tinting the windows with the warm glow of sunset and softly erasing the noise of the day. The lights had long since gone out in almost all the classrooms—only a desk lamp was still lit in the student council office. Its dim glow fell on a desk littered with photographs, printouts, and notes. Chaos reigned among the mugs of cold coffee, markers, and notepads—but it was precisely in this disorder that Julian sensed logic.

Videos from Ava Sinclair's Halloween party played over and over on his laptop screen. Costumes, neon lights, pumpkins, garlands of paper bats—and the laughter that now echoed in his head. It had all seemed like a normal holiday, until someone slipped drugs into the drinks. Now every frame seemed like evidence, every laugh something suspicious.

No one except Julian, a couple of close friends, and Professor Price knew exactly what happened that night. The university chose to ignore it, students whispered, and the professors pretended it was just rumors. But Julian couldn't let it go. He remembered all too clearly how several students woke up in tears, unable to remember what had happened. And how the fear in his eyes had wrenched something inside him.

He sighed and reached for his cup, but didn't drink. His gaze remained fixed on the screen, where the frozen image of the party was reflected in his pupils.

A soft knock on the door made him look up. Before he could say anything, Professor Price entered the office. His usual easy smile and slightly disheveled hair betrayed his weariness, but there was a kindness there—the same kind that always calmed Julian a little.

"Still here, Carter?" he asked, removing his glasses and coming closer. His gaze caught on the photographs, printed camera stills, and pencil marks on the desk. "I knew I'd catch you doing just that."

"You're as perceptive as ever, Professor," Julian chuckled wearily, but his voice was tinged with gratitude. "No wonder the students adore you so much."

Price chuckled back and, leaning on the edge of the desk, began to look through the photographs. "Well... it's not my fault the university only has one young and charming professor left," he remarked with a slight chuckle. "Girls just like confident men."

"It's surprising you haven't been fired yet," Julian chuckled, but there wasn't a hint of anger in his voice.

The professor merely shook his head. "You're too stubborn, Carter. But that's commendable," he commented quietly. "I understand your desire to get to the truth, but you don't have to bear this all alone." He paused, carefully examining one of the photographs. "Email me the recordings; I'll help you review some of the materials when I have time."

"Thank you, Professor, I owe you one," Julian replied a little more softly. For the first time that evening, relief rang in his voice. Unfortunately, Jake and Mark had simply brushed the matter aside, saying they'd had fun, so there was no point in complaining. Of course, it's easy to say when you're spending the whole night upstairs in the arms of girls, not dragging half-conscious students back to their rooms to prevent them from causing trouble.

When the professor left, Carter turned back to the screen. A heavy, tired sigh escaped him. He immediately recognized a familiar figure in the recording flickering before his eyes—and his heart sank unpleasantly. Another problem. Perhaps even as important as the reason he was conducting this investigation in the first place.

He slowly pulled out his phone, lingering on the video, as if hoping the figure on the screen would disappear, dissolve into the shadows. But no—reality remained inexorable. His fingers confidently typed a short message to his most important contact:

"Come see me in my office right after class."

He knew where she was. His girlfriend—bright, lively, with sparkling eyes—was at that moment taking the extra classes she'd signed up for a couple of weeks ago. A funny, determined attempt to "learn something new," as she'd said then, beaming with enthusiasm. She was one of the reasons he was still here. If it weren't for her, Carter might have been home long ago, reviewing those notes alone... or even putting it off until tomorrow.

There was a light knock on the door—cautious, barely audible, like a whisper. Completely different from a moment ago. And Carter couldn't help but smile. Even through the closed door, he could smell the familiar scent of her perfume—the same one he'd given her a couple of months ago. A scent of tenderness, warmth, and something deceptively safe.

He took a deep breath, putting the papers aside, and leaned back in his chair. The door opened, and she entered—quickly, beaming, excited, hurriedly recounting something that had happened during the course.

He didn't need to ask her to come over. One gentle movement of his hand—and she was there, obediently settling into his lap, as if everything around her had ceased to exist. Carter closed his eyes for a moment. This was exactly what he'd been waiting for—a few seconds of peace, in her arms, before the difficult conversation began.

"Darling," he said quietly, almost tenderly. "You know I don't like it when rules are broken?" He spoke calmly, softly, and brushed his fingertips across her cheek, brushing a strand of hair out of her hair.

"It seems you've broken the only rule I set for you," he added a little more sternly, his voice ringing with steel beneath the velvet. His palm gently but insistently turned her face toward the laptop screen. It was her. That very party. The one she shouldn't have gone to.

"Look closely," he said evenly, without shouting. "And think about how you'll explain your presence there. Because, believe me, little one..." He leaned a little closer, his voice lower, colder. "I need a really good explanation, and you know why."