As he wandered the quieter corridors, his eyes caught something unusual: a locked door near the far end of the administration wing. It had no sign, no windows, nothing to indicate what lay behind it. Just a smooth, polished surface and a sturdy lock.
Silas paused. He tilted his head. Something about the door didn’t belong.
Nothing good ever hides behind a locked door… except maybe trouble, he thought.
He knelt and examined the lock, noticing faint scratches around the edges. Paperclip, bobby pin, or old habit? He always carried a small set of tools in his hoodie pocket. Silas didn’t consider himself a thief — just… a problem solver.
Thirty seconds later, the lock clicked.
He eased the door open. The hinges groaned, a single metallic whine slicing through the silence. The room was dim, lit only by streaks of sunlight cutting through dusty blinds. It smelled of old wood, polished floors, and… something metallic.
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And then he saw it.
A large board on the wall — Ravenwood’s official Top Donors Board, polished and pristine, mounted like a trophy. Names. Dates. Initials. Small notes scribbled next to them.
Silas’s eyes darted across the first row:
-
Lisa Kim — 12/1
His stomach clenched. 12 January… That was the date Leah Kate had died.
He stepped closer, heart ticking, mind racing. The connection was undeniable. Leah Kate from the news — and here, under a name he didn’t recognize yet, her death had been recorded on the donor board.
The rest of the board stretched farther than he could take in at a glance. Other initials. Other dates. Some scribbled neatly, some almost erased.
Footsteps echoed outside the door. Someone approaching.
He froze.
The sound passed. Silence returned.
Silas exhaled slowly, leaning back against the wall. His mind ticked like clockwork:
Leah Kate → Lisa Kim — 12/1.
This school claims to be independent, yet there’s a donor board tracking these people.
Some dates are upcoming.
He didn’t see the other names yet, but the thought lodged like a knife: whoever created this board had a plan. And it wasn’t random.
Silas pulled his hoodie tighter around his shoulders, stepping away from the wall. Great. A creepy donor board. Just what my week needed.
The door clicked softly as he closed it behind him. The hall was empty again. Silence.
But the knowledge stayed with him, heavier than any textbook. Ravenwood was hiding something. And he had just found a window into it.
Now to figure out what it means… before it’s too late.