P.O.V. - Natalie
THE PRESENT
I walked slowly, my steps measured and steady across the cracked stones of the cemetery. The air was heavy, thick with the scent of damp earth and fading summer heat. My breath caught as I reached the grave.
Gabriella Templeton — the name carved deep into the cold marble, stark against the weathered stone. 2002–2025.
I knelt beside the headstone, my fingers brushing the rough edges, and whispered into the silence,
"I've gained revenge for you. But it's time for me to go. I might never see you again."
---
Two months ago, I was just Natalie — the girl with brown, straight hair and blunt bangs, known across Baysides as the "Young Detective." The town liked to call me that, as if solving mysteries was something I did for fun. Maybe it was. But it was never supposed to get this dark.
My pink overcoat hung loose over a white sleeveless crop top and a blue skirt, my usual armor as I answered the phone.
"Hey! What tea did you get toda—"
Janice's scream cut through my words like a knife.
"Natalie! Natalie! NATALIE! MS. YOUNG DETECTIVE!!"
Her voice cracked, raw with panic.
"What?" I said, heart already pounding.
"The police. They're outside. I don't know what to do!"
"Did you ask them what's going on?"
"No... I was too scared."
I didn't hesitate. I opened the door.
The policeman standing there looked like he belonged in a movie — tall, lean, his hair styled sharp like a pompadour, the kind of look that made people listen. He wore a blue shirt, jeans, and a gun holstered at his side. But it was his eyes I noticed — calm, steady, like he'd seen things that would make me shiver.
"Hi," I said, forcing a smile. "What brings you here? Did we do something wrong?"
"No, Natalie," he said. "Call me Noah. We came because your teacher... Ms. Samantha Collins, has been murdered."
My breath caught. "Noah, why tell me? Why not her family?"
"We told them first. But this... this case needs a master detective. Someone like you."
I blinked. "I've never done a murder case."
"Exactly why we need you."
Janice squeezed my hand. "I believe in you."
I swallowed the knot in my throat. "Let's go."
---
The stadium loomed dark, doors creaking open beneath the weight of silence.
There she was.
Ms. Collins. Hanging, twisted like some nightmare puppet from the rigging above the stage. Blood slick beneath her, thick and dark. The scent was metallic and raw — a reminder that this was no illusion.
A crab doll head covered her face, hollow and grotesque, turning her into a faceless ghost. Her clothes weren't hers — a neat set of blue preppy-girl clothes, out of place and wrong.
Blood digits were scrawled across the back of the top: 9385.
Pinned to her ID was a note, sharp and hurried:
VG, B09-C, TARGET.
I traced the letters with trembling fingers.
B09-C — my class.
VG — initials. But whose?
Noah's voice was steady beside me. "Maybe the next target."
My chest tightened. The game had only just begun.
Vanessa's call shattered the silence just as I was trying to steady my racing thoughts. Her voice, bright and light, felt like a sudden jolt of electricity through my chest.
"I've got some tea to spill. Gabby and Maddy got a dare from Caleb and—"
"Not now, Vanny," I cut in, my voice tighter than I wanted. "I'm on a case."
"A case?" Her tone dropped, disbelief slicing through the line. "A murder case? Who decided you should handle that? You're just a college student."
"The police appointed me," I said, swallowing the lump in my throat. "If you don't believe me, I can put you through to Noah."
"No, no," she laughed nervously. "I believe you. How's the case going? How will you even solve it?"
I forced a breath. "Brutal. I don't know how yet, but I will. I have to."
"No pressure," she teased, but I could hear the worry in her voice.
I hung up, heart pounding. Noah and I headed toward Bayside College, the campus a maze of echoes and shadows beneath the fading sun.
Mrs. Joanne, head of security, greeted me with a polite nod, leading me to the Advanced Security Room — a sterile, humming room filled with screens and files.
She handed me the class list for B09-C. The paper felt heavy in my hands, names, roll numbers, birthdays, and — strangely — zodiacs.
Two names caught my eye immediately: Vanessa Gurman and Veronica Garcia. Both shared the initials 'VG.'
"Veronica's a new transfer," Mrs. Joanne said. "Her family moved here from Spain recently. The zodiacs? The school added them recently, something about student records."
I stared at the list, a cold knot tightening in my chest. If the initials were a warning, the next target was clear.
Vanessa.
My fingers trembled as I slipped the list back into my pocket. I had to warn her. I couldn't lose another friend.
I ran, the wind biting my skin, shadows chasing me down empty streets.
Please, I whispered into the night, please pick up.
My heart hammered, a drumbeat of fear and desperation.
My breaths came fast, ragged against the cold night air. The phone pressed to my ear felt suddenly heavier than it should be. Please, I willed the silence. Please pick up.
But only the deadening buzz of voicemail answered.
No words. No reassurance. Just the awful, suffocating quiet.
I gritted my teeth, fists clenched so tight my nails dug into my palms. Vanessa's life was slipping through my fingers like sand. The thought made my chest twist painfully.
I had to move. Had to do something.
Turning sharply, I sprinted through the empty streets toward her house, the world blurring around me. The chill wind lashed at my skin, but I barely noticed. My mind raced faster than my legs.
If only I'd been faster. If only I had warned her sooner.
I pictured Vanessa — bright, blue hair bouncing in the sunlight, her laugh like a melody that could chase away any darkness. She didn't deserve this. None of them did.
I reached her street, heart hammering so loud I was sure the neighbors could hear it too. But the house was dark, windows shuttered tight.
No sign of life.
My phone buzzed. I snatched it up, hope flaring.
A message.
Meet me at the old stadium. Urgent.
No name. No explanation.
But I knew.
I didn't hesitate.
I ran.
The old stadium loomed in the distance, a shadowy relic swallowed by twilight. Memories of the murder scene with Ms. Collins flooded back — the blood, the doll's head, the cryptic note.
A shiver ran down my spine. The darkness here wasn't just the absence of light — it was alive.
I stepped inside, heart pounding.
Noah was waiting, face grim. His eyes searched mine — silent questions, unspoken fears.
"This isn't just about Vanessa anymore," he said quietly. "There's someone else."
I swallowed hard.
And realized the nightmare was only beginning.
Absolutely! Here's the Sarah J. Maas-inspired continuation, all from Natalie's POV, building up right to the moment she calls Vanessa:
The night swallowed me whole as I raced down the empty streets, every step fueled by desperation and dread. My breath came in sharp gasps, fogging in the cold air, but I barely noticed the chill. All I could think about was Vanessa.
Blue hair, bright smile, endless light in the darkest corners — my friend, my anchor. And now, maybe my next target.
My fingers trembled, slick against the smooth surface of my phone. The screen was dark, silent.
Please, I whispered to the empty void. Pick up.
But the silence stretched, mocking me.
No voice. No laugh. No reassurance.
Just static.
I pressed the phone tighter to my ear, willing her to answer. Please.
The sound of my own ragged breathing was unbearable. I hated this — the waiting, the not knowing. Every second that slipped past felt like a cruel countdown.
I stopped on the curb, heart pounding, mind spiraling.
Vanessa, I breathed. Please be okay.
My thumb hovered over the call button, the weight of what I was about to do settling over me like a storm.
I dialed.
It was feeling weird, disturbing, overwhelming — I couldn't think. The darkness of this road was killing me. It felt like Hell.
And all I could think of was,
Please be okay.