The TV blares with a final, ominous sentence about a missing case of a young girl before the channel dies, swallowed by static. Lucian groans, clutching a half-eaten granola bar like a life raft. The eardrum-shattering screech of his mom's voice blasts through the room.
"Lucian! Don't tell me you're still glued to that idiot box! Badminton practice started ten minutes ago!"
Her voice, a drill sergeant's disguised as a high-pitched trill, bounces off the walls. Lucian winces, picturing teammates warming up without their captain - social suicide material. He scrambles off the sofa, the granola bar forgotten on the cushion like a furry hostage.
"But the news, Mom! There's probably some psycho out there snatching kids, and-"
He dives for his bag, already halfway out the door. The sentence dies on his lips as he meets his mother's glare. It's a laser beam of pure "get-into-the-car-or-else" energy.
He quietly does so.
"Honey, that happens every other week. Besides, you're practically a grown man. No kidnapper's after you."
She says it with an air of finality that broils his teenage angst. He mutters, "Heartless," under his breath, it was lost in the hum of the engine, swallowed by the car's plush interior. He didn't expect a response, didn't crave one. Her indifference was a familiar sting, a dull ache he wore like a second skin.
Still, he watched the rearview mirror, catching the brief flicker of something in her eyes before it was shuttered behind her usual mask. Was it worry? A flicker of the concern she rarely displayed? Or just the grimace of a woman forced into a late-night taxi service for her ungrateful son?
The question burned unanswered as he slumped in the passenger seat, his reflection in the passing streetlights a mask of exhaustion and unease. His thumb scrolled aimlessly through his phone, but the news stories, the gossip channels, nothing held his attention. His mind was elsewhere, haunted by the whispers that had permeated the campus earlier. Missing students, unsolved disappearances, rumors swirling like smoke in the corridors.
Matthew's face, open and smiling in a yearbook photo, popped into his head. A senior, only twenty years old, just a year older than Lucian, with a perpetually messy mop of brown hair and an infectious laugh. Missing. Vanished without a trace, the official story a convenient narrative of teenage rebellion, a boy running away from home. Lucian scoffed, the word feeling bitter on his tongue. "Ran away." As if leaving behind your friends, your family, your entire life was like tossing off a worn-out jacket.
His mother glanced at him over the steering wheel, her brow furrowed. "You alright?"
Lucian forced a response. "Just tired."
But that wasn't it. The unease gnawed at him, fueled by the casual dismissal of Matthew's disappearance. And then there was the other case, the one on the TV news playing faintly in the background. A girl, barely eighteen, vanished from a nearby town, her face plastered across missing posters, etched into his memory. The similarities were too stark to ignore: both students, both vanished without a trace, both dismissed as runaways by some.
He recalled his brief encounters with Matthew, the easy banter in the cafeteria, the shared joke in the library. Now, those memories felt heavy, tinged with a chilling premonition. What if there was more to it? What if these disappearances were connected, a silent, hidden predator lurking in the shadows of their supposed safe haven?
Lucian shivered, the cold creeping in despite the warmth of the car. He couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, a disembodied gaze tracing his every move. Even the rhythmic drumming of the rain seemed to whisper secrets, the wind outside carrying an insidious melody of fear.
As the car rolled onto campus, Lucian's resolve hardened. He might be just one student, just a badminton captain, but something wasn't right. He wouldn't dismiss Matthew's disappearance, wouldn't let it become another forgotten whisper in the night. He would dig deeper, unravel the secrets hidden beneath the facade of normalcy, even if it meant facing the shadows head-on.
As he sprints towards the college grounds,
he's no longer worried about himself, but a strange chill crawls down his spine. It's not just the winter air. It's the chilling possibility that somewhere in this bustling city, a shadow stalks the streets, snatching dreams from the shadows.
This, he thinks, adjusting his bag straps, is going to be one hell of a practice session. His mind buzzes with a mix of adrenaline and unease, an unorthodox pre-game jitters. Today, Lucian won't just be playing badminton. He'll be playing detective, his razor-sharp reflexes on high alert, scanning the faces in the crowd for any hint of the lurking darkness.
Because even though his mom might not believe it, Lucian knows: some shadows aren't just figments of a late-night news report. And he, for one, won't turn a blind eye.
The gymnasium hums with the rhythmic slap of shuttlecocks against racquets. Lucian strides onto the court, his hazel eyes catching the familiar figures of his two friends.
Mason, a lanky brunette with a perpetual grin plastered on his face, bounces a shuttlecock on his racket like a nervous puppy waiting for a walk.
"Captain Lucian reporting for duty! Ready to crush some birdies, my loyal lieutenants?" Mason's voice cracks a little on the last word, earning him a playful smack on the arm from Aiden.
Aiden, tall and lean with dark hair that falls in his eyes, snorts. "Save the theatrics for post-game, Mason. We've got drills to conquer first." His words might sound harsh, but a slight twinkle in his eyes betrays his gentle nature.
The next hour is a whirlwind of smashes, dropshots, and lunges. Lucian leads the charge, his movements a blur of precision and power. He orchestrates drills, barks encouragement, and occasionally gets caught in Mason's goofy antics, ending up on the floor in a tangle of limbs and laughter.
As the sun dips below the horizon, casting long shadows across the court, the other players gradually pack up and leave. But not Lucian. His practice has been off today, an unsettling distraction gnawing at his focus. He can't seem to replicate the effortless grace he usually displays.
Frustration mounts with each mishit return. The shuttlecock mocks him, dancing just out of reach, like a phantom predator toying with its prey. Aiden and Mason, sensing his turmoil, hang back, offering silent support.
Finally, with a growl that echoes in the empty gym, Lucian slams his racket down. Exhaustion and dejection mingle on his face.
"Just not my day, guys," he mumbles, sinking onto the bleachers.