The typing bubble appeared again.
Then vanished.
Then, finally, a ssage.
"Get out."
Elias stared at the screen for a long second, the two words burning against the pale glow of his phone like they were never ant to be seen in that font, on that thread, from that person. There was no lead-in, no voice, no teasing punctuation, or sideways dig that would’ve made it sound like Matteo. And that, more than the words themselves, was what made the fear settle low and hard in Elias’s chest.
Another ssage arrived.
"Don’t bring your main phone."
Then, as if the sender had run out of ti for pleasantries or excuses:
"Go. Now."
The dread didn’t spike, it seeped. Heavy and quiet, like ink bleeding through paper. Sothing wasn’t right, and every part of Elias already knew it. Matteo didn’t send ssages like that. He didn’t give orders, especially not in that tone. He didn’t even move fast, not unless it was out of necessity or sarcasm, and this had neither.
Elias’s breath snagged as he scanned the room, sothing primal and ancient stirring in the back of his mind, the part of the brain that still rembered what it ant to be hunted. And then he rembered.
The burner.
Still here. Still tucked into the bottom drawer, hidden beneath the folder from his old advisor and a ss of receipts he never threw out. He had kept it out of paranoia once, after an incident with his family that left more than just bruised pride and silenced numbers. He hadn’t touched it in months, but now he was moving as if his body had known this mont would co.
The old flip phone was sluggish, the kind of slow startup that made him want to shake it, but it worked. The number was still there in his head, never saved, just morized and filed away like a broken rule. He dialed.
It rang.
Once.
Twice.
Three tis.
Then, finally, groggy and heavy with sleep, a voice answered.
"Elias?" Matteo sounded half-conscious, like he’d only just found the phone by instinct, blinking through the haze of whatever hour it was.
Elias exhaled slowly, too controlled to be relief. "You’re asleep."
Matteo made a low noise, like he was trying to wake up faster. "Yeah...what? Why are you calling on this?"
There was a pause, long enough for the silence to take on shape and weight, and Elias swallowed before replying. "Because soone’s texting . From your number. But it’s not you."
"What?" Matteo’s voice shifted instantly, sleep falling off like a dropped coat. "What do you an... now?"
"I just got a string of ssages. Short. Urgent. Told to leave. Not to bring my phone. Said you were outside." Elias pressed a hand to his chest, grounding himself through the thin fabric of his shirt, trying to hold sothing steady. "I needed to be sure it wasn’t you."
"It’s not," Matteo said, and for once there was no humor, no delay, just a rising tide of sothing close to alarm. "I’ve been out since midnight, I didn’t send anything. Elias, where are you?"
"The dorm," Elias answered, his voice lower now, his tone flattening under the weight of realization.
"I didn’t text you," Matteo said again, firr this ti. "And if they’re using my na to try to get you out alone, then you need to leave, but not because they told you to. Do it smart. Do it quietly. Don’t grab anything you don’t need. Get sowhere lit. Use soone else’s number if you can. I’ll find you."
His grip on the burner tightened, the plastic warm now against his skin. He was still on the line. Matteo was still there.
"Victor Nun is sending a car after ," Elias said finally, and the words felt thin the mont they left his mouth, like the truth was already shifting beneath them.
Matteo didn’t respond at first. There was a soft breath on the other end, like he was sifting through possibilities, trying to find the one that didn’t lead where they were both afraid it might.
"He told you that himself?" Matteo asked, slower now, his voice steadier despite the edge of exhaustion still curling at the end of his words.
"Yes. Driver’s na, vehicle ID, route. All that was supposed to co next. But it didn’t." Elias pressed the heel of his palm to his eye. "Instead, I got you. No details. Just the ssage."
"And you didn’t think that was strange?"
"I did. That’s why I called."
Elias’s voice was flat, but beneath it, sothing fragile and frayed was threatening to crack. He opened his mouth to say more, to confess how his skin hadn’t stopped crawling since the first ssage, how even the silence in the room felt watched.
And then it buzzed.
Not the main phone. That one lay powerless and gutted on the bed, screen dark, battery removed.
It was the burner.
The phone no one should’ve had the number for.
The one ant to be invisible.
He froze.
Driver: Andrew Park. Car: black, license 7X-473. ETA: 6 minutes. Don’t open the door unless the ID matches. Route: Nun manor
—V.N.
Elias didn’t move. Not right away.
He stared at the ssage like it might vanish if he blinked, like he could undo the past thirty seconds by sheer force of will, by rewinding sothing as simple as ti or logic or trust. But the screen stayed lit. The letters stayed where they were. And his breath stayed caught behind his teeth like it had been locked there.
Matteo was still on the line. Still real.
"Elias?" His voice was sharper now. Awake. Sober in the way people got when death stopped being theoretical.
Elias didn’t answer.
The burner was still in his hand. The ssage from Victor, or soone claiming to be Victor, was clear. Na. Car. License. Route.
Too perfect.
Too prepared.
"I got the ssage," Elias said finally, his voice thin with restraint. "Details just ca in."
Matteo was quiet for a beat. Then: "Too late for a clean handoff. If soone mirrored your signal, they know where you are. You have to assu they saw you read the texts."
"I killed the main phone," Elias said, as if that counted for anything. "Battery out. No signal bleed."
"You’re still in the room." Matteo’s tone didn’t rise, but it tightened. "That’s enough. If they’re already in the building, they won’t need your phone to trace you."
Elias shut his eyes. The dorm was too quiet. His back was too exposed.
"Then why should I trust you?"
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