Writers 
Chapter Seven
The note had only four words.
ASK ABOUT THE NIGHT.
I had read them so many times that morning that the words were beginning to look like they belonged to a language I had never learned.
Who had written it?
Why had they left it for me?
And, most importantly, what night were they talking about?
I sat at the back of the lecture hall, tapping my pen against my notebook while our lecturer explained something about an assignment I was absolutely certain I would regret postponing.
Normally, I could pay attention to almost anything.
Well, almost anything that didn't involve Adrian Blake, mysterious photographs, strange men, or notes that looked like invitations to a crime documentary.
Unfortunately, my brain had decided that all four were more important than my education.
Excellent, Amara. At this rate, you'll graduate with a degree in minding other people's business.
“Are you listening to anything I'm saying?” Tessa whispered beside me.
“Every word.”
“Then what did the lecturer just say?”
I glanced at the board.
Silence.
Tessa sighed. “You're hopeless.”
“I'm not hopeless. I'm temporarily distracted by academic excellence.”
“Your academic excellence is staring at Adrian.”
My head snapped toward her. “I was looking at the board.”
“The board is in front of you.”
“Maybe I enjoy looking at things from different angles.”
Tessa gave me a look that suggested she was reconsidering our friendship.
I turned back to my notebook, determined to concentrate.
Then I noticed Adrian watching me from two rows ahead.
The moment our eyes met, he looked away.
My stomach tightened.
He knew something. I was certain of it.
And if there was one thing I hated more than being confused, it was someone knowing the answer while expecting me to sit quietly and accept the mystery.
The lecture ended twenty minutes later. Before Tessa could suggest lunch, I stuffed my notebook into my bag and hurried toward the door.
“Where are you going?” she called.
“To become a better person!”
“Does that involve Adrian?”
“Unfortunately, it might!”
I heard her laughing behind me.
I wasn't actually planning to find Adrian.
At least, that was what I told myself until I saw him walking toward the old archives building behind the university library.
The building was rarely used by students. Its windows were dusty, its paint was peeling, and a faded sign on the entrance read STAFF ONLY.
Naturally, I followed him.
This is how people end up in trouble, a sensible voice in my head warned.
And this is how people get answers, another voice replied.
I chose to listen to the second one.
The door hadn't closed properly, leaving a narrow gap. I slipped inside and found myself in a dim hallway that smelled of old paper and dust.
“Adrian?” I whispered.
No answer.
I followed the sound of footsteps until I reached a room filled with filing cabinets, cardboard boxes, and shelves of old university records.
Adrian stood beside a wooden table.
Spread across it were several photographs.
He looked so focused that he didn't notice me immediately.
I stepped closer.
One photograph showed a group of students standing outside the university years ago. Their clothes looked old-fashioned, and the image had faded around the edges.
There was a girl standing near the centre.
Dark hair. A bright smile. One hand raised to shield her eyes from the sun.
Something about her face felt strangely familiar.
I leaned closer.
“Recognize anyone?”
Adrian's voice made me jump.
I turned around. “Do you always sneak up on people, or am I getting special treatment?”
“Why are you here, Amara?”
“Lovely to see you too.”
“I'm serious.”
“So am I. You look terrible when you're angry, by the way.”
His jaw tightened.
For once, I didn't feel like joking.
I pointed at the photograph. “Who is she?”
Adrian glanced at it, and something changed in his expression. The usual arrogance disappeared, replaced by a sadness he seemed desperate to hide.
“My sister.”
I stared at him.
“You have a sister?”
“Had.”
The single word settled between us.
I didn't know what to say. Adrian Blake, the boy who acted as though nothing in the world could affect him, suddenly looked like someone carrying a weight he could barely stand.
“What happened to her?” I asked quietly.
He looked down at the photograph.
“She disappeared.”
“When?”
“Three years ago.”
My fingers tightened around the strap of my bag.
Three years ago.
Why did that sound familiar?
Adrian picked up another photograph. This one showed the same group of students, but the girl was standing beside someone whose face was partly hidden by a shadow.
“I promised I'd leave it alone,” he murmured.
“Then why are you still looking?”
He didn't answer.
I reached into my bag and pulled out the folded note.
“I found this where you were standing yesterday.”
His eyes immediately fixed on the paper.
“Where did you get that?”
“I just told you. Near the library.”
“Who gave it to you?”
“No one! That's why I'm asking questions.”
He took a step closer, his voice lowering. “Amara, listen to me carefully. You shouldn't be involved in this.”
“That's a little difficult when someone is leaving mysterious notes for me.”
“Then stop reading them.”
“Brilliant idea. Next time someone sends me a warning, I'll simply pretend I can't read.”
“I'm not joking.”
“Neither am I!”
My voice echoed through the quiet room.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then Adrian looked at the photograph again.
“There was a party here on the night my sister disappeared,” he said. “A university event. A lot of people attended. Some left early. Others stayed until morning.”
“And?”
“And nobody can agree on what happened afterward.”
I swallowed.
“What does that have to do with me?”
He didn't respond immediately.
Instead, he opened a folder and pulled out a sheet of paper. It was an old attendance record, its edges yellowed with age.
He placed it on the table between us.
I scanned the names.
Most meant nothing to me.
Then I saw mine.
AMARA.
My name was written halfway down the page.
I stared at it, waiting for the letters to rearrange themselves into something else.
They didn't.
“That's impossible,” I whispered. “I wasn't a university student three years ago.”
“I know.”
“Then why is my name here?”
Adrian's expression was unreadable.
“Because you were there that night.”
The room seemed to tilt beneath my feet.
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “You have the wrong person.”
“Your name is on the record.”
“Lots of people have the same name!”
“Not with your surname.”
I opened my mouth, but no words came out.
My thoughts raced through memories I could barely grasp. My family. My childhood. The things I remembered clearly and the things I had never thought to question.
I couldn't remember attending a university event three years ago.
I couldn't remember meeting Adrian's sister.
But the fear spreading through my chest felt horribly real.
“Why didn't you tell me before?” I asked.
“Because I didn't know if you were connected to what happened.”
“And now?”
He looked directly at me.
“Now I think someone wants you to remember.”
A cold silence filled the room.
I looked down at the photograph again. The girl who had been smiling at the camera was no longer just a stranger.
She was Adrian's missing sister.
And somehow, my name was connected to the night she vanished.
I folded my arms, trying to hold myself together.
“What's her name?”
Adrian hesitated.
Then he answered.
“Elena.”
I repeated it silently.
Elena Blake.
The name settled somewhere in my mind, brushing against a memory I couldn't quite reach.
For one strange second, I thought I heard a girl's laughter.
Then it was gone.
“Amara?” Adrian said.
I looked up.
For the first time since I'd met him, he didn't look arrogant or annoyed.
He looked afraid.
And somehow, that frightened me more than anything else.
“What?” I whispered.
He glanced toward the doorway.
“Someone knows you're here.”
Before I could ask what he meant, footsteps sounded in the hallway outside.
Adrian quickly gathered the photographs and pushed the attendance record back into its folder.
“Stay behind me,” he whispered.
I almost laughed.
Almost.
“I'm not one of your employees, Blake. You don't get to give me orders.”
“Please, Amara.”
That stopped me.
Not because he had asked me to obey.
But because of the fear in his voice.
The footsteps stopped outside the room.
A shadow appeared beneath the door.
Then someone knocked.
Three slow, deliberate knocks.
Adrian went completely still.
A voice came from the other side.
“Adrian, I know she's in there.”
My blood ran cold.
Because I recognized that voice.
It belonged to the same strange man I'd seen beside the black car.
And whatever he wanted, I had a terrible feeling that it had something to do with me.