It was submission day. The kind of day that always brought a low hum of tension to the halls, as if the very air was bracing for judgment. Tristan felt it the moment he stepped into the building, the nervous energy of last-minute edits, whispered reminders, and frantic printing. Normally, he might’ve been caught in that current, but not today. Today, he was calm.
After all, the assignment was already done. Or at least, he assumed it was. Valeria had practically taken over the project, and he hadn’t seen her since yesterday afternoon. Still, he wasn’t worried.
By the time he pushed open the doors to the lecture hall, the room was already buzzing with noise. Desks were cluttered with papers and datapads, chairs shifted, voices overlapped. He barely had time to drop his bag before Professor Meyers entered, stride brisk, arms full.
“All right, folks,” the professor said, letting a stack of graded essays thump onto the desk. “Time to submit your assignments. Group projects, bring them forward.”
Tristan stood slowly, eyes instinctively searching the room. He expected to see her sweeping in, face set with focus, probably cradling their project like it was made of glass. But the seat next to his was still empty. His brows furrowed. No red hair. No gliding footsteps. No Valeria.
Professor Meyers’s gaze landed on him. “Tristan. Yours?”
He cleared his throat, voice catching. “Uh… Valeria’s got it. She’s just… running late.”
The professor’s expression didn’t shift much, just a soft sigh and a tilt of the head. “She won’t be attending class today.”
Tristan’s brain paused. “What?”
“I’m sorry,” Meyers said, tone gentle but unyielding. “You’ll need to be reassigned a partner or submit an individual make-up. We’ll sort it out by next week.”
Tristan’s chest tightened, and his mouth went dry. “Wait—what do you mean she won’t be attending? Like… at all?”
Meyers’ face changed subtly. Not pity, exactly, but something close. “I'm not at liberty to discuss personal matters. I'm sorry, Tristan.”
The professor turned away to address the rest of the class, but Tristan didn’t hear a word after that. Everything around him dissolved into a blur of motion and sound. Pages rustled, chairs scraped against the floor, and voices hummed in the background like static. But none of it reached him. Valeria, absent? Just like that?
It didn’t add up. It wasn’t like her to vanish without a word. He sat motionless for the rest of the lecture, eyes fixed forward, but he didn’t register a single note on the board or a single question thrown his way.
As soon as the class was dismissed, he bolted.
His feet carried him on autopilot across the quad, his strides lengthening with urgency. He told himself he was just checking in. Just making sure everything was okay. But the way his heart pounded told another story. This wasn’t just about a project. It hadn’t been for a long time.
He reached the library, breath hitching, and shoved the heavy door open. The scent of old pages and quiet effort hit him like a wall. Students filled the space, heads down in concentration, some typing, others flipping through worn textbooks. He scanned every table in sight.
No red scarf. No meticulously highlighted textbooks stacked in color-coded piles. No Valeria.
He moved fast, checked the history section where she spent hours fact-checking things no one cared about. Empty. The science aisle, where she occasionally lost herself in dense medical journals. Nothing. Even the cozy corner near the philosophy shelf, where she curled up when she wanted to be left alone, was unoccupied.
“Dammit,” he muttered under his breath.
His next stop was more personal, their spot. A bench nestled behind the greenhouse, just far enough from the main building to offer privacy. It had become theirs by accident, through shared silence and conversations that neither of them would ever admit had meaning. He jogged to it, hoping.
But the bench was bare. No scarf draped lazily over the backrest. No thick books. Just a lonely patch of fallen leaves and still air.
Only one place left. Her dorm.
He didn’t hesitate. He climbed the steps two at a time, heart racing louder now. The rules didn’t matter anymore. Protocol didn’t matter. Only answers.
He reached the door and knocked, hard, without pause.
After a moment, it creaked open. Ember stood there, her eyes tired. Her pajama pants were twisted at the waist, and her oversized shirt read Mondays Are Cursed in faded lettering.
“Tristan,” she said softly, stepping aside. “Come in.”
He stepped into the dorm, but stopped just inside the doorway. His eyes widened. Valeria’s side of the room looked empty. Even her bed was folded neatly, like no one had ever slept there.
“What the hell happened?” he asked, voice cracking under the weight of disbelief.
Ember sat on her bed, arms wrapped loosely around herself. “Her parents showed up this morning. Packed her things. She left with them.”
“That doesn’t answer anything.”
“She didn’t tell anyone why.”
“Not even you?”
Ember shook her head, eyes downcast. “She just looked at me and said, ‘I have to go.’ That’s it. No explanation. No goodbye.”
Tristan felt like the ground had shifted beneath him. His fingers twitched, useless at his sides. “That’s insane.”
“I know.”
He turned in a slow circle, taking in the void Valeria had left behind. It felt like standing inside the shell of someone who used to exist here.
Then something caught his eye.
On the edge of the desk, something small glinted under the soft light. He walked over and saw the wire cage. Inside, Alpha nibbled lazily at a bundle of hay, nose twitching.
Next to it, a folded slip of paper. He unfolded it, hands trembling.
Three words.
“Take good care of Alpha.”
That was all she left him.