Chapter 6: Crossroads

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Chapter 5 Recap

A viral clip from Trinity Social turns suspicion into certainty. A tiny vial appears in the background, and Alex becomes the center of the story everyone wants to believe. Jamie tries to ignore the noise until she discovers something real: Alex is banned from Hawthorne Hall “for safety reasons.” Before she can get answers, an anonymous message arrives: Ask him about the vial. Ask him why Hawthorne banned him.

Read Chapter 5 of the series.

Chapter 6: Crossroads: Boundaries, Secrets, and the Midnight Pull

Sleep never really came.

Jamie drifted in and out of it, the way she used to during exam season, when her mind would not accept that the world could wait until morning. Each time she closed her eyes, the same moment replayed. The anonymous message glowing on her screen. Alex’s face drained of color. His eyes flicked to the message and then away, as if he had seen those words before and knew what came next.

Ask him about the vial. Find out the reason for Hawthorne's ban.

She lay staring at the ceiling of Victoria Hall for what felt like hours, watching the time crawl forward until dawn finally bled into the room and made it impossible to pretend the night was still holding.

Outside, campus woke up with its usual insistence. Doors closed down the hallway. Water ran in communal bathrooms. Someone laughed too loudly, trying to sound awake. Someone else dragged a suitcase across tile, the noise cutting through the building like a blade.

Jamie sat up and rubbed her eyes. The knot in her chest did not loosen. It only shifted, tightening whenever she pictured Hawthorne Hall, the sign-in sheet, the thick black line drawn through Alex Chen.

Safety reasons.

The phrase felt like it belonged in an official email, not in a story about a boy who sketched in a notebook and smiled at her across a café.

She dressed carefully, as if looking put together could make her feel put together, then stepped outside into the chilly January air. Queen’s was busy in the way it always was. Final exams were done, but the fatigue lingered, and students moved through the day with coffee cups in hand and blank concentration in their eyes. It was not quiet. It was crowded and restless and ordinary.

She found no comfort in the usual.

She walked to breakfast with Riley, who kept glancing at her as if waiting for Jamie’s face to reveal something.

“You did not sleep,” Riley said, not a question.

“I tried,” Jamie admitted.

Riley pushed her hair behind her ear, her voice dropping. “Did you see him again?”

“No.” Jamie picked at the edge of a napkin. “I keep thinking about the way he reacted. That message hit him like a threat he already understood.”

Riley nodded slowly. “People do not look like that unless there is a reason.”

Jamie’s phone buzzed on the table. Her hand tightened around it before she even checked the screen.

Alex: Can we talk today?

Jamie stared at the message long enough for the words to lose meaning, then she locked her phone without replying.

Riley watched her carefully. “You do not have to rush into anything.”

“I know,” Jamie said, though her voice sounded thin. “But I also cannot keep doing this. I cannot keep guessing.”

Riley leaned forward. “Then do it your way. Not his.”

Jamie nodded, grateful for the steadiness in Riley’s tone. The words were simple, but they felt like a plan.

In her lecture later that morning, Jamie sat near the back, notebook open but unused. Slides flickered on the screen. Her professor’s voice rose and fell, calm and distant. Jamie’s phone buzzed again in her palm.

Alex: Please. I owe you an explanation.

She took a slow breath and typed with intention, forcing herself to be clear.

Jamie: We can talk. Not alone. And I need honesty.

A minute passed. Then his reply appeared.

Alex: Okay.

The agreement should have relieved her. Instead, it raised a question she did not want to ask.

Okay, or okay for now?

Jamie locked her phone and stared ahead, as if the lecture could pull her out of her own mind.

It did not.

After class, Jamie walked toward the JDUC without deciding to. The building felt like a crossroads in more ways than one. Students streamed in and out, meeting friends, buying food, filling time between lectures. Posters covered the walls, some for clubs, some for events, some for services Jamie had never needed until now.

She caught herself slowing as she read.

Peer Support Centre. Peer Wellness Coaching. Therapy groups.

Learn skills for stress, anxiety, and boundaries.

She had seen messages like these since move-in. They had always seemed like background noise. Now they felt like signposts.

Jamie made her way up to the fourth floor, more deliberate this time. The Health Promotion and Peer Support Centre was quieter than the rest of the building, the energy softened by lower voices and the steady rhythm of people coming in and leaving without drama. A small rack of pamphlets stood near the entrance, their titles calm and practical.

We are here to help. You are not alone.

Jamie hovered, unsure whether she belonged here. The feeling was familiar and unpleasant, like standing outside a room where everyone else already knew how to act.

A student stepped out from behind the front desk. She looked calm, not in a distant way, but in a way that seemed practiced. Her eyes landed on Jamie and softened.

“Jamie, right?” the woman asked gently. “Riley’s roommate?”

Jamie blinked. “Yes.”

“I am Priya,” she said. “I am a Peer Support Centre volunteer. I am here to chat if you need support”

The word support caught Jamie’s attention. It sounded like something she could hold onto.

Jamie’s grip tightened around her bag strap. “I do not know where to start.”

Priya nodded as if that was the most normal sentence in the world. “Start with what is upsetting you.”

Jamie hesitated. The story in her head felt too messy to say aloud.

Priya’s voice stayed steady. “Sometimes students come in because of academics. Sometimes it is relationships. Sometimes it is something that happened at a party. Sometimes it is the aftershocks. Rumors. DMs. Pressure to keep secrets. Those are heavy things to carry alone.”

Jamie’s throat tightened. “I got messages.”

Priya’s expression sharpened, not with fear, but with focus. “Messages that ask you to meet someone alone?”

Jamie froze, then nodded.

Priya did not look surprised. “That is a risk flag. You can still want answers. Wanting answers is reasonable. The mistake is believing you have to get them in a way that isolates you.”

Jamie swallowed hard. “Someone told me to come alone.”

Priya’s voice softened. “Then do not go alone.”

Jamie let out a breath she did not realize she was holding.

Priya gestured toward a small seating area. “Do you want to talk through your options now?”

Jamie nodded.

They sat. Priya did not ask Jamie to recount every detail. She asked questions that felt like handrails.

“Do you have someone you trust?” Priya asked.

“Yes,” Jamie said quickly. “Riley.”

“Good,” Priya replied. “If you decide to meet someone, take Riley. Choose a public place. Keep your phone charged. Set a check-in time with someone else. Trust your instincts. Leaving is allowed, even if someone tries to make you feel guilty.”

Jamie stared at her hands. “That sounds obvious when you say it.”

“It always does,” Priya said. “Stress makes people forget their own common sense. That is why planning matters.”

Jamie nodded slowly.

Priya continued, “You cannot control rumors. You can control what you do next. The internet is loud but loud does not equal true. Your job is to make choices that protect your wellbeing while you figure out what is real.”

Jamie’s pulse steadied slightly. “What if I cannot tell what is real?”

Priya reached for a pamphlet and slid it across the table. The title was simple.

"Informed choices".

“Truth often arrives in steps,” Priya said. “One piece at a time. You are allowed to gather information before you decide what it means. You do not have to jump to conclusions to be safe. Safety is not a conclusion. Safety is a process.”

Jamie read the first line.

If you are unsure, pause.

It felt like advice meant specifically for her.

Before she left, Priya pointed to a poster near the door.

“Student Wellness Services has therapy groups starting soon,” Priya said. “Some are focused on developing skills to help with anxiety. Some focus on relationships and boundaries. Some students find a group easier than one-on-one support. Others start one-on-one and try a group later.”

Jamie hesitated, phone in hand. The word group made her nervous. Even clicking a link felt like stepping into something she could not easily undo.

Still, she opened the registration page, scanned the details twice, and tapped the sign-up button before she could overthink it.

Registration confirmed: Jamie Brooks.

She completed the registration quickly, but the choice felt like it changed something inside her.

She went to Douglas Library next, but studying was impossible. The basement was quiet in that specific way that made her thoughts louder. Jamie claimed a desk and opened her laptop, then stared at the blank screen as if it might give her a new life.

It did not.

Instead, she found herself scrolling back through Alex’s texts. Not the recent ones. The ones from earlier, when everything felt lighter.

A joke about cafeteria eggs.

A message asking if she made it back to residence safely.

A line that read, I had a good time today. I like talking to you.

His warmth was real. She believed that.

So was his silence.

She stared at his last message again.

Okay.

Her chest tightened. She wanted to think that agreement meant honesty was coming. She wanted to believe that the ban, the vial, the messages were misunderstandings that would dissolve under conversation.

Her foot nudged something beneath the desk.

Jamie leaned down and picked it up slowly.

A torn wristband.

Glossy black, split down the middle like it had been yanked off quickly.

Trinity Social.

The sight made her stomach turn. The night had not ended with sirens. It had left fragments everywhere, turning up when she least expected them.

She slid the wristband into her bag like evidence, though she did not know what it proved.

Her phone buzzed.

Unknown number: Midnight. Hawthorne steps. Come alone. You deserve the truth.

Jamie’s blood ran cold.

Come alone.

The words felt less like an invitation and more like a trap with polite handwriting.

Priya’s voice echoed in her head.

If it asks you to come alone, that is a risk flag.

Jamie did not reply. Not even to refuse. Refusing felt like acknowledgement.

Instead, she stood up, packed her bag, and walked out of the library as if she had somewhere else to be.

She did. She just had not realized it until now.

Back at residence, Riley was on her bed scrolling through her phone. Jamie barely made it through the doorway before she held out her screen.

Riley read the message. Her expression shifted from curiosity to anger.

“No,” Riley said.

“I was not going,” Jamie replied quickly. “Not alone.”

Riley sat up straighter. “Good. Because that is exactly the kind of message that gets people cornered. That is not truth. That is control.”

Jamie sank onto her bed. “I need answers.”

“I know,” Riley said, softening. “But answers do not require you to sacrifice safety.”

Riley’s voice turned practical, the way it did when she was trying not to panic. “We tell someone where we are going. We keep our phones charged. We bring a portable charger. We set a check-in time. If anything feels wrong, we leave. No debate.”

Jamie nodded. “Okay.”

Riley pointed at her as if sealing a contract. “Okay means you do not let secrecy trap you.”

Jamie swallowed. “Okay.”

They met Alex just before dinner near a busy walkway, where students passed frequently and the early evening light still held a trace of warmth. Jamie chose the location. Riley stood several steps away, not hovering, but present. A witness. A support. A reminder that Jamie was not isolated.

Alex looked tired. His shoulders were tense, his gaze darting briefly toward the flow of students before returning to Jamie.

“Jamie,” he said quietly. “Thank you for coming.”

Jamie held his gaze. She noticed it immediately.

A small sore at the corner of his mouth. Faint, healing, but unmistakable.

He must have caught her glance because he shifted slightly, turning his face as if it was nothing.

Jamie kept her expression neutral, but her thoughts moved quickly. Cold sores were often caused by the herpes virus. They were common and did not make someone dangerous. Still, they could be contagious, and the real issue was not the sore itself.

The issue was what people chose to say, and what they chose to hide.

Careful did not mean cruel. It meant paying attention, asking questions when the time was right, and not letting discomfort replace honesty.

Alex’s eyes flicked toward Riley, then back to Jamie. “I know you are angry.”

“I am not angry,” Jamie said softly. “I am unsettled.”

Alex flinched slightly, as if the word hit closer to the truth.

Jamie drew a slow breath. “I got another message.”

His jaw tightened. “About Hawthorne?”

“Yes.”

“I did not send it,” Alex said quickly.

Jamie watched his face. “Then who did?”

Alex swallowed. “Someone who wants you involved.”

Her skin prickled. “Involved in what?”

He looked away, then back again, eyes sharp with something like dread. “In something that will spread if you hear it the wrong way.”

Jamie’s chest tightened. “So, it is real.”

Alex exhaled shakily. “The ban is real.”

Riley shifted slightly in the background, listening.

Jamie forced her voice to stay steady. “Why are you banned from Hawthorne Hall?”

Alex’s throat moved as he swallowed. “Because last year something happened, and my name got attached to it. It turned into a story people liked repeating. A story that made me the easiest answer.”

Jamie stared at him. “Was it about drugs?”

His hesitation was small, but it existed.

“It was about fear,” he said finally. “People assumed. People panicked. People decided they already knew the truth.”

Jamie’s fingers curled against her palm. “And the vial?”

Alex’s gaze sharpened, as if that word carried weight he did not want to touch. “The vial is not what people think.”

Jamie’s breath caught. “Then what is it?”

He looked directly at her. His expression held urgency now, the careful mask slipping.

“I cannot explain it here,” he said. “Not in public. Not with people walking by.”

“You can,” Jamie said. “You just do not want to.”

Alex’s shoulders tightened. “Last time I talked, it got twisted. It got used. It got worse.”

Jamie thought of TikTok edits, frozen frames, captions written like verdicts. Thought of her own fear, the way uncertainty invited stories to grow.

Then she thought of Priya’s pamphlet, still in her bag.

If you are unsure, pause.

Jamie kept her voice measured. “You asked me to trust you. Trust cannot exist without information.”

Alex’s eyes flicked again toward Riley. “I did not want you pulled into this.”

Jamie’s voice dropped. “I already am.”

Silence stretched between them, filled by footsteps and distant conversation.

Alex spoke again, softer. “I will tell you. I just need you to hear it the right way.”

Jamie felt her pulse in her throat. “You mean privately.”

“I mean safely,” Alex replied.

Jamie’s phone buzzed in her pocket, a sharp vibration that felt timed. She did not check it. She could imagine the words.

Midnight. Hawthorne. Come alone.

Jamie lifted her chin. “If you want me to meet you later, I do not come alone.”

Alex hesitated. His eyes flicked toward Riley again.

Jamie continued, firm now. “No secrets from Riley.”

Alex’s jaw clenched, then loosened. “Okay.”

Jamie held his gaze. “And you tell the truth.”

His lips parted as if he might argue. He did not.

“I will,” he said.

But the fear in his eyes did not fade.

It deepened.

That night, Jamie lay in bed staring at the ceiling again, but it felt different. Not quieter. Not easier. Just more deliberate. She had choices now, and choices were weighty.

Her phone sat on the desk, charging. Riley slept on the other side of the room, her breathing steady. The sound anchored Jamie in a way she did not want to admit she needed.

Jamie thought of Alex’s words.

The vial is not what people think.

She thought of Hawthorne Hall.

Safety reasons.

She thought of the small sore at the corner of his mouth, and the silence around it. Not as a verdict, but as a reminder. Conversations about health, safety, and trust did not happen by accident. They happened because someone had the courage to bring them into the open.

Her phone buzzed again.

Unknown number: You are asking the right questions. Just not all of them.

Jamie’s throat tightened.

She stared at the screen for a long moment, then set the phone face down.

No reply.

No chase.

Just a steady decision forming in her chest.

If someone wanted to lead her into the dark, she would bring light with her.

Whatever waited at Hawthorne was coming.

This time, she would not walk into it blind.

Cliffhanger

Who is steering Jamie toward Hawthorne Hall, and what question has she not yet thought to ask?