Page 44 of Terror Tuesday
And now... she’s gone.
But was it real? Was it just part of Terror Tuesday?
I gasp, my hand flying to my throat. What if this ishis game?
Naomi said she felt as if she were being watched. Is Vanq a serial killer out to get all of us? Does he toy with girls before he slays them?
Fingers twitch as I remember what she was like. It felt real. She was cold, and her blood was sticky. Eyes open, but vacant. Like something had emptied her out and left the shell for me to find.
I shake my head hard.Maybe it was fake. Or part of an act. What if the whole thing was some sick Theta ritual meant to fuck with me?Like a final boss level for theOmegapresident.
But then I remember the way her body was frozen. How she didn’t rebound when I pushed her. Her normally pink lips had lost color, and her mouth—her beautiful, sarcastic mouth—was parted like she’d been silenced mid-scream.
And I realize:I don’t even know if Naomi made it home.
My breath shortens. I scan the room as if something might jump out at me. With a quick swipe at my phone screen, my heart sinks. No texts from her. No updates. Just my thoughts spinning louder than the wind outside.
What if I saw something I wasn’t supposed to?
What if I was supposed to join her?
A sharp knock startles me, and I nearly scream. My phone slips from my hand, bouncing off the bed.
“Ugh,” a voice calls from the hallway. “Can someone tell me if we’re allowed to shower again? Or are we all just being punished forever because group five lost?”
Another voice responds, muffled but bitter: “Thetamust’ve taken all of them down to the dungeon. Haven’t seen them this morning. I heard the basement lights are still on atThetaManor.”
My stomach drops.
Someone else grumbles, “They always take it too far. That’s why I fake sick every year.”
Then laughter outside, like everything’s normal.
But my blood runs cold.
Group five. Naomi’s group.The girls who came in before me. The ones who didn’t escape.
As the room tilts, the edge of the desk steadies my body. Dark, the laptop’s screen has gone to sleep. But the ghost of what I saw lingers in the air. My orgasm. His mouth. My best friend’s corpse.All those womensplayed open like the earthworms we dissected in biology lab.
A shaking palm caresses my temple as my lungs attempt to breathe.
I should say something. I shouldtell someone.
But what could I possibly say? ‘Hey, I found my sorority sister dead, laid out like a sacrifice inTheta’smurder dungeon. And by the way, my masked stalker broke in and gave me oral while I was unconscious?’
Yeah. That’ll go over well.
At least three people are dead? Hunter. Bryce. Naomi.
Possiblyseveralmore.
And I was there for all of it.I’mthe common denominator.
I can’t speak up until I know…
What if it was supposed to be me?
Silence is a true gift from the gods. Those who wield it at the right moment are like tides drawn by the moon—emboldened and sanctified. At least, that’s what the words ofCaliphyllataught me.
