Ginny's eyes lingered on the image Lucy had pulled up on her camera screen.
The faint light illuminated a grainy photograph, the edges blurred as though Lucy had snapped it in haste. The scene was familiar—too familiar. The same group of people Lucy had shown her before, their clothes an eerie, pristine white, each one staring down at the blank screens of their phones as though waiting for something to appear.
But this time, something was different. Ginny's gaze sharpened as Lucy leaned in closer, her finger tapping the screen repeatedly.
"There, do you see it?" Lucy asked, her voice a mix of urgency and triumph. "Right there. It's subtle, but I caught it."
Ginny squinted, following Lucy's finger until her breath caught. One of the figures wasn't holding a phone. Instead, nestled in their hands was a book. Its cover was white, blending almost seamlessly into their attire, but the edges had a subtle texture, faint shadows along the spine revealing its presence.
"A book?"
"Exactly," Lucy said, her voice climbing with excitement. "It doesn't look like much at first, right? Blends in perfectly. But then you see it, and it's like, why a book? Everyone else is holding their phones, looking blank and weird as hell, but this person—"
She jabbed her finger at the screen again.
"—has a book. Like, what are they reading that they don't want to join the hive mind over here?"
Ginny straightened, her brow furrowing as her thoughts churned. She'd brushed off Lucy's earlier theories as the harmless conspiracies of an overzealous journalism student, but now…
"Luce," she began carefully, her tone cautious but firm, "How did you even get this? You can't just go around taking pictures like this. If someone sees you—"
"I am careful!" Lucy interrupted, her tone defensive but not offended. She pulled the camera back to cradle it against her chest, as if shielding it from Ginny's words. "Do you think I'd just walk up to them and say 'Hey, creepy cult group, smile for the camera'? No, thank you. I stay out of sight. Super sneaky. Like, ninja levels of stealth, okay?"
She grinned, but it faltered slightly when she saw Ginny's skeptical look. Ginny crossed her arms, one brow arching in silent reproach.
"Okay, fine," Lucy sighed, rolling her eyes. "But listen, if they're up to something shady—and they totally are—then someone has to do something about it. That's where I come in, right? And if this leads to something bigger, then, boom, we're heroes! And don't even start on 'you shouldn't be putting yourself in danger' or whatever, because I know what I'm doing."
"You know what you're doing." Ginny repeated flatly, though her lips twitched slightly.
"Yes! I mean, kind of." Lucy's words spilled out in her usual rapid-fire way, her hands gesturing wildly as she spoke. "Look, I get it, I'm not Sherlock Holmes or anything, but that's why we need to work together. Me, with my nose for mysteries, and you with your Crime Rate Prediction System thingy—imagine how unstoppable we'd be! It's like... like Watson and Holmes but cooler. And cuter. Obviously, I'm Watson, because you're way better at math, and I am definitely better at breaking and entering. Wait, not breaking and entering—investigating. That's what I meant."
"Luce." Ginny's voice cut through Lucy's stream of words like a gentle nudge, grounding her.
"What?"
"Why do you think this is bad?"
The question made Lucy pause. Her expression shifted, her grin fading as something more serious flickered in her eyes. She pressed her lips together, her fingers fiddling with the edge of the camera strap.
Ginny watched the change, her own unease deepening. Lucy rarely hesitated, especially when it came to her theories.
"Luce?" she prompted softly.
"Okay," Lucy said finally, her voice quieter, though still tinged with her usual energy. "I'll tell you, but you have to promise—promise—not to say a word to anyone else."
She leveled Ginny with a look that was uncharacteristically serious, her wide grin replaced by a tight, determined line.
Ginny hesitated, the weight of the moment pressing down on her. She nodded slowly. "I promise."
Lucy let out a small breath, glancing over her shoulder as though someone might be listening. When she turned back to Ginny, her voice dropped to a whisper.
"Okay," she said again. "Here's the thing. I don't think they're just hanging out or whatever. I think they're watching someone. Or something."
Ginny stared at the picture on the camera screen again, her eyes tracing the details Lucy had so meticulously captured.
The image was focused on the group's hands, their sleeves a stark white that gleamed under the faint sunlight. The octopus tattoos stood out vividly, curling across their skin with intricate, sinuous lines, dark against pale flesh. Lucy had been careful not to include their faces, the framing deliberate and purposeful, but somehow that made the picture feel even more unsettling. It was as if anonymity added to their otherness, the lack of identity heightening the unease that coiled in Ginny's stomach.
Her gaze flicked to the figure with the book, the one detail that refused to fade into the background no matter how much she wanted it to. Ginny couldn't explain why it unsettled her so deeply. Maybe it was the contrast, the way the book stood apart from the uniform stillness of the others.
Or maybe it was something else, something intangible and creeping, a shiver that climbed her spine and refused to let go.
"See what I mean?" Lucy's voice broke the silence, low and charged with the kind of excitement she always had when she was onto something. She glanced around quickly, her eyes darting toward the trees before she leaned closer.
"Okay, listen." she whispered, grabbing Ginny by the sleeve and tugging her down to her level.
Ginny barely had time to steady herself before Lucy's breath was warm against her ear, her tone dropping further.
"They meet almost every day," she said. "Sometimes it's by the quad—you know, where they've got all those terrible benches that look nice but are somehow the most uncomfortable things on the planet?—but most of the time, it's near the university chapel."
"The chapel?"
"Shh!" she scolded, glancing around again before continuing. "Yeah. The chapel. And okay, maybe that doesn't mean anything—like, maybe they're just fans of the whole vibe, you know? Old wood, creaky floors, spooky stained glass. It's aesthetic. But—"
She fixed Ginny with a wide-eyed look, her voice dropping even lower.
"Don't you think it's weird? Like, really weird?"
Ginny straightened slightly, frowning as she considered it. The chapel wasn't a particularly popular spot on campus. It was old, tucked away in a quiet corner, its wooden doors often locked except for special events or the occasional student seeking solitude. She supposed it could make sense as a meeting place if they wanted privacy, but even so…
"What if it's just a religion thing?" Ginny suggested, her voice measured. "I mean, they're not doing anything, right? Just standing there, staring at stuff. That's not exactly illegal."
Lucy pulled back, her eyes narrowing as though Ginny had just said something completely naive.
"Okay, sure," she said, her words dripping with sarcasm. "Because standing in creepy little circles every day, staring at phones that don't even have anything on them, and all rocking matching tattoos is totally normal religious behavior. Absolutely. Checks out. Can't argue with that airtight logic."
Ginny opened her mouth to argue, but Lucy cut her off, lowering her voice again.
"I mean, come on, Ginny. You're smarter than that! Like, I get it—people have their hobbies or whatever. Collecting stamps, knitting sweaters for their cats. But this? This is not just people minding their business. This is people being weird in the capital-W sense, and I am telling you, there's something off about it. You've seen it, right? The way they all stand there, like they're waiting for someone to say 'action.' It's like—ugh, it's like something out of one of those artsy indie horror films where no one talks and everything is just bad vibes all the time. You know the ones. Anyway—"
"Luce."
"What? Oh, right!" Lucy took a breath, visibly trying to reign herself in, though her hands were still gesturing animatedly. "So, the first time I showed you the octopus tattoo, remember that?"
"Yeah."
"Well," Lucy said, her voice dropping into something quieter, more serious. She glanced around again, as if someone might be eavesdropping, then leaned in closer. "I did some digging after that. Like, deep digging. The kind that makes your search history look suspicious if someone ever checked."
Ginny shook her head, her brows knitting together as the unease in her chest grew.
"I found a bunch of disappearances. People from all over—different cities, different ages. And guess what?" Lucy hesitated for a beat too long, her usual babbling stalling into an uncomfortable silence. Finally, she whispered, her words deliberate and heavy, "They all had that tattoo. Every. Single. One."