Howard's parents, on the other hand, were dressed much more plainly and appeared much more timid. They simply tagged along with the other parents, wiping their tears constantly while mumbling, "Oh, Howie… My dear Howie."

All of a sudden, total chaos befell the already-crowded room.

Zane's mother, Mrs. Lawson, wailed for some time while she scanned the entire room. Finally, her death stare landed on me. She pointed straight at me with her finger, around which she wore a massive diamond ring.

"It was you! It was you, wasn't it? You're Bradley Graham, Zane's poor roommate, right?"

Her sharp voice really hurt my ears. I remained silent, watching her icily.

"Spill it! Was it you? Did you lure Zane out and set him up because you were jealous of him?" she questioned. Out of nowhere, she pounced at me, as if she were about to rip me to shreds.

"Calm down, Mrs. Lawson!"

Ms. Watts and one of the school's administrators rushed forward to hold her back.

"No way I'm calming down! Like you said, he was the one who booked the tickets. He made the reservation but did not show up. Meanwhile, my son and the other two students have vanished.

"How could something be so coincidental? It must have been you, you vicious moron!" she cussed, hurling the vilest insult at me while she thrashed about.

"Darling, don't!"

Thankfully, Mr. Lawson, Zane's father, still had some sense in him. But though he pulled his wife back, he still stared at me with the same cold and suspicious gaze.

"Mrs. Lawson, please allow me to reiterate—I wasn't the one who booked the tickets," I enunciated clearly, meeting Mrs. Lawson's gaze.

"The tickets cost five thousand dollars each. Three tickets would come to a total of 15 thousand dollars. If I were the one who booked it, would I—a student who had to worry about her own school fees—be able to afford 15 thousand dollars to treat your son to a light show?

"Do you think I did that all because I was jealous of him?"

The questions I threw back made everyone else in the room fall silent instantly.

Exactly. This all did not make any sense. Why would a poor student give up everything they had and spend 15 thousand dollars to set their roommates up? What would they hope to get out of this?

Mrs. Bass, Timothy's mother, chimed in suddenly, "What if someone actually paid you to do so? Poor students like you are willing to do anything for money."

Those words of hers left me trembling with such fury that I almost let out a laugh of exasperation. In their eyes, poverty was the root of all sin. The fact that one was poor meant that they would do anything for the sake of money. It meant that they had terrible characters, that they were vipers.

"Excuse me, ma'am. That's quite imaginative of you. That said, I'd suggest you direct your attention toward finding out your son's whereabouts rather than berate my character for no reason."

My expression turned frigid. I was no longer trying to reason with them. As for Mrs. Bass, she went completely red in the face, stifled by my retort.

Finally, one of the school administrators spoke up and put a stop to this chaos, "Alright, that's enough, all of you. The most important thing for us to do right now is to find the missing students, not fight among ourselves here!"

Then, he turned toward Ms. Watts. "Ms. Watts, I want you to lead the parents in another thorough examination of the students' beds and personal belongings. See if the students left any clues behind.

"Bradley, I want you to go along with them. As someone who lives with them, you might be more familiar with their habits."

In other words, they were going to perform a search on my roommates' belongings.

Displeased, Mrs. Lawson refused instantly, asking, "Who gave you the right to go through my son's belongings? That is his privacy!"

"He has already gone missing without a trace. Why are you still concerned about his privacy?" Ms. Watts questioned, her tone becoming stern as her blood began to boil.

"Please understand the gravity of the situation. We are now getting you to cooperate with the school and the authorities in our investigation!"

Only then did Mrs. Lawson shut her mouth, albeit indignantly.

Once again, the dormitory fell into an eerie silence. All that could be heard were ruffling sounds of people rummaging through things. The parents were very thorough in their inspection, going through every drawer and every book belonging to their own son.

Meanwhile, I stood aside, glancing across their messy tables. Lastly, I looked toward the trash can next to Zane's bed. It was a small, desktop trash can meant for throwing scrap paper, cigarette butts, and the like.

At that moment, other than a few pieces of crumpled-up papers, there was also a ball of crumpled white paper, looking quite out of place from the rest of the trash.

My heart skipped a beat. I walked over and slipped on a pair of disposable gloves that were on the table. Under everyone else's suspicious and disdainful gazes, I fished the said ball of paper out of the trash can.

Carefully, I smoothed out the piece of paper, which was now covered in creases.

My eyes widened the moment I realized what the words read. It was a test report from a hospital. Specifically, it was a hCG blood test report.

The hospital's name and logo were clearly printed at the top of the report, and two words were printed as the patient's name—"Stella Baird".

Stella was Zane's girlfriend, and the testing date was three days ago. And in the bottom-most section where the results were printed, an arrow indicated a reading way above normal levels, followed by a conclusive result that read, "Possibility of early-stage pregnancy".

With the thin piece of paper in my hands, I snapped my head up, my eyes darting nervously toward Mrs. Lawson, who was going through Zane's closet. At that moment, all the noise in the dorm room seemed to vanish into the distance. All I could hear was the pounding of my own heart.

As it turned out, this was what they were running away from.

I lifted the test report in my hand and announced, "Everyone, I might have found the reason for their disappearance."