The next morning brought sunshine for the first time in days, faintly filtered through the mist—but still enough to break through the gloom. Eli felt a pull toward the attic of his late aunt's cottage, where boxes of old yearbooks, photo albums, and forgotten mementoes had gathered dust for years. He hadn't planned to go up there; it was one of those quiet compulsions, like a whisper in his mind urging him forward.
As he lifted the third box labeled "Books + Junk," something shifted beneath a cracked stack of paperbacks: a worn leather-bound notebook with frayed edges and bent corners. He froze.
Jesse's sketchbook. He recognized it instantly. With his heart pounding, Eli opened the cover slowly. Jesse's name was scrawled on the first page in that familiar looping script, followed by a series of ink sketches—abstract shapes, familiar faces, and shadowed eyes. Some pages were unfinished, and a few were ripped out entirely.
Halfway through, Eli found a page unlike the others. There were no drawings—just hurried writing.
*Someone's following me.*
*I think they know I want to tell the truth.*
*He said no one would believe me anyway. He laughed.*
*I'm scared, Eli. But maybe it'll all make sense someday.*
The next page was torn cleanly down the spine. A sharp chill cut through Eli's chest as he stared at the jagged edge of the missing page. He wondered what Jesse had tried—and failed—to say.
Eli didn't wait. He found Noah in the living room, freshly showered, dressed in grey sweats, and with a confused expression as Eli shoved the book into his hands.
"He was scared," Eli said. "Someone was threatening him. Look."
Noah read silently, his brow furrowed deeply.
"I don't think this was just a bad breakup," Eli added. "I think Jesse got involved in something bigger—something dangerous."
Noah closed the book carefully, his thumb brushing over the torn page. "What do you think was on the missing page?"
"Maybe a name. Or something that explained why he was being followed."
Noah hesitated, then looked up at Eli, something steady and resolute forming behind his gaze. "Okay. I'm in. Let's find out who he was afraid of."
Eli blinked. "You're serious?"
Noah nodded. "I've spent too long running from the truth. I owe him. And I owe you."
It was the first time Noah had said it out loud—not in guilt, but with purpose.
They cleared the dining table, spreading out everything they had: the letter from the yearbook, Jesse's sketchbook, photos from senior year, and Eli's notes. Piece by piece, a puzzle began to form—not quite coherent yet, but taking shape.
Eli tapped on a photo—Jesse at a school fundraiser, his arm draped around a friend. "This was a week before the accident. Look at his face—he's smiling, but his shoulders are tense. He used to relax around people he trusted."
Noah nodded. "Who's the guy next to him? That's not Eric."
Eli narrowed his eyes. "Jason Lin. Captain of the debate team. I barely remember him."
"I do," Noah said slowly. "He was smart, quiet, and very careful about his image."
Eli's eyes widened. "What if he's the one Jesse was involved with? It would explain why Jesse kept it a secret. Jason had plans—Yale, law school, maybe even politics."
"And motive," Noah added. "Fear of exposure. Reputation."
They stared at each other, realizing they had a new lead, a new name, and the first crack in the armor of secrets surrounding Jesse's death.The next morning brought sunshine for the first time in days, faintly filtered through the mist—but still enough to break through the gloom. Eli felt a pull toward the attic of his late aunt's cottage, where boxes of old yearbooks, photo albums, and forgotten mementoes had gathered dust for years. He hadn't planned to go up there; it was one of those quiet compulsions, like a whisper in his mind urging him forward.
As he lifted the third box labeled "Books + Junk," something shifted beneath a cracked stack of paperbacks: a worn leather-bound notebook with frayed edges and bent corners. He froze.
Jesse's sketchbook. He recognized it instantly. With his heart pounding, Eli opened the cover slowly. Jesse's name was scrawled on the first page in that familiar looping script, followed by a series of ink sketches—abstract shapes, familiar faces, and shadowed eyes. Some pages were unfinished, and a few were ripped out entirely.
Halfway through, Eli found a page unlike the others. There were no drawings—just hurried writing.
*Someone's following me.*
*I think they know I want to tell the truth.*
*He said no one would believe me anyway. He laughed.*
*I'm scared, Eli. But maybe it'll all make sense someday.*
The next page was torn cleanly down the spine. A sharp chill cut through Eli's chest as he stared at the jagged edge of the missing page. He wondered what Jesse had tried—and failed—to say.
Eli didn't wait. He found Noah in the living room, freshly showered, dressed in grey sweats, and with a confused expression as Eli shoved the book into his hands.
"He was scared," Eli said. "Someone was threatening him. Look."
Noah read silently, his brow furrowed deeply.
"I don't think this was just a bad breakup," Eli added. "I think Jesse got involved in something bigger—something dangerous."
Noah closed the book carefully, his thumb brushing over the torn page. "What do you think was on the missing page?"
"Maybe a name. Or something that explained why he was being followed."
Noah hesitated, then looked up at Eli, something steady and resolute forming behind his gaze. "Okay. I'm in. Let's find out who he was afraid of."
Eli blinked. "You're serious?"
Noah nodded. "I've spent too long running from the truth. I owe him. And I owe you."
It was the first time Noah had said it out loud—not in guilt, but with purpose.
They cleared the dining table, spreading out everything they had: the letter from the yearbook, Jesse's sketchbook, photos from senior year, and Eli's notes. Piece by piece, a puzzle began to form—not quite coherent yet, but taking shape.
Eli tapped on a photo—Jesse at a school fundraiser, his arm draped around a friend. "This was a week before the accident. Look at his face—he's smiling, but his shoulders are tense. He used to relax around people he trusted."
Noah nodded. "Who's the guy next to him? That's not Eric."
Eli narrowed his eyes. "Jason Lin. Captain of the debate team. I barely remember him."
"I do," Noah said slowly. "He was smart, quiet, and very careful about his image."
Eli's eyes widened. "What if he's the one Jesse was involved with? It would explain why Jesse kept it a secret. Jason had plans—Yale, law school, maybe even politics."
"And motive," Noah added. "Fear of exposure. Reputation."
They stared at each other, realizing they had a new lead, a new name, and the first crack in the armor of secrets surrounding Jesse's death.