My roommates booked a New Year's Eve light show table—five hundred per person—and started urging me in the group chat to transfer the money.

I quietly sent a screenshot of my account balance. "You guys go ahead," I wrote. "I haven't even scraped together my tuition yet."

They replied with a string of mocking "haha"s. Our dorm leader, Giselle Murdoch, even posted on her social media with the caption: [The first step to crossing class boundaries is distancing yourself from people who kill the mood.]

Just after midnight, they sent me a photo from the light show and said, "Too bad you're not here."

I frowned, confused, when my counselor's call cut in—her voice tight with urgency.

"Did you invite your roommates to the light show? The organizers said they never even checked in! They're missing!"

The counselor's words hit me like a truck. My mind went completely blank. For a moment, I couldn't think straight.

"Elena! Are you listening to me? The organizers checked—your name and student ID are on the reservation, but it was an e-ticket. There's no scan record.

"That means they never even made it inside. Now all three of their phones are off. Their families are losing their minds. Tell me the truth. What the hell is going on?"

The booking info was mine?

When did I ever buy a five-hundred-dollar New Year's Eve table ticket? I have to count every dollar for next month's meals. There's no way I'd do something that insane.

And they just sent photos a minute ago. How could they just vanish?

A chill shot from the soles of my feet straight to the top of my head. My hand holding the phone started shaking.

"Professor Mann… I didn't. I swear I didn't book any tickets." My voice came out high and shaky, trembling with fear. "I've been in the library all night studying. I have no idea where they went."

"Don't panic. Don't be scared."

Professor Prudence Mann's tone softened a little, but the authority in her voice was still razor-sharp.

"You need to go back to your dorm right now. Giselle's parents are driving in from out of town, and the school administration is taking this very seriously. We need your full cooperation to get to the bottom of this."

I hung up and just sat there frozen on the library's cold wooden chair. The warm lights and the focused students around me felt like they belonged to another world.

An invisible wall of ice had split me off from them.

I'd been set up.

The thought struck me like a jagged bolt of black lightning, cutting through all my confusion and numbness.

They disappeared—and they did it using my name, my student ID, to book that ridiculously expensive ticket.

The whole thing was careful, deliberate, and cruel.

What were they trying to do?

If they turned up safe, it'd be nothing more than a prank. I'd be defenseless, looking like a desperate liar to my counselor and classmates.

But now—they were missing.

And me? The roommate who had the ticket but didn't go, and who had a history of tension with them? I became the prime suspect overnight.

I forced myself to breathe. Think. Slowly, I stood up, packed my books, and stumbled toward the dorm.

The winter wind cut my face like knives. I gripped my backpack straps so hard my nails dug into the fabric.

'Stay calm, Elena. You didn't do anything wrong. What are you afraid of?' I told myself.

When I pushed open the door to Room 412, the air inside was suffocating.

Professor Mann stood in the middle of the room, her face grim. Two school administrators stood nearby, speaking in low, serious voices.

The whole dorm felt muted, like someone had hit pause. Outside, the occasional crackle of New Year's fireworks sounded painfully out of place.

My bed was neat. Untouched.

Across from me, Giselle, Kathryn, and Sarah Freud's beds were exactly as they'd left them.

Giselle's desk still had her expensive makeup scattered around. Kathryn's chair had a luxury cashmere coat draped over it. A single earring sat on the corner of Sarah's desk—one she hadn't had time to put on.

Everything looked like they'd rushed out in a hurry.

"Elena's here," Professor Mann said as soon as she saw me, waving me over.

The administrators' eyes locked onto me at once. Scrutinizing. Probing.

I walked forward, my voice low. "Professor Mann… I'm back."

"Tell us everything, Elena."

A middle-aged administrator—clearly higher up—spoke first. His tone was calm, but every word carried serious weight.

"Explain the New Year's Eve light show ticket that was booked under your name."

I took a deep breath, pulled out my phone, and opened the dorm group chat labeled 412 Fairy Castle.

"Professors, please look at this. This afternoon, Giselle suggested in the group chat that we go to the New Year's event. She even shared the booking link for the table—five hundred dollars per person. I clearly said no because I can't afford it."

I handed over my phone, letting the chat history speak for itself.

"After that, they… made fun of me in the group. Giselle also posted that status update, which I'm sure you've seen, Professor Mann. After that, I had no contact with them, online or offline. I had dinner, went straight to the library, and stayed there until I got your call. The library security cameras and my phone's location data can prove all of this."

I had to get my side and my evidence out before the parents showed up.

The administrators leaned in to look at the screen. Their expressions shifted from serious to shocked.

Professor Mann frowned. "How could Giselle and the others talk like that…"

Before she could finish, the dorm door burst open. Fast footsteps and shouting flooded the room.

"My Giselle! My baby! What happened?!"

A middle-aged woman in a fur coat stormed in, her carefully styled curls wet with tears. Expensive makeup ran down her face in two messy streaks.

Behind her came a man, equally well-dressed, his face tight with worry.

Giselle's parents.

Right after them, Kathryn and Sarah's parents pushed their way inside.

Kathryn's mother—dressed in the same flashy, jewelry-heavy style as Giselle's mom—exploded the second she walked in.

"How could the school let this happen?! My daughter went missing on your campus—you are fully responsible for this!"

Sarah's parents were much quieter, more timid. They hung back, wiping their tears and whispering, "Sarah… my Sarah…"

The dorm, already small, spiraled into total chaos.

Giselle's mother was screaming and crying, her eyes sweeping the room until they locked onto me like a hawk.

"You! It's you, isn't it?"

She thrust out a finger—a massive diamond ring catching the light—and pointed straight at me.

"You're Elena? Giselle's broke roommate?"

Her shrill voice cut through the air like a knife.

I didn't say a word. I just met her glare with a cold, steady look.

"Answer me! Is it you? Did you get so jealous of Giselle that you tricked her and put her in danger?"

She lunged at me like she wanted to tear me apart with her bare hands.

"Mrs. Murdoch! Please calm down!"

Professor Mann and another administrator rushed over to hold her back.

"I can't calm down! You said it yourself—the ticket was booked under her name! She booked it, didn't go, and my daughter and the other two disappeared! There's no way that's a coincidence! It has to be you! You vicious, heartless monster!"

She thrashed and screamed, spewing the ugliest words imaginable.

"Honey, stop!"

Giselle's father finally showed a flicker of reason, pulling his wife back—but his eyes were just as cold and suspicious when they landed on me.

"Mrs. Murdoch, I'll say it one more time. I didn't book those tickets."

I looked her straight in the eye and said.

"If I did—five hundred per ticket, three tickets, that's fifteen hundred dollars. Do you really think a student who can barely afford tuition could magically come up with fifteen hundred dollars just to take your daughter to a light show… out of jealousy?"

The question hung in the air. The room went quiet.

Of course it didn't make sense.

A broke student selling everything she owns, spending fifteen hundred dollars to frame her roommate? What would she even gain from it?

"What if someone paid you to do it? Kids like you—poor, desperate—you'd do anything for a little cash." Kathryn's mother cut in sharply.

I trembled—half furious, half wanting to laugh.

In their eyes, being poor was a crime.

Poor meant you'd sell your soul for money. Poor meant you had no morals. Poor meant your heart was as poisonous as a snake's.

"Mrs. Tyson, you have quite the imagination," I said. "But maybe you should focus on figuring out where your daughter actually went, instead of making baseless attacks on my character."