The Shadow Beneath the Ivy

The sun hung low over Oakwood University as Ava, Ryder, and Matt left the Delta Phi frat house, its sagging porch fading behind them in the late morning light. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of fallen leaves, but Ava's mind was far from the autumn calm. Matt's confession still echoed in her ears—Lily's obsession with the Order of the Ivy, her secretive meeting at the chapel, the name Jack Grayson—and the threatening letter weighed heavy in her bag, its words a cold shadow over their fragile alliance. She glanced at Ryder, his jaw tight as he walked beside her, then at Matt, trailing a step behind, his shoulders hunched like a man carrying more guilt than he'd admitted. They'd gotten something from him, a lead, but it felt like stepping onto thinning ice, the cracks spreading with every move.

"We need a plan," Ryder said, breaking the silence as they crossed the quad. His voice was steady, but his bandaged arm flexed slightly, a reminder of the knife that had grazed him last night. "Jack Grayson's our target now. Matt, you said he's a senior in Delta Phi—where do we find him?"

Matt shoved his hands into his pockets, his eyes darting to the ground. "He's usually at the house, but not this early. Probably in class—business major, I think. He's got a big shot vibe, always talking about internships and connections. If he's not there, he hangs at the student union afternoons."

Ava frowned, her boots scuffing the cobblestones. "Business major. That fits the Order profile—elite students, right? The book said they picked people with influence." She pulled The Ivy Codex from her bag, flipping to the marked page as they walked. "Here: 'Members were chosen for wealth or intellect, often destined for positions of power.' Jack could be one of them."

Ryder nodded, his gaze flicking to the book. "If he's tied to IVY, he knows what happened to Lily. We hit the union later—corner him, see what he spills. But we need more than Matt's word to pin him. That phone, the ring—they're not enough yet."

Ava's hand brushed Lily's glittery phone in her pocket, its cracked screen a silent plea. "There's more on it," she said, recalling the blurry photos from last night—the hooded figure, the crates, the ledger. "We didn't finish checking. Maybe there's something about Jack, a name, a clue."

Matt shifted uncomfortably, his voice low. "Look, I don't know if Jack's really in it. It's just talk—frat stuff. But Lily... she was sure. Said she'd prove it."

"Prove it how?" Ava snapped, turning to face him, her frustration bubbling over. "She went to that chapel because of you—because you didn't stop her. What did she tell you, Matt? Anything else?"

He flinched, his face paling. "She said she had a source—someone who'd seen the Order in action. That's all I got before she stopped talking to me. I swear, Ava, I didn't think she'd disappear."

Ryder stepped between them, his hand on Ava's shoulder, calming her. "Ease up," he said, his tone firm but gentle. "He's here now. Focus on what's next. We'll figure out her source later."

Ava exhaled, nodding reluctantly. Ryder was right—lashing out wouldn't help. She turned back to the path, her mind racing. A source. Someone who knew the Order's secrets, who'd lured Lily to the chapel with that note. Jack Grayson might be the key, or he might just be another thread in a web she couldn't yet see. They needed to regroup, dig deeper, and she needed something to clear her head.

"I'm going back to my dorm," she said, adjusting her bag. "I need to think, check the phone again. Meet you at the union at three?"

Ryder studied her for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah. Take Matt with you—he's safer with us than alone. I'll scout the union, see if Jack's around early. Text me if you find anything."

"Will do," Ava said, glancing at Matt. He looked miserable, but he didn't argue, falling into step beside her as Ryder headed off toward the student union. The quad stretched quiet between them, students milling past with backpacks and coffee cups, oblivious to the storm brewing in Ava's world. She kept her pace brisk, her thoughts churning—Lily's text, the blood, the masked man, the letter. It was too much, a tangle she couldn't unravel without focus.

They reached Haverford Hall, its gothic arches looming against the sky, and Ava led Matt up the stairs to Room 312. The door creaked open, revealing the same eerie stillness she'd found two nights ago—Lily's unmade bed, her yellow coat still dripping on its hook, the torn note long since pocketed. Matt hesitated at the threshold, his eyes fixed on Lily's side of the room, guilt etched into his face.

"Sit," Ava said, pointing to her desk chair. "Don't touch anything." He obeyed, slumping into the seat as she dropped her bag on her bed and pulled out her sketchbook. Drawing always steadied her, a way to sift through the noise in her head, and after last night's chaos, she needed it more than ever. She grabbed a pencil, its familiar weight grounding her, and sat cross-legged on the bed, flipping to a blank page.

"What're you doing?" Matt asked, his voice tentative as she began to sketch.

"Thinking," Ava said, her hand moving before her mind caught up. She didn't know what she'd draw—just let the pencil guide her, as it had with the chapel gate, the blood smear. Lines took shape: jagged edges, a swirl of smoke, then flames licking up from a dark shape. Her breath quickened as the image emerged—a building engulfed in fire, its stone walls crumbling, a figure running from the blaze. The flames were vivid, almost alive, their red tips bleeding into the graphite. She froze, the pencil slipping from her fingers, her chest tight with a dread she couldn't name.

Matt leaned forward, his brows furrowing. "What the hell is that?"

"I don't know," Ava whispered, staring at the sketch. It wasn't the chapel—the architecture was wrong, flatter, more modern. The student union? Her dorm? The flames felt real, a warning like the ones she'd drawn before, and the running figure echoed Lily's silhouette from her earlier vision. "It's... it's going to happen. I've seen things like this before they do."

Matt's eyes widened, his voice shaky. "You're saying that's real? Like, a fire's coming?"

"Maybe," Ava said, her mind racing. She grabbed her phone, snapping a photo of the sketch and texting it to Ryder with a quick message: Just drew this. Fire, someone running. Be careful. Her fingers hovered over the screen, then she added, Could be the union. She hit send, her pulse thudding as she waited for his reply.

Matt stood, pacing the small room. "This is nuts, Ava. You're freaking me out. First Lily, now this—what if they're torching something because of us?"

"Then we're closer than we think," Ava said, her voice steady despite the fear clawing at her. She pulled Lily's phone from her bag, plugging it into her charger, its screen flickering to life at 20%. "Help me check this. If there's anything about a fire—or Jack—we need it now."

Matt nodded, still pale, and sat beside her on the bed as she swiped through the gallery. The chapel photos loaded again—the hooded man, the crates—then a new one caught her eye: a blurry shot of a notebook, its page filled with scrawled names and dates. She zoomed in, her breath catching as she deciphered one line: Jack G. – 10/15 – Union deal. The date was last week, and the union matched her sketch's vague shape.

"Look," she said, shoving the phone toward Matt. "Jack Grayson. Something's happening at the union. A deal—maybe that's what Lily found."

Matt squinted at the screen, his voice trembling. "That's his writing—I've seen it on frat stuff. Oh God, she was tailing him. What's the deal?"

"Don't know," Ava said, scrolling further. Another photo showed a crate label—Flammable. Handle with care.—timestamped the night Lily vanished. Her stomach dropped, the sketch's flames flashing in her mind. "Flammable," she murmured. "They're planning something big—something to cover their tracks."

Her phone buzzed—Ryder's reply: Got it. Union's quiet now, but I'll watch. Stay put, charge the phone. We'll hit Jack together. Ava exhaled, relieved he was safe, but the sketch's warning lingered, sharp and urgent. She looked at Matt, his face ashen, and knew they couldn't wait.

"We need to warn him," she said, standing and grabbing her bag. "If this is the union, it's today—soon. Grab the phone, come on."

Matt fumbled with the charger, unplugging it as Ava stuffed her sketchbook back in. The fire in her drawing wasn't just a vision—it was a deadline, and they were running out of time.