The Shadow Beneath the Ivy

The afternoon sun dipped low over Oakwood University, casting long shadows across the quad as Ava and Matt hurried toward the student union, Lily's phone clutched tightly in Ava's hand. Her sketch of the fire burned in her mind, its flames a vivid warning that matched the flammable crate label they'd found in Lily's photos. Matt trailed close behind, his breath uneven, his face pale with a mix of fear and guilt. The threatening letter—Stop investigating, or you're next—weighed heavy in her bag, but it fueled her more than it scared her now. They were close, too close for the Order to let them walk away, and Jack Grayson was the key. She'd texted Ryder about the sketch and the crate, and his reply—Union's quiet now, but I'll watch—had steadied her, but time was slipping fast.

The student union loomed ahead, a squat, modern building with wide glass windows and a steady stream of students flowing in and out. Ava's pulse quickened as they approached, her eyes scanning for Ryder. He was waiting near the entrance, leaning against a pillar with his leather jacket zipped tight, his bandaged arm barely visible. His dark eyes locked on hers as she neared, a flicker of relief crossing his face before his expression hardened.

"You're late," he said, pushing off the pillar. "Union's buzzing—some event starting soon. Found Jack inside, schmoozing with a crowd. What's with the rush?"

Ava handed him Lily's phone, swiping to the photo of the notebook. "This," she said, her voice low but urgent. "Jack Grayson's name, dated last week—'Union deal.' And this crate—flammable. My sketch… it's a fire, Ryder. Here, today, I think."

Ryder's jaw tightened as he studied the screen, then the sketch she'd pulled from her bag. The running figure, the crumbling walls—it matched the union's flat roofline too closely to ignore. "Damn," he muttered, handing the phone back. "They're covering something—burning evidence, maybe. Matt, you said he's in there?"

Matt nodded, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. "Yeah, saw him earlier—big guy, blonde, always got a posse. If he's IVY, this could be it."

"Then we're going in," Ryder said, his tone decisive. "Event's a masquerade—some fundraiser thing. Masks on tables inside, free entry. We blend in, find Jack, figure out what's up before it's too late."

Ava's stomach flipped, the idea of walking into the lion's den both thrilling and terrifying. "Blend in?" she asked, glancing at her sweater and jeans. "We don't exactly scream 'fundraiser.'"

Ryder smirked, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "Grab a mask, act like you belong. They won't know us from the crowd. Matt, you're with us—point him out, but keep your mouth shut unless we say."

Matt swallowed hard, nodding again, and Ava squared her shoulders, her resolve firming. If the Order was planning something—fire, destruction, a cover-up—they'd catch them in the act. She followed Ryder inside, Matt trailing behind, the union's lobby a swirl of noise and color. Tables lined the walls, piled with cheap plastic masks—black, gold, feathered—and students milled around, laughing and grabbing them as pop music blared from speakers. Ava picked a black mask with a simple design, slipping it over her face, the plastic cool against her skin. Ryder chose a gold one, his sharp features softened by the disguise, and Matt fumbled with a feathered monstrosity, looking more nervous than ever.

"Stay close," Ryder murmured, his voice muffled by the mask as he led them through the crowd. The main hall opened up ahead, a cavernous space with high ceilings and banners strung across the rafters: Oakwood Fall Fundraiser. Tables were scattered with snacks and punch bowls, but Ava's eyes darted to the edges—exit signs, stairwells, anything that might signal danger. The air buzzed with chatter, but beneath it, she felt a hum of tension, her sketch's flames flickering in her mind.

Matt nudged her, pointing discreetly toward the far corner. "There," he whispered, his voice shaky. "Jack—blonde hair, black suit, talking to those guys."

Ava followed his gaze, spotting a tall figure in a tailored suit, his blonde hair slicked back, a gold mask dangling from his hand as he laughed with a cluster of students. Jack Grayson—he matched Matt's description, exuding the easy confidence of someone untouchable. Her heart thudded as she watched him, his gestures animated, his posse hanging on every word. Was he the one who'd taken Lily? The one behind the knife, the letter?

Ryder leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. "We split up—circle him, listen in. Don't get too close. Matt, you're with me. Ava, take the left flank, near the stairs. Signal if you hear anything."

She nodded, slipping through the crowd as Ryder and Matt veered right. The mask felt stifling, her breath hot against it, but it hid her face, giving her a strange courage. She wove past students, her ears straining for Jack's voice over the music, until she reached the stairwell—a shadowed nook with a clear view of him. She leaned against the wall, pretending to sip punch from a cup she'd grabbed, her eyes fixed on his group.

Jack's voice carried, smooth and loud, cutting through the noise. "Everything's set," he said, clapping a guy on the shoulder. "Tonight's the night—clean slate, no loose ends. You got the stuff ready?"

The guy nodded, his mask obscuring his face. "Yeah, basement's loaded. Just waiting for the signal. You sure about this?"

"Absolutely," Jack said, his grin sharp. "No one's digging up what's down there—not after this. Trust me, it's handled."

Ava's blood ran cold, her grip tightening on the cup. Basement. Loaded. A clean slate. Her sketch flashed in her mind—fire, crumbling walls, a figure running. They were planning to burn it—the union, the evidence, maybe Lily too if she was still alive. She scanned the crowd for Ryder, catching his gold mask near a table, Matt hovering awkwardly beside him. She raised her hand slightly, a subtle wave, and his eyes locked on hers, narrowing as he read her urgency.

She slipped closer to the stairs, her pulse racing, and ducked behind a pillar as Jack's group shifted, moving toward the center of the hall. She needed more—proof, a plan—but the clock was ticking. Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and she pulled it out, keeping it low. A text from Ryder: Heard 'basement' and 'tonight.' What'd you get?

She typed fast, her fingers trembling: Fire. Clean slate. Stuff's in the basement—now. She hit send, her eyes darting back to Jack. He was laughing again, but his posture had changed—tenser, his hand slipping into his pocket as if checking something. A lighter? A signal device? She couldn't tell, but the flammable crate label loomed in her memory, its warning stark against the blur of Lily's photo.

Ryder appeared beside her, his gold mask glinting as he pulled her deeper into the stairwell's shadow. Matt followed, his feathered mask askew, his breath ragged. "They're torching it," Ryder whispered, his voice tight. "Tonight, here. Evidence, witnesses—everything. We need to get down there, see what's loaded."

Ava nodded, her throat dry. "Lily could be there too—if she's alive, they might…" She couldn't finish, the thought too heavy, but Ryder's hand on her arm steadied her.

"We'll find her," he said, his eyes fierce behind the mask. "Matt, you know this place—basement access?"

Matt swallowed, nodding jerkily. "Yeah, service stairs—back hall, near the kitchen. But it's locked usually."

"Doesn't matter," Ryder said, pulling the crowbar from his bag, its metal glinting faintly. "We're going in. Ava, stick with me. Matt, lead the way."

They moved fast, slipping through the crowd as the music swelled, the masquerade's chaos cloaking their steps. Matt guided them past the punch tables, through a swinging door into a narrow hall lined with posters and lockers. The kitchen loomed ahead, its stainless steel gleaming under harsh lights, but Matt veered left, pointing to a plain door marked Staff Only. Ryder tested the handle—locked, as expected—and wedged the crowbar into the jamb, his muscles straining as he pried it open with a sharp crack.

The stairwell beyond was dark, the air damp and thick with the scent of mold and something sharper—gasoline? Ava's stomach lurched, her sketch's flames vivid in her mind. They descended, Ryder's flashlight cutting through the gloom, Matt's shaky breaths loud behind her. The basement opened up below—a maze of crates and pipes, shadows stretching long and jagged. Ava's beam caught a stack of boxes near the far wall, their labels stark: Flammable. Handle with care.

"There," she whispered, pointing. "That's it—the stuff from Lily's photo."

Ryder nodded, his jaw tight. "They're rigging it to blow. We need to find her—fast."

Ava's heart pounded as they crept closer, the gasoline scent stronger now, a ticking clock in her ears. The masquerade thumped above, oblivious, but down here, the Order's shadow loomed, and Lily's fate hung in the balance.