Delilah was gone. And no one seemed to know why.

It had started as a normal day at school—laughter in the halls, shared notes, casual greetings. Then suddenly, Delilah vanished. Texts went unanswered. Calls went straight to voicemail. Even her friends couldn’t reach her.

And that’s when your gut screamed: something’s wrong.

You remembered the subtle moments, the way Joe had lingered too close during lunch, the little smirk when someone mentioned Delilah. Something about him felt… off.

You began observing him, carefully. At first, it was subtle—watching his reactions when anyone mentioned Delilah. Then, you noticed how quickly he changed the subject, how he always seemed to know more than he should.

You decided to act.

One rainy evening, you found yourself lingering near Joe’s usual hangouts. He wasn’t alone—friends, a few sneaky sidelong glances—but he didn’t see you watching. Not yet.

You whispered to yourself, voice barely audible: “Where is she, Joe?”

He turned suddenly, as if he’d heard, but smiled innocently. “What? You mean Delilah? Haven’t seen her today.”

Your stomach twisted. “Really? You seem… nervous when she comes up.”

He laughed, too quick, too sharp. “Nervous? Me? Nah. Just… concerned. You know how close we all are.”

But you weren’t buying it.