Forsaken Bloodline

The body was gone within minutes.

By the time the cafeteria staff arrived, there was no trace of the freshman who had just collapsed moments ago—no blood, no struggle, nothing. Just the lingering scent of antiseptic, as if the scene had been scrubbed clean before anyone could ask questions.

The dealers worked fast—too fast for just a bunch of students.

Julian leaned against the cafeteria wall, arms crossed, his sharp eyes tracking their movements. The other students ate, laughed, and gossiped as if nothing had happened. They had seen this before.

They had learned not to ask.

Julian had too. But this time, something was different.

The way the dealers moved—the precision, the silent coordination—it was more than a cover-up. It was a routine. A well-practiced operation.

They weren't just cleaning up a mess.

They were following orders.

And that meant someone was giving them orders.

A Name in the Dark

Julian didn't go to class that afternoon.

Instead, he took the long route through the east wing, slipping down the back stairwell that led to the old storage basement—a place where the school's past had been left to rot. The overhead lights flickered weakly, casting eerie shadows along the peeling walls. The air was thick with dust and mildew, the scent of forgotten things.

Most students didn't even know this place existed.

But Julian did.

Because down here, hidden away from the world, was the one person who knew more about Raventhorn High's underbelly than anyone else.

Leon.

No one knew exactly who—or what—Leon was. He wasn't a student, wasn't a teacher. He had no records, no official presence. But he had always been here. Watching. Listening. A ghost in the halls.

Julian found him exactly where he expected—sitting in the dim glow of a flickering desk lamp, a stack of aged files spread across an old wooden table.

Leon didn't look up. He never did.

"You're early," he muttered.

Julian smirked. "You already knew I was coming, huh?"

Leon exhaled through his nose, flipping a page in one of the files. "You always come when another student dies." His voice was flat, matter-of-fact. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed a folder toward Julian. "That's the tenth this month. The thirtieth this year."

Julian caught it, his pulse steady as he flipped it open. Inside were photos—faces of students who had vanished. Some still smiling, caught in moments of normalcy. Others blurred, grainy security footage capturing their last known whereabouts.

"This drug trade…" Julian muttered, his voice tense. "It's bigger than I thought."

Leon nodded slowly. "And it's getting worse."

Julian's fingers tightened around the papers. He had spent months tracking the supply chain, mapping out the hidden exchanges, the whispered deals in dark corners. But the real supplier—the one pulling the strings—remained in the shadows.

Until now.

Leon tapped a photograph on the table. A single name was scrawled across the bottom.

Julian looked down—and his breath caught.

For the first time, he had a real lead.

A name.

Someone inside the school was connected to the drug trade.

And their name was Julial.