Harper's voice dropped even lower, barely more than a whisper, her eyes searching the girl's pale face.
"Do you know where she went? Who came to pick her up? Anything?"
The girl hesitated, biting her lip as if weighing how much to say. Her fingers fidgeted nervously with the hem of her shirt.
"I don't know much. They didn't tell us much when she left. Just that she was discharged months ago. Your best bet is to check the office, the discharge book should have the details of who came and when."
Harper's throat tightened. A flicker of hope surged, but the weight of uncertainty pressed down harder.
Before she could respond, the heavy wooden chapel door creaked open with a slow, ominous groan.
"Claire? Are you here?" They whispered.
A tall figure stepped inside—her footsteps soft but deliberate. Harper's heart stuttered as recognition slammed into her chest. The girl's eyes locked onto Harper's with a mix of surprise and something sharper—something like suspicion or even contempt.
"Well, well.." the newcomer said, voice low and edged with a bitter tone, but there was something else underneath—an unspoken history, a thread of familiarity.
"Harper Baldwin. Back so soon? Last time I saw you, you were barely holding it together. Hell, you looked like you might break apart."
Harper swallowed the sting in her chest, forcing herself to meet those cold eyes.
"Veronica, I'm looking for Riley. I know she was picked up."
Veronica's smirk twitched, but didn't reach her eyes. "Yeah, she was. But you're not just here for a talk, are you? No one comes back without a reason. You're crazy as fuck for coming back.."
Harper's gaze sharpened, voice steady despite the churn of nerves in her stomach. "I need to get to the main office. The discharge book. I need answers."
Veronica's eyes narrowed, a warning flashing in their depths.
"Careful where you tread, Harper. Stirring up old ghosts isn't going to win you any brownie points. The camp doesn't take kindly to people digging around. You know that."
For a long moment, silence stretched between them—thick and charged. Then her eyes softened, just barely, as if she remembered something Harper had forgotten.
"I'm surprised you're even alive.." she said quietly, voice dropping almost to a whisper. "When I last saw you, you were a ghost of yourself. So broken and lost. You barely spoke. I wondered if you'd ever come back from that. After they locked you in-.. You know where."
Harper's throat tightened. "I'm still trying.."
Veronica looked away briefly, jaw tight, before meeting Harper's gaze again.
"If you want answers, you'll find them in the office. But... don't expect kindness. The people running this place don't like troublemakers."
Claire finally spoke again, her voice soft but steady, like a quiet flame in the cold chapel.
"There's this girl—Marissa. She's always pretending to be sick or upset. If she acts out near the office, the staff will have to come running. They'll leave their posts. Then it will give you enough time to get into the office and find out who took Riley."
Veronica rolled her eyes but didn't interrupt. Harper could tell Claire's suggestion wasn't something Veronica fully approved of, but it was practical. And a start.
Veronica's voice sharpened.
"Yeah, and Marissa's hella desperate for attention. She'll do it if you promise to keep her out of trouble after. But you better be ready—if this blows up, you're on your own."
Veronica then disappeared through the heavy chapel door and reappeared moments later, guiding Marissa inside—a slender girl with sallow skin and haunted eyes, who looked as if she barely had the strength to stand. Marissa's pale face twisted in pain as she clutched her stomach, her breath shallow and uneven.
"Oh God!" Marissa whimpered, sinking onto one of the chipped wooden pews. She pressed a trembling hand to her forehead, letting out a low moan.
"My stomach.. it's killing me.."
Veronica's tone dropped to a sharp, commanding whisper. "You know the plan. Play it up, okay? I'll keep the staff off your back, but you need to look convincing."
Marissa gave a weak nod, her lips quivering with the effort to stay composed.
Claire stayed close, her voice a soft murmur, steady and soothing. "Oh, let me help you up, Marissa. We'll get you to the nurse's office right away!"
Her hand brushed gently against Marissa's arm, offering quiet reassurance.
Veronica glanced toward the darkened hallway, then back at the girls. "I'll handle the staff coming this way. Claire, stay with Marissa and keep her calm. I'll keep the staff busy."
The faint sound of footsteps began echoing through the hall—the night staff responding quickly to the commotion.
Claire tightened her hold on Marissa's arm, helping her to her feet despite the girl's weak protests. Marissa's breathing was ragged, her knees buckling slightly as she leaned into Claire for support. Tears welled in her eyes, tracing pale tracks down her cheeks.
Veronica moved swiftly to the chapel's entrance, pulling the door wide with a practiced ease. As the two counselors rounded the corner, Veronica raised her hands, her voice brisk and authoritative.
"It's just a stomach bug." she said sharply, eyes locking with theirs. "She needs to see the nurse immediately. We can't let this wait."
One staff member sighed, doubt flickering across his face, but Marissa's pale complexion and trembling body made it difficult to argue. "Alright." he said reluctantly. "Let's get her to the nurse's office."
Claire murmured soothing words to Marissa as the staff guided her out of the chapel, while Veronica lingered in the doorway, watching carefully for any other staff members who might come that way.
Once the hall was clear, Veronica gave Claire a brief nod, then slipped quietly back inside the chapel and ducked through the side exit leading toward the administrative wing.
Inside, Harper pressed herself flat against the cold, rough concrete wall just outside the main office. Her heart thundered in her chest, each beat loud enough to drown out the distant echoes of voices and footsteps.
She glanced down the empty corridor, then back at the heavy door before slowly reaching out, her fingertips brushing the cool metal handle.
The door creaked faintly as she eased it open, slipping inside.
The room was dim, lit by a flickering fluorescent bulb that hummed with tired fatigue overhead. Filing cabinets loomed against the walls like silent sentinels, their drawers worn and smeared with years of handling.
Harper's eyes darted to the desk cluttered with yellowed papers, a battered ledger resting just beneath a dusty computer monitor.
Taking a shaky breath, she flipped open the discharge book and began scanning the entries, her eyes narrowing on the dates and names.
There it was—Riley's name, recorded neatly in blue ink.
She read the entry aloud under her breath: the date of discharge, the name of the woman who came to collect her—a sharp-suited figure carrying a briefcase—and a destination listed.
Harper's mind raced, a spark of hope flickering amidst the fear.
Her fingers trembled as she flipped through the discharge book, eyes scanning every line until she found discharge notes. The neat handwriting gave no comfort—but only cold facts.
Suddenly, a low whisper cracked the silence, sharp and urgent.
"Harper. Hurry up. They're coming."