Inside the Crest: The Fall of Eli Kingston

Chapter 3: The Girl With the Silver Moon

Eli didn’t sleep much that night.

He lay in his bed staring at the ceiling, listening to the steady hum of the radiator and Zayn’s occasional snores. His mind wouldn’t settle. Not with those words echoing in his head:

You’re being watched.

The fall doesn’t happen all at once.

And then the girl’s voice, too sharp to forget:

"You’re definitely being hunted."

He hadn’t even gotten her name.

But her face was burned into his memory, the directness of her eyes, the silver crescent moon around her neck, the calm way she’d looked at him like she already knew how the story ended.

He didn’t like being watched. He didn’t like not knowing.

At 5:12 a.m., Eli rolled out of bed, threw on a hoodie, and went for a walk. The campus was eerily still at that hour, all long shadows and whispering wind. He didn’t see any figures in grey. No more notes.

But the silence wasn’t peaceful. It was expectant, like the university itself was holding its breath.

By the time the first sunbeam touched the chapel roof, he was already back in Lancaster Hall, drinking black coffee from a chipped mug he found in the communal kitchen.

Zayn wandered in around 8:00, still in pajama pants and a sarcastic “I Woke Up For This?” T-shirt.

“You ever sleep?” Zayn asked, pouring cereal into a plastic bowl.

“Barely.”

“Can’t imagine why. It’s not like you’re being stalked or anything.”

Eli shot him a look.

Zayn grinned. “Kidding. Sort of.”

“I didn’t chase you around campus last night, did I?”

Zayn raised his hands in mock surrender. “Wasn’t me. I was face-first in a bean burrito watching horror movies. You’re welcome to check the security footage.”

“I might.”

Zayn sat down across from him, chewing loudly. “So. What’s your plan? Just let this mystery person keep sending you riddles? Or are we going full detective now?”

Eli took a slow sip of coffee. “I need a name. That girl from class — the one who saw me last night.”

Zayn frowned. “Dark hair? Kinda intense? Silver necklace?”

“That’s the one.”

“I think her name’s Lena Moore. I had econ with her last semester. She doesn’t talk much. Crazy smart, though. And not a fan of Crest culture. I heard she turned down a spot at Yale to come here.”

Eli raised an eyebrow. “Why would anyone do that?”

Zayn shrugged. “To expose something, maybe? That’s the rumor. She’s on some kind of crusade. Or she just likes watching people burn.”

Interesting.

Eli filed the name away. Lena Moore. It fit.

Later that day, he spotted her again.

She was walking out of the library with a stack of books pressed against her chest and a look on her face like she didn’t have time for nonsense.

He fell into step beside her, casual but intentional.

“Stalking me now?” she asked without looking up.

“Returning the favor.”

“I wasn’t stalking. I was existing. You just happened to notice.”

“You said something last night.”

“I say a lot of things.”

“You said I was being hunted.”

She stopped walking and turned to face him fully. Her eyes were slate-gray in the daylight, sharp but unreadable. “I said what I saw.”

“And what exactly did you see?”

“Someone chasing ghosts. Someone trying to look like he’s not scared, when he is. And someone who’s in way over his head.”

Eli didn’t answer immediately. He studied her face, the set of her jaw, the fire behind her stillness.

“I don’t scare easily,” he said at last.

“You should. This place isn’t safe.”

“Then why are you here?”

Lena gave a small smile. “Because it’s easier to fight a monster when you’re inside its mouth.”

That shut him up.

She adjusted her books. “Look. I don’t know what game you’ve walked into, Kingston, but I’ve seen this before. Notes. Threats. Secrets that eat people alive.”

Eli narrowed his eyes. “You’re not making sense.”

“You will. Soon.” She turned to go, then paused. “Don’t trust anyone who offers answers too quickly. That’s how they pull you in.”

And just like that, she was gone.

Back in their dorm later, Zayn was playing music and scrolling on his phone. Eli sat on his bed, re-reading the notes for the fifth time.

“You look like you’re about to go full conspiracy theorist,” Zayn said without looking up. “Should I start building you a corkboard with red string?”

“I think she’s involved.”

“Lena?”

Eli nodded. “She knows something. She’s either warning me… or testing me.”

“You think she sent the notes?”

“No. She’s too direct. But she’s connected.”

Zayn flopped back onto his bed. “Alright, Sherlock. What’s the next move?”

“I need to know who else got these notes. If Lena’s seen this before, maybe someone else has too.”

Zayn sat up. “There’s one place where all the dark stuff on campus ends up.”

“Where?”

“The Subnet.”

Eli frowned. “The what?”

“It’s like a hidden forum. Not officially part of the university. Students share rumors, stories, evidence — anonymously. You need an invite to access it.”

Eli raised a brow. “You have access?”

“Do I look like someone who plays by the rules?” Zayn grinned.

He grabbed his laptop and opened a file buried under layers of password protection. The interface that loaded looked basic — dark background, red font, no branding.

“This is where people post everything the administration tries to bury,” Zayn explained. “Suicides. Faculty scandals. The stuff that never makes it to the campus email. It’s brutal, but real.”

Eli leaned closer as Zayn typed in a few keywords: Kingston, anonymous letters, Crest secrets.

At first, nothing came up.

Then, a thread popped open. Dated last semester. Titled:

“The Watchers Are Still Here.”

Zayn clicked on it.

Inside were a series of cryptic posts:

> They watch the legacies. Always the legacies. It starts with notes, then shadows. Then things disappear.

Don’t ignore the first warning. The second one always cuts deeper.

Kingston. If you’re reading this — you’re already marked.

Eli went still.

Zayn looked over at him. “Someone’s been waiting for you.”

That night, the third note appeared.

It was under Eli’s door. Folded perfectly, like the others.

He picked it up, read it slowly.

“You’re walking a path built by the dead.

Step carefully, Kingston.

This time, it’s your name on the stone.”