Julie Hawkins opened her notebook and found nothing. Every page was blank. Yesterday she had filled them with chemistry equations for finals. Now the ink was gone, wiped clean, like no one had ever written a word. She was a Collegiate Prep student. Her notes were the only thing keeping her ahead. She studied at the library wing every night. Her roommate Viv hogged their shared computer, so this corner desk was hers. The same desk. The same chair under the tall windows. Someone had been here while she slept. Someone who knew exactly where to find her work. Julie wasn't the first. Three other Prep students had lost research this month. A hooded figure, people whispered. No face. No name. Julie had stopped whispering. She wanted to catch whoever it was. She went to the front desk. A trembling librarian stood there in a wrinkled cardigan, clutching a stack of books to her chest. Grace Pullman. Julie had seen her before, muttering to anyone who would listen. "Did anyone come in last night?" Julie asked. "My notes were ruined." Grace's hands shook. One book slid and she caught it. "A man," she said. "I saw him at the archive files. Tall. Hood up. He touched things he shouldn't have." "When?" "Last night. Late." Grace leaned close. Her breath smelled of cold coffee. "Nobody believes me. But I saw him." Julie felt her pulse jump. A witness. Finally. "Can you prove you were here? Show me the check-in log." Grace set the books down and pulled up the records on the desk computer. Her finger moved down the screen. Then it stopped. The color left her face. "That's wrong," Grace whispered. "It says I wasn't here last night. It says I signed out at five." She scrolled again, faster. "I was here. I know I was here." Julie stared at the glowing log. Grace's own record said she'd left hours before the man appeared. The same system that tracked Julie's desk. The same system someone had used to erase her notes. "Someone changed it," Julie said. "They put you out of the building on paper." Grace's eyes filled. "Then I can't help you. They'll say I made it up." Julie understood then. She would never study safely at that desk again. The one person who saw the figure had just been erased too. Not killed. Just unwritten, the way her equations had been. She grabbed a pen and a blank sheet. "Tell me everything the man did. Every step. I'll write it down somewhere they can't reach." Grace nodded and began to talk. Julie wrote fast, one eye on the archive door. If the figure could rewrite a librarian's whole night, he could rewrite anyone. The records couldn't be trusted. Neither could the desk, the log, or the walls around her. She tore the page free and folded it into her pocket. The hunt had a name now. The archive. That was where she would go next.

Julie reached the archive the next morning with Grace's folded page in her pocket. She wanted to search the files for proof the hooded man had been here. But a man in a pressed suit stood by the archive door, watching her. He held a leather folder. He looked exactly like the university president, down to the part in his hair. A dean's aide, she guessed. He had seen her linger too long. "You've been here a while," the aide said. He opened the folder and clicked a pen. "Students don't camp in the archive. I'll need to flag this for the dean." He wrote her name without asking it. "Loitering. One report, and your library access ends." Julie's stomach dropped. Without the library, she couldn't study. She couldn't hunt the figure. She needed a reason to be here that he couldn't deny. She thought of Grace. "I'm helping a librarian," Julie said. "She's reshelving the archive. Ask her." The aide's pen stopped. "Which librarian?" Before he could move, Grace appeared at the end of the stacks, arms full of books, cardigan slipping off one shoulder. She froze when she saw the suit. Her hands trembled so hard a book slid loose. Julie caught it and set it back on Grace's stack. "She's my assistant," Grace said. Her voice shook, but she said it. "I asked her to sort the returns. I'm behind." The aide studied Grace. Something crossed his face when he looked at her. Not confusion. Recognition. "You're the one who keeps reporting intruders," he said quietly. "The records say you weren't even in the building." "I know what I saw," Grace whispered. The aide looked at Grace a long moment. Then he closed his folder. "Keep your assistant working, then." He smiled with his mouth only. He turned and walked out. Security never stopped him at the door. They waved him through like they knew his face. Julie let out her breath. The flag was gone. But her hands felt cold. "He knew you," Julie said. "He knew the records said you weren't here. How?" Grace's books tipped again. This time Julie didn't catch them. They hit the floor between them. "Only the person who changed the log would know that," Grace said. Julie stared at the empty doorway where the aide had stood. Tall. The right height for a hood. A man who walked through every locked door without a badge. A man who knew exactly which night Grace's record had been erased. She pulled Grace's folded page from her pocket and smoothed it on a shelf. She needed to learn one thing now: how a dean's aide got the keys to the records system, and why he'd just let her stay. "We're not safe here," Julie said. "But I'm not leaving either. I know who to watch now."

Julie carried Grace's folded page back to her dorm that night. She wanted a quiet hour to spread out her notes and name the hooded man for certain. But her door was already open. Viv had pushed both desks together. True crime books covered them. Printouts of missing students hung taped to the wall. Their shared computer glowed, and Viv sat hunched over it, typing fast. "You're late," Viv said. She didn't look up. Her black hair hid her face. "I've been reading about your thefts. Four students now. Maybe five." She tapped the screen. "This is better than any urban legend. Someone's hunting Collegiate Prep." Julie stared at the mess. There was no clear surface left. No chair. No computer she could use. Viv had taken the whole room for her obsession. "I need the desk," Julie said. "And the computer. Tonight." Viv finally turned. Her lined eyes were bright. "Why? You know something." She stood and blocked the screen. "Tell me. I can help. I'm good at this." Julie almost did. But Viv talked. Viv posted things online. If Julie named the dean's aide here, it would spread by morning, and he would know. The archive was watched now. The dorm was taken. She had nowhere left to think. Then Julie remembered the lot behind the library. The old van sat there, rusted through, wheels gone, half its paint peeling. Grace had once called it dead storage. Nobody watched a wreck. "Keep the room," Julie said. "Keep the computer. I don't need it." She grabbed her notebook and Grace's page and left Viv staring after her. She crossed campus in the dark. The library windows were lit, but the lot behind it was black. The van's door groaned when she pulled it. Inside smelled of mildew and old paper. She climbed in and shut the door. No camera. No aide. No watching eyes. Julie spread her pages on the dusty floor and worked by phone light. She wrote three facts in a row. The hooded man walked through locked doors. He controlled the records system. He knew the exact night Grace's presence was erased. Only one person fit all three. The dean's aide. The man with the leather folder. She underlined his face in her memory until her hand ached. She had him now. Not a guess. A match. Then her light caught something under the front seat. A shoe box, taped shut. She dragged it close and cut the tape. Inside sat a stack of student notebooks. Chemistry pages. One cover had her own name on it. Julie's breath stopped. Her stolen notes were here, in this van, the one place she'd chosen because no one watched it. Which meant someone already used it. The thief had a hiding spot, and she was sitting inside it.