THE VANISHING POINT
JODY'S POV
My key card shook in my hand as I approached our dorm room door. Twenty-six hours had passed since Skylar's threatening text, twenty-six hours of unanswered calls and growing dread that settled in my stomach like lead.
The hallway smelled wrong—industrial cleaner masking something chemical and sharp. Other students hurried past with their heads down, avoiding eye contact in a way that felt deliberate rather than coincidental.
I slid the key card through the reader. The light blinked green, but when I pushed the door handle, it didn't budge. I tried again, my pulse hammering against my throat.
"Having trouble?"
I spun around to find our floor advisor, Mrs. Chen, standing behind me with a clipboard clutched against her chest. Her usually warm smile looked strained, and she wouldn't meet my eyes directly.
"I can't get into my room."
"Oh, yes. I'm sorry, Jody. There's been a situation with your roommate. The lock was changed for security purposes." She fumbled with her keys, hands trembling slightly. "You can gather your immediate belongings, but the room is... temporarily restricted."
The door swung open, and I stepped into a space I didn't recognize.
Every trace of Skylar had been erased. Her bed was stripped down to the bare mattress, her desk cleared of the organized chaos of computer parts and textbooks. The walls where her family photos and motivational posters had hung showed faint rectangular patches of lighter paint, like shadows of a life that had been surgically removed.
Even worse—her half of the room looked like it had been professionally cleaned. The carpet showed vacuum tracks in perfect parallel lines, and the scent of bleach burned my nostrils. No dust on the windowsill, no forgotten hair tie under the bed, nothing to suggest a human being had ever existed in this space.
"Where are her things?" My voice came out steady despite the screaming in my head.
Mrs. Chen shifted uncomfortably. "Her family came to collect them yesterday. Very sad situation. Skylar had been struggling with some mental health issues, apparently."
"That's not true." I moved to Skylar's desk, running my fingers along the surface that had been scrubbed clean of the coffee rings and pen marks I remembered. "She was fine when I saw her two days ago. Better than fine—she was excited about a computer project."
"Sometimes these things aren't visible to friends." Mrs. Chen's voice carried the rehearsed quality of someone repeating a script. "The family was very grateful for the university's quick response in getting her the help she needed."
I opened the desk drawers one by one. Empty. Completely, impossibly empty, when I knew they'd been stuffed with cables, flash drives, and the electronic components Skylar collected like some people collected stamps.
"I want to file a missing person report."
"Oh, that's not necessary. As I said, her family—"
"I want to file a report." Each word came out sharp, definitive. "And I want to speak to campus security."
Mrs. Chen's smile flickered. "Of course. I'll arrange a meeting."
The campus security office occupied a corner of the administration building that always smelled like burnt coffee and bureaucratic indifference. Officer Rodriguez looked like he'd rather be anywhere else as he gestured for me to sit in the plastic chair across from his cluttered desk.
"Miss Hopkins, right? You're concerned about your roommate." He pulled up something on his computer screen, squinting at the monitor. "Skylar Watson. Says here she withdrew for medical reasons. Family emergency."
"She didn't withdraw. She was investigating something dangerous and now she's missing."
"According to our records, Miss Watson has a history of depression and anxiety. Her family was concerned about her stability." Rodriguez turned the monitor toward me, showing an official-looking form filled with medical terminology and checkboxes. "See? Voluntary withdrawal for psychiatric treatment."
The words blurred as I stared at them. Skylar had never mentioned depression, never shown signs of instability. She was the most level-headed person I knew, methodical and careful in everything she did.
"This is wrong. Skylar was researching the Obsidian Circle. She found evidence of surveillance—"
"Miss Hopkins." Officer Rodriguez's tone sharpened. "I'm going to stop you right there. The Obsidian Circle is a respected academic organization with a long history at this university. Making unfounded accusations could result in disciplinary action."
"But—"
"The matter is closed. Your roommate received the help she needed, and you should focus on your studies rather than conspiracy theories."
I left the security office with my hands shaking and my mind racing. Every official channel had been closed before I'd even known to access them. Someone with serious power had orchestrated Skylar's disappearance and created a paper trail to justify it.
My phone buzzed with a text from Alex: Meet me at the library. Third floor, American History section. Come alone.
I found him between the stacks, his usually perfect appearance disheveled. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and his expensive shirt looked like he'd slept in it.
"Any luck with security?" he asked without preamble.
"They have medical records showing Skylar was mentally unstable. Fabricated records." I slumped against the bookshelf, exhaustion hitting me like a wave. "How did they move so fast?"
"The Circle has protocols for this kind of situation. They can create a complete false history within hours if someone becomes a problem." Alex pulled a manila folder from between two history books. "But you need to see this."
Inside were printouts of student records—dozens of them, all scholarship recipients, all marked with red stamps reading "WITHDRAWN - MEDICAL" or "TRANSFERRED - FAMILY EMERGENCY." Names I recognized, faces I'd seen around campus but hadn't thought about in weeks or months.
"They've been disappearing students for years," Alex said quietly. "Systematically targeting anyone who gets too curious or shows signs of resistance."
Emma Rodriguez from my freshman chemistry class. Grace Williams from my dorm floor. Maria Santos who used to study in the library corner where I first met Alex. All of them gone without anyone questioning their sudden departures or noticing the pattern.
"How many?" I whispered.
"From Ashford? At least forty over the past five years. But there are other universities, other programs." Alex's voice was hollow. "It's bigger than I realized. Much bigger."
My phone rang, startling us both. Dr. Powell's name appeared on the screen, and I stared at it like it might bite me.
"Answer it," Alex mouthed. "Act normal."
I swiped to accept the call. "Hello?"
"Jody, my dear. I heard about your roommate's situation. Such a difficult thing for a young person to witness." Dr. Powell's voice oozed sympathy. "I'd like to offer you some grief counseling. These sudden departures can be quite traumatic."
"I'm fine, thank you."
"I insist. Mental health is so important, especially for students under academic pressure. Why don't you come by my office this afternoon? We can discuss some strategies for coping with loss."
The invitation sounded like a threat wrapped in concern. "I really don't think—"
"Three o'clock. I'll have my secretary clear my schedule." The line went dead before I could respond.
Alex was watching my face intently. "What did he want?"
"Mandatory grief counseling." I set the phone down with hands that trembled despite my efforts to stay calm. "He's not even pretending this is voluntary."
"We need to get you out of here. Today."
"I can't just disappear. They'll know something's wrong."
"They already know something's wrong. The only question is whether we can stay ahead of them long enough to—"
"Alex." I grabbed his arm, my attention caught by something in the corner of my vision. "Look."
A maintenance worker was installing what looked like a new security camera directly above our location, the lens angled to capture anyone browsing this particular section of books. He worked with the efficiency of someone who'd done this hundreds of times before.
We moved deeper into the stacks, but I spotted two more workers installing cameras in areas that had been surveillance-free just days ago. The library was being wired for complete coverage, and we were running out of safe spaces to meet.
"My room," I said suddenly. "There's something I need to check."
Back in the sterile remains of what had been my shared space, I went to the loose floorboard near my bed where Skylar had hidden her backup drives. She'd shown me the hiding spot months ago, joking that she was paranoid about losing her work.
The board lifted easily, revealing a small cavity that contained exactly what I'd hoped for—a tiny flash drive wrapped in plastic and electrical tape.
"Insurance policy," I whispered, remembering Skylar's words. "In case something happens to my main computer."
Alex leaned over my shoulder as I plugged the drive into my laptop. Files appeared on the screen—dozens of them, all labeled with dates and mysterious abbreviations. My heart stopped when I saw the most recent folder title:
OBSIDIAN_CIRCLE_SURVEILLANCE_EVIDENCE_10_28
Inside were screenshots of internal Circle documents, photos of the underground chamber, and detailed notes about "behavioral modification experiments" conducted on scholarship students over the past decade. But the final file made my hands shake so violently I could barely click on it.
A video file, timestamped two days ago. Skylar's face appeared on screen, her expression grim and determined.
"If you're watching this, Jody, something's happened to me. I found the real purpose of the Circle, and it's worse than we thought. They're not just manipulating students—they're creating them. Psychological conditioning to turn promising individuals into sleeper agents for corporate and political interests."
The image quality was poor, clearly recorded in secret, but Skylar's voice was clear and urgent.
"The basement facility is just the beginning. There are others, connected through a network that reaches into government agencies, Fortune 500 companies, even foreign governments. They're building an army of conditioned operatives, and the scholarship students are their raw material."
Behind her, I could see computer screens displaying what looked like architectural blueprints and personnel files.
"I'm uploading everything to multiple cloud servers, but if they catch me before I can expose this..." Her voice trailed off as she glanced toward what must have been a door. "Someone's coming. Jody, trust no one except—"
The video cut off abruptly, leaving us staring at a black screen.