Kain pushed open the door to Cherry and Jasmine’s shared room, and the stark contrast between the two halves of the room immediately struck him.
Jasmine’s side was immaculate, reflecting the quiet maturity of a teenager who also has the added responsibility of being the eldest daughter among many children.
The walls were painted in calming pastel shades—soft lavender and pale peach. A delicate jewelry stand displayed bracelets and necklaces, most of them likely handmade or gifted by the other children.
A vanity table stood against the wall, its surface arranged with care: a comb, a small mirror, and a bottle of jasmine-scented perfume.
Her neatly made bed had a quilt of soft blues and pinks, and beside it sat a stack of novels, their spines showing well-loved creases.
Cherry’s side was its polar opposite. The walls were adorned with vibrant, clashing posters of beasts, far off landscapes, and hand-drawn doodles taped haphazardly.
Her bedspread was a mish-mash of color—bright yellows, greens, and blues—crumpled and half-falling off the mattress.
Trinkets of all kinds cluttered her desk: a chipped snow globe, a box of shiny stones, a bird feather tied with a string, and what appeared to be a broken compass.
Kain’s eyes locked onto a peculiar item on Cherry’s desk—a glowing spiritual orb. Its soft, pulsating light shifted between hues of blue and green, radiating an energy that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. His brow furrowed. How had she gotten something like that?
The creatures near Brightstar City were far too weak to create a spiritual orb, and Cherry wasn’t even a beast-tamer.
“Cherry…” he murmured, a mix of pride and exasperation in his voice. Truly out of all the members of the orphanage she was definitely the most resourceful… and worrisome.
Kain’s attention shifted to the floor near Cherry’s bed. A single wooden board had been pried loose, revealing a hollow space beneath. The edges of the opening were slightly worn, as if this hiding spot had been used frequently.
Inside were stacks of journals, meticulously organized into two neat piles—one black, one white. The covers were worn, evidence of countless hours Cherry must have spent writing in them. Two books, one from each pile, lay at the edge of the opening, as if someone had set them aside.
“The other children must have already gone through these,” Serena observed, gesturing to the slightly haphazard arrangement of the books around the hole. “They probably left these out, knowing you’d want to read them.”
Kain picked up the white journal first, its cover cool and smooth under his fingers. He opened it, revealing Cherry’s neat but slightly rushed handwriting. Sketches filled the margins, and notes jotted down with enthusiasm covered the pages.
The first few entries were harmless, detailing school days, playground dramas, and her attempts to convince Jasmine to join her “adventures.” But as he flipped further, the tone shifted. Mentions of strange disappearances began to surface.
[Another kid from school is gone. Third one this month, and the eighth since the school-year started. The teachers aren’t telling us anything, and it doesn’t look like the city guards investigating the incidents have a clue.]
[Harvey hasn’t come to school in 3 days! I’d never wished for someone to just be sick more. But I hope he’s not missing. I went by his home, but the house was empty.]
[Something is weird. Harvey recently started seeing a tutor, and I found out that Jessica B from the year above us who went missing two months ago had the same tutor. It’s only a connection between 2 of the 8 disappearances, so is it just a coincidence.]
[I asked around, the tutor’s name is
Heather Frost
]
Reading this, Kain realized that this must have been the passage that stood out to Bridge. Cherry’s mention of Heather was the last entry before her disappearance. There’s no guarantee that shortly after this entry she didn’t start asking around about Heather or even gone to meet her.
Not to mention there was something else that stood out to Kain…
“Why would your cousin be a tutor?” Kain turned to Serena interrogatively, “Did her family cut her off?”
The Heather Frost that Kain knew was not the type of person anyone would expect to volunteer as a tutor—or succeed as one. She was the epitome of arrogance, carrying herself with a sense of superiority that bordered on disdain for anyone she deemed beneath her—which was everyone in the small Brightstar City.
Patience and understanding were qualities she seemed to lack entirely. If a student struggled, Heather was more likely to roll her eyes or offer a biting comment than to find a new way to explain the material.
Her self-centered nature only worsened the problem. Heather’s world revolved around herself. If the slightest inconvenience arose, she would abandon any responsibility without a second thought. It was easy to imagine her showing up late—or not at all—for a session, claiming she had “more important things to do”—after all, she’d acted exactly like that when Kain had had the misfortune of being assigned group projects with her in the past.
And even if she managed to show up, her attention would drift toward herself! Heather loved to talk, but only about topics that involved her, her accomplishments, or her opinions. Any student she was teaching would quickly find themselves sidelined in their own lesson.
That
kind of person suddenly wanted to be a tutor for children?!
Even Serena with what she knew of her cousin wore an uncharacteristically dumbfounded expression.
“No…not to my knowledge. My uncle and aunt spoiled Heather greatly growing up—to a fault. I could never imagine them cutting her off…even if she didn’t manage to awaken an affinity.” The end of the sentence was finished off much quieter, with a slightly solemn tone, but Kain was to preoccupied to care about the reason.
His attention had now shifted to Cherry’s “Little Black Book,” which was what Cherry liked to call “the good stuff.”