Glass crunched beneath Cora's feet as she hurried downstairs, each step bringing fresh anxiety about what The Circle might do next. Her parents stood in the dim hallway, concern etched on their faces in the shadows cast by the single overhead light.
"Just some kids throwing rocks," she lied, manufacturing a casual smile that felt brittle on her face. "Probably drunk teenagers being stupid."
The lie tasted bitter, but it was better than the truth. Better than telling them about secret societies and ritual sacrifices, about threats and darkness lurking beneath Haven Bay's peaceful surface. Better than making them targets too.
Cora’s hands were still trembling as she cleaned up the shattered glass from her bedroom floor, her mind replaying the sound of the rock smashing through the window.
Milo had left a few hours ago after making sure she was okay, promising to call if he found anything new.
But now, alone in the quiet house, Cora felt exposed, every creak of the floorboards and rustle of leaves outside sending a fresh wave of paranoia through her.
She carefully shut her window, locking it even though the glass was gone. Pulling the curtains closed, she stared at her reflection for a moment, her face pale and tired. Her name was still on Jaden’s list, the last one not crossed out.
And whoever had thrown that rock knew it, too.
Sleep refused to come that night. The Circle could be anywhere, watching, waiting.
The list from Jaden's journal lay open in her lap, its edges worn from her constant handling. Seven names marched down the page in his messy handwriting, each one crossed out except for hers at the bottom.
Like a countdown reaching its final number. If the pattern held, she would be next—another tragic accident during the festival, another death that everyone would mourn briefly before forgetting.
Her phone's screen lit up with a text from Milo:
"We need to lay low. They're probably watching us now."
Cora's fingers hovered over the keys before typing back:
"If we stop now, they win. More people will die. Me as well."
She couldn't hide, not when she finally understood what was happening. The Circle had killed Jaden for discovering their secret—that Haven Bay's prosperity was built on ritual sacrifice, on carefully planned deaths disguised as accidents.
Dawn crept in slowly, painting her room in gradual shades of gray. Cora hadn't moved from her vigil, her mind racing with possibilities. The school library would have yearbooks going back decades. If The Circle had been operating that long, they must have left traces.
She arrived at school before most students, slipping into the library's quiet sanctuary. The yearbooks filled a shelf in the back corner, their spines showing years of Haven Bay's history in faded numbers.
Starting with the oldest, she began her search.
The pattern revealed itself like a dark thread woven through time. Every three years, as predictable as the tides, a student died during or after the festival.
A drowning in 1982—Karen Mitchell, found floating near the marina.
A fall in 1985—Thomas Cooper, from the same cliffs that would later claim others.
A car accident in 1988—Sarah Wells, her car mysteriously losing control on a clear night.
Their yearbook photos showed smiling faces, unaware of their fate. Some appeared in group pictures together, slightly separated from their classmates, their eyes holding a distant look that Cora now recognized.
Many were listed under innocuous clubs—"Student Council", "Community Service Club"—perfect covers for The Circle's real activities.
Milo's text broke her concentration:
"Found anything?"
She summarized her discoveries, fingers trembling as she typed. The Circle wasn't new. It had been operating for generations, selecting victims, staging accidents, maintaining their bloody tradition in the name of Haven Bay's prosperity.
Despite everything, she needed to tell Callie. Her former best friend had been part of The Circle once. Maybe she knew something that could help stop them, some weakness they could exploit.
But Callie wasn't answering. Call after call went straight to voicemail, each unanswered ring increasing Cora's unease.
That afternoon, her phone lit up with Mrs. Roberts' number. Callie's mother's voice trembled with barely controlled panic. "Cora? Have you seen Callie?"
The question sent ice through Cora's veins. "No, not since yesterday. Why?"
"She hasn't been home since last night. She said she was staying at Jenny's, but Jenny hasn't seen her. We've called everyone..."
The phone slipped from Cora's numb fingers, clattering on her desk.
Callie was missing.
They'd taken her best friend.