Chapter 10: Monday After Reading Week, The Story Still Breathes

Image Credit: Envato.com

Monday returned the way campus always tried to return, with noise that suggested nothing had happened.

Students poured back into Queen’s University carrying duffel bags, half-zipped suitcases, and the kind of coffees that admitted sleep had lost again. Snowbanks had hardened along the edges of the sidewalks, greyed by salt and footsteps. The air felt sharper than it had before Reading Week, as if winter had used the break to settle in more seriously.

Jamie noticed the sound first, and it was not laughter or music.

It was the soft, constant tapping of phones and the quick buzz of notifications, following people like a second heartbeat.

Jamie kept her scarf high and her pace steady as she crossed the main walk toward her morning class. Groups moved around her in clusters, stopping and starting without warning as students glanced at their phones, waved at friends, and drifted back into conversations that felt thinner than they should have. From a distance, campus looked ordinary.

Up close, the rhythm felt strained.

A group near the building entrance quieted when Jamie passed. The silence lasted only a second, and then one of them laughed too loudly, as if volume could erase awkwardness.

Jamie kept walking.

Riley caught up with her at the top of the steps, cheeks pink from the cold, backpack slung low.

“Good morning,” Riley said.

Jamie exhaled. “Is it a good morning?”

Riley’s eyes flicked to Jamie’s face, then to the phone in Jamie’s hand, then back again. “It is a Monday. That is all I can promise.”

Jamie almost smiled. The expression came out smaller and more tired than she expected.

Jamie and Riley went inside with the crowd, and Jamie let routine do some of the work fear kept trying to steal. Jamie’s phone vibrated in her pocket, but she did not check it immediately. She waited until she reached her seat, pulled out her notebook, and wrote the date at the top of the page in neat, deliberate letters.

Only then did she look.

A notification from a group chat she did not remember joining had returned to the top of her screen. Someone had changed the chat name overnight, and it read like a joke designed to sound harmless.

Truth Check.

The pinned post was still there.

CJ’s photo showed Jamie and Alex on the Stauffer Library steps. Riley appeared blurred in the background, half out of frame. The caption asked a question designed to make doubt feel like intelligence.

Happy Valentine’s. Ask her why she trusts him.

Jamie stared at it longer than she meant to. The image itself was not the worst part. The worst part was how clean it was and how ordinary it looked, as if it belonged in a scrapbook instead of a group chat. It would be easy for someone who did not know Jamie to decide what she deserved.

Riley leaned in slightly. “Is it still pinned?”

Jamie nodded.

Riley’s voice dropped. “Do not read the comments.”

Jamie swallowed. “I was not going to.”

Her thumb hovered anyway.

Riley watched the movement and pressed Jamie’s hand down onto the desk, not forceful, just present.

“Not today,” Riley said. “Your brain is already doing enough without that.”

Jamie nodded and turned her phone face-down.

Class began. Jamie wrote notes. Jamie answered a question when called on. Jamie kept her posture relaxed, shoulders down, jaw unclenched, as if she belonged in her own life.

Her mind kept returning to one thought.

CJ did not only post. CJ arranged.

CJ selected a delivery method on Valentine’s Day that guaranteed witnesses. CJ wrote a card that sounded sweet enough to defend. CJ chose a caption that made Jamie look reckless for trusting someone at all.

That was not chaos. It was strategy.

Jamie’s pen paused over her page.

If CJ was strategic, he needed access. He needed a way to get names, locations, and timing. He needed a way to stay close without standing too close.

The thought followed Jamie out of class like a shadow.

Outside, the cold hit again. A gust pushed loose snow across the path in thin sheets. Jamie blinked against the sting and adjusted her scarf.

Riley walked beside her with both hands tucked into her coat pockets.

“What are you thinking?” Riley asked.

Jamie hesitated. “I think he is not guessing.”

Riley nodded slowly. “I agree.”

Jamie glanced at Riley. “He knew things I did not post. He keeps appearing at the right moment with the right detail. That is not luck.”

Riley’s expression tightened. “You want proof.”

Jamie’s stomach turned. “I want something real. I want something that does not rely on interpretation.”

Riley nodded again. “Then we do it properly.”

Jamie exhaled. “What does properly look like?”

Riley considered the question. “It looks like facts. It looks like screenshots and dates. It looks like a record.”

Jamie felt a small flicker of relief at the word.

Record.

That was something she could build.

Jamie and Riley walked toward the JDUC, where the warmth of the building met them in a rush. Students crowded the entrance. Jamie could smell baked goods drifting from The Brew. Someone else was advertising a club meeting with a bright poster and a forced smile. The noise was familiar, but Jamie could not relax into it.

Jamie kept her voice low. “I do not want to spend the whole day thinking about him.”

Riley’s gaze stayed forward. “Then you pick a time and place to handle it. You do not let it leak into everything.”

Jamie nodded. “Okay.”

The elevator doors opened, and Riley stepped inside. Jamie followed.

Riley glanced at her. “Do you want to go to Health Promotion first?”

Jamie nodded.

The fourth floor was quieter, and the quiet felt intentional. Jamie’s shoulders lowered by a fraction as she stepped out. The lighting was softer, and the space felt designed to remind people that their bodies were allowed to calm down.

Jamie did not have an appointment with Priya today. Priya was a peer wellness counsellor, not an investigator. Still, Priya had given Jamie something useful last week: a way to treat fear as information rather than a command.

Jamie wanted that steadiness before doing anything else.

At the reception area, Jamie paused and approached the desk.

“Hi,” she said. “Is there an available MUSE biofeedback appointment I can book for later today?”

The staff member nodded. “There is an opening later this afternoon, and I can help you book it now if you would like.”

Jamie exhaled. “Yes, please.”

Riley leaned against the wall beside her, arms crossed loosely. “That is a smart choice.”

Jamie managed a small smile. “I am trying to choose things that help.”

The session was simple, and that was the point.

Jamie sat with the MUSE headband, listened to the guided meditation, and let her breathing slow. The feedback was quiet and unemotional, letting her know when her thoughts started to wander away from the present. Tension rose. Tension fell. Attention drifted. Attention returned.

Jamie did not leave feeling cured.

Jamie left feeling steadier.

Riley pushed off the wall when Jamie stepped out. “How is your head?”

“It feels less loud,” Jamie said.

Riley nodded. “Then you use it.”

Jamie and Riley sat at a small table near the hallway window, away from the student crowd. Jamie opened a note on her phone.

Riley watched. “Start with what you know.”

Jamie typed:

1. Valentine delivery in public, through a campus table.

2. Group chat created, pinned post by CJ.

3. Flowers and Tea Room chocolates at residence door.

4. CJ knows details said only in conversation.

Jamie paused.

Riley pointed gently. “Add dates.”

Jamie added dates. Reading Week ended. Valentine’s Day. Today.

The act of writing it down made it feel less like a haunting and more like a pattern.

Jamie looked up. “Where would he get access to delivery lists?”

Riley’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “The Valentine table. Whoever ran it had a system.”

Jamie’s stomach tightened. “Then we go back to the source.”

Riley nodded. “We ask casually. We do not accuse. We gather facts.”

Jamie’s phone buzzed again, and this time Jamie checked it immediately because one person had earned that.

Alex: Are you still okay for today?

Alex: I saw the group chat post again. I am sorry.

Alex: I want to talk. In person. In public.

Jamie stared at the message and felt two emotions collide.

Relief arrived first, because he followed the rule. Anger followed, because the rule existed at all.

Jamie typed back:

Jamie: Yes. Four. Stauffer entrance.

Jamie: Riley will be nearby.

Alex: Thank you.

Jamie put the phone down.

Riley watched Jamie’s face. “He is trying.”

“He is,” Jamie said. “I just hate that trying is happening while someone else keeps pushing.”

Riley’s voice stayed calm. “Then you push back with structure.”

Jamie and Riley went down to the main level. The JDUC felt louder again. Students moved in every direction. Someone brushed past Jamie without apology, earbuds in, eyes on a screen.

The Valentine table from last week was gone, replaced by a different table promoting an upcoming event. Still, the space itself was the same. Jamie could almost see the paper roses stacked in bundles, the envelopes, and the way students hovered and pretended not to care.

A volunteer from the new table looked up. “Hi, can I interest you in…”

Riley smiled politely. “Quick question. Do you know which group ran the Valentine deliveries last week?”

The volunteer blinked, then pointed. “I think it was one of the student clubs doing it as a fundraiser. Their exec was around here all week.”

Jamie’s pulse quickened. “Do you know who?”

The volunteer shrugged. “I can check our messages. One second.”

Jamie waited, hands tucked into her sleeves, breathing steady.

The volunteer looked up. “It was through a campus club collaboration. The sign-up sheet was online, and they had a delivery log. You could probably email them. They are careful about privacy though.”

Jamie’s stomach tightened at the word privacy. CJ had used the language of care as cover, and he had done it well.

Riley leaned closer to the volunteer. “Do you remember who was working the table most often?”

The volunteer’s expression shifted into recognition. “There was a guy who kept hanging around, not wearing the volunteer badge, but acting like he was in charge. He would help with the cards. Tall, nice hair, always smiling. People kept calling him CJ.”

Jamie’s throat went dry.

Jamie kept her voice even. “He was not wearing a volunteer badge?”

The volunteer shook her head. “No. He was just there, like he belonged.”

Riley’s gaze sharpened. “Did anyone question it?”

The volunteer shrugged. “Everyone assumed he was part of it.”

Jamie felt the pattern click into place with cold clarity.

CJ did not need official permission. CJ relied on assumption.

Jamie nodded to the volunteer. “Thank you.”

Jamie and Riley stepped away from the table. Riley’s face was tight.

“That is access,” Riley said quietly.

Jamie swallowed. “And he can deny it.”

Riley nodded. “He did not hack anything. He did not steal a list in a dramatic way. He inserted himself into a public system and let everyone else do the trusting.”

Jamie’s heart beat harder. The tactic was almost worse because it was normal.

Jamie opened her notes and typed quickly, summarizing what the volunteer said, including details like “no badge” and “helped with cards.”

Riley watched. “That is good.”

Jamie looked up. “If he helped with the cards, he saw names.”

Riley nodded. “He saw handwriting. He saw who sent what. He saw where things were delivered.”

Jamie’s stomach turned. “So he could choose what to repeat later.”

Riley’s voice stayed low. “He could choose what to weaponize.”

Jamie forced herself to breathe again.

A path opened in Jamie’s mind, not comfortable, but clear.

If CJ had access through proximity and assumption, then his connection to Hawthorne might look the same. CJ did not need to be a decision-maker. CJ only needed to be close enough to shape the retelling.

Jamie’s phone buzzed again with a group chat notification. Jamie did not open the chat. Jamie took a screenshot of the notification banner, then turned the phone off.

Riley’s eyes softened slightly. “Good.”

Jamie’s voice was quiet. “I am done being led by whatever is on a screen.”

Riley nodded. “Keep the screenshot anyway.”

Jamie looked at Riley. “So what now?”

Riley answered immediately. “We follow your plan. You keep a record. You keep boundaries. You use support.”

Jamie swallowed. “And Alex?”

Riley’s voice softened slightly. “You talk to him. You keep it public. You keep it honest.”

Jamie and Riley walked across campus toward Stauffer Library. The winter afternoon light was already fading, turning the snowbanks a dull blue. Students moved in and out of the library, backpacks heavy, faces tired, the mid-semester grind returning after the break.

Alex stood near the entrance, hands tucked into his coat pockets. He looked up when he saw Jamie.

Relief crossed his face, then restraint, like he was trying not to claim too much.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” Jamie replied.

Riley stopped a few steps away, visible but giving space, leaning lightly against the wall.

Alex glanced at Riley, then back to Jamie. “Thank you for meeting.”

Jamie nodded once. “I needed facts today.”

Alex’s brow furrowed. “What facts?”

Jamie studied him. “CJ was hovering around the Valentine delivery table last week without a badge. He helped with the cards. People assumed he belonged.”

Alex’s jaw tightened. “That sounds like him.”

Jamie’s stomach tightened at the confirmation. “He could see names, messages, and delivery locations.”

Alex nodded slowly. “Yes.”

Jamie’s voice stayed steady. “That means the public delivery to my class was not an accident. It was planned.”

Alex exhaled. “I am sorry. I should have warned you sooner.”

Jamie held his gaze. “You did not tell me you knew him.”

Alex’s face tightened, then softened. “I told you I would stop hiding things.”

Jamie nodded. “Then start.”

Alex swallowed. “CJ is connected to circles that amplify stories. He is always near the people who post first. He frames it like concern. He says he is protecting the community.”

Jamie asked, “Was he near Hawthorne last year?”

Alex hesitated.

Jamie’s pulse climbed. “Alex.”

Alex exhaled slowly. “Yes. Not inside. Outside. He was one of the first people filming. He was one of the first people asking questions afterward. He knew what to highlight.”

Jamie felt cold creep along her arms. “So he helped shape the narrative.”

Alex nodded once, shame flickering in his eyes. “Yes.”

Jamie’s mouth went dry. “Did he benefit from it?”

Alex looked away for a moment, then back. “He likes having influence. He likes being the person people quote. He becomes important when everyone is scared.”

Jamie stared at Alex, trying to fit this into her body without letting panic claim it.

Riley pushed off the wall and stepped closer, voice calm. “This matters because it is targeted behavior.”

Alex nodded. “Yes.”

Jamie looked at Riley, then back at Alex. “Did you submit the online appointment request for a mental health therapist?”

Alex’s face softened slightly. “Yes, I did.”

Jamie nodded. “Good.”

Alex’s voice lowered. “I meant what I said. I want to do this properly.”

Jamie’s throat tightened. “Doing it properly means no more protection that looks like silence.”

Alex nodded immediately. “Agreed.”

Jamie took a slow breath. “Doing it properly also means I stop handling this alone.”

Alex’s eyes flicked to Riley. “Riley helps.”

Jamie nodded. “Riley helps. I also need a formal support path, because this is turning into harassment.”

Alex’s face tightened. “You should report it.”

Jamie blinked. She had expected defensiveness. She had expected fear of escalation.

Alex said it again, firmer. “You should report it. You should not have to carry it.”

Jamie felt something unclench, small but important.

Riley’s voice stayed measured. “Jamie decides the pace. Documentation comes first.”

Jamie nodded. “Documentation comes first.”

Jamie pulled out her phone and showed Alex the notes, the dates, the screenshot of the notification banner, and the summary of the volunteer’s account.

Alex read quietly, then looked up, eyes tired. “This is organized.”

Jamie did not smile. “I am trying to keep my head.”

Alex’s voice softened. “You are doing more than that. You are protecting yourself in a real way.”

Jamie held his gaze. “That is the only kind that matters.”

Students flowed in and out of the library behind them, the doors opening and closing with steady rhythm.

Alex spoke again. “CJ will keep pushing if he thinks it will work.”

Jamie’s stomach tightened. “Then he needs to learn it will not.”

Riley’s voice was calm. “He will pivot when he stops getting the reaction he wants.”

Jamie nodded, then looked at Alex. “You and I are still doing counselling. That is not up for debate.”

Alex nodded. “Yes.”

Jamie continued, careful and clear. “We also need rules about CJ. No private conversations with him. No responding to posts. No trying to manage him quietly.”

Alex’s jaw tightened. “Yes.”

Jamie watched him closely. “And if you know something, you tell me. Even if it makes you look bad.”

Alex exhaled. “Yes.”

The word felt like a small contract.

Jamie looked toward the main walk. “I need to go back to residence and study.”

Alex nodded. “Okay.”

He hesitated, then asked, “Can I walk you partway? In public.”

Jamie considered it, not as romance, but as a decision about power and visibility.

“Yes,” she said. “Partway.”

Jamie, Riley, and Alex walked through winter dusk without hiding and without rushing, making the world adjust to their pace.

They reached the intersection near Kingston Hall. Jamie stopped.

“This is far enough,” Jamie said.

Alex nodded. “Okay.”

He looked at her, earnest and tired. “Thank you for not walking away.”

Jamie’s voice stayed careful. “Do not confuse my patience with permission.”

Alex nodded again, accepting it. “I will not.”

Jamie turned with Riley toward Victoria Hall. The residence lights glowed warm against the cold.

Inside, the air smelled faintly of detergent, old stone, and someone’s microwaved dinner. The hallway hummed with voices, doors opening, laughter bouncing, ordinary life insisting on itself.

Jamie’s shoulders loosened slightly. She had made it back without incident.

She should have felt safer.

Riley walked beside her, keys in hand.

Jamie and Riley reached Jamie’s door.

Something sat on the floor in front of it.

It was a plain envelope.

Cream paper. Black-lined edges.

Jamie froze.

Riley stopped beside her. “Do not touch it yet.”

Jamie swallowed. “It is the same style.”

Riley’s voice stayed steady. “Take a photo first.”

Jamie pulled her phone out, turned it back on, and took a photo of the envelope on the floor. The tag was visible, and her name was written neatly again.

Jamie Brooks.

No sender name appeared.

Only two letters sat in the lower corner.

CJ.

Jamie’s stomach dropped.

Riley’s jaw tightened. “He is back to private.”

Jamie stared at the envelope, feeling the day’s steadiness begin to crack at the edges. The envelope was not loud like a public delivery. It was quiet and close. It meant someone had been in the residence hallway again.

Jamie’s throat tightened. “How did he get in?”

Riley looked down the corridor. Students moved past, laughing, not noticing the floor and not noticing Jamie.

Riley’s voice was low. “That is why he does it. It looks normal to everyone else.”

Jamie’s hand trembled slightly.

Riley spoke firmly. “Photo, time, date. Then we take it to the don. We start the record properly.”

Jamie nodded, breathing slowly.

Jamie crouched and picked up the envelope carefully by the edge, like it might leave fingerprints that mattered.

The paper felt heavier than it should have.

Jamie looked at Riley. “This is not a gift.”

Riley held Jamie’s gaze. “No. It is a reminder.”

Jamie slid her key into the lock with a steady hand. The door opened, and warm air met her face.

The hallway behind her stayed loud and normal, as if the building itself wanted to pretend nothing was happening.

Jamie stepped inside and placed the envelope on her desk without opening it.

Riley stood in the doorway, watching.

Jamie looked down at the envelope and felt a cold certainty settle in her chest.

CJ had access. CJ had timing. CJ had learned how to move between public and private whenever it suited him.

The question was not whether he would escalate again.

The question was what he already knew.

Cliffhanger

CJ has left a new envelope outside Jamie’s residence door, proving he can reach her privately even after she starts documenting everything. How is he getting access to her building, and what is inside the envelope that he wants her to open alone?