Inside, everything was wrong. Nothing was broken or stolen, but everything had been touched. His bed was flipped, the mattress half-hanging off the frame. Sheets were pulled, twisted, and dragged across the floor. His desk drawers were open, their contents scattered as if someone had deliberately searched for something, or wanted it to look that way. His clothes had been thrown around, some stepped on, others tossed carelessly into corners.

Silas stepped inside, the door creaking shut behind him. He stood there in the middle of the room, unmoving. His hands hung at his sides and slowly curled, fingers tightening. He lowered his head, pink hair falling forward and shadowing his eyes. His heartbeat started to rise.

Each beat echoed in his ears, heavy and violent, drowning out everything else. All of it stacked: The smell, the silence, the memory of the corridor, and the laughter. His shoulders trembled from restraint as his breathing grew uneven.

He took in sharp inhales and slow exhales, trying to calm down and failing. Something deep in his chest twisted, tightening like a coil pulled too far.

They didn’t stop. They didn’t stop at the corridor. They followed him here, into the one place that was supposed to be... his. His fingers dug into his palms hard enough to hurt, hard enough to ground him, but it wasn’t working. The image of the teachers flashed again, Damien’s smirk, and now this. His room was violated deliberately.

His heartbeat spiked. For a split second, something flickered at the edge of his vision. It was the system showing a faint, unstable shimmer... as though it was reacting to something it hadn’t expected.

Silas didn’t look at it. His head remained lowered, his hands shaking now. He laughed.

"Yeah," he whispered, his voice low and strained. "That’s about right."

The sound died quickly, and silence returned, but the pressure in the room didn’t ease. If anything, it felt as though something was about to snap.

And it did snap.

Silas stood there for a few seconds more as the tension settled. His breathing evened out as his fingers loosened. He slowly straightened his back. When he lifted his head, his head had changed. There was nothing there. No anger or frustration, just blank.

He stepped over the scattered mess and bent down, picking up the overturned chair first, setting it upright carefully, and adjusting it until it was aligned perfectly with the desk. He then moved to the mattress, lifting it with one arm despite the strain in his shoulder. His movements were almost mechanical.

He gathered his clothes next, brushed them, folded them neatly, and placed them where they belonged neatly. Silence filled the room as he worked. When he finally reached the garbage at the entrance, he paused and stared at the volume. It wasn’t random. It had been collected, chosen deliberately, most likely.

Silas crouched and picked it up, one piece at a time. Rotten food squelched faintly in plastic, and liquids dripped. The smell should’ve been unbearable, but he didn’t react, not even a twitch. He gathered everything into a single bag, tying it tightly before standing. For a moment, he just held it there, then turned and walked out of the room.

The hallway air felt cleaner and colder. A few students were already there now, lingering between periods. Their conversations slowed when they saw him step out. The whispers started again, but softer this time. Hilas walked past them without looking, while the bag in his hand dripped faintly.

"Damn... look at him. They really did a number on Pinky this time," someone snickered.

"Should’ve seen his room earlier. It looked like a dump site." Another voice followed, louder, gaining a few laughs. Silas didn’t stop; he didn’t even slow.

He reached the disposal area, lifted the lid, and dropped the bag inside, making it land with a dull, wet thud. He then closed the lid gently as if it mattered and turned back. The same students were still there, watching and waiting, expecting something. Maybe an outburst, a reaction? Anything.

Silas walked through them. One of them, braver or stupider than the rest, stepped slightly into his path.

"Yo, Pinky! Who messed up your-" 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝙚𝔀𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝒐𝒎

He stopped mid-sentence as Silas looked at him just for a second, and that was all it took. There was nothing in those eyes. No anger to push against, no pride to provoke, not even an emotion to twist. It was just a stillness so deep it felt wrong.

The boy’s words died in his throat. His body reacted before his mind did, making him step aside instinctively, creating space without realizing it.

Behind him, the hallway went quiet because something about that silence... that absence... felt worse than any threat he could’ve made. He returned to his room, stepped inside, closed the door, and continued cleaning piece by piece until everything was exactly where it should be, except for the faint, lingering tension in the air, and the diary still lying where it had been left.

***

The cafeteria buzzed with life. Unlike the dorm corridors, this place thrived on noise, laughter, clattering trays, and the hum of casual conversations layered over one another. The scent filled the air, rich and indulgent, masking everything unpleasant.

Damien sat lazily in his chair, one arm draped lazily over his backrest, while the other guided a fork through a carefully plated meal that looked far too refined for a school cafeteria. Valecrest spared no expense for its elites, and Damien was very much one of them. Seared meat, glazed to perfection, steamed vegetables arranged with unnecessary elegance, and a drink chilled just right. He took a bite and chewed slowly, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as his thoughts wandered to what he had done earlier to Silas’s room and what he’d done to him in the corridor.

Damien chuckled under his breath, low and amused.

"I got him where I needed," he muttered, just loud enough for himself. "Now he’ll be expelled if he does anything."