Melinda’s POV
I found him in the hallway at 3:24 a.m., barefoot, shirt half-tucked, staring out the front window like something might reappear if he waited long enough.
He hadn’t come back to bed.
Hadn’t made a sound.
I didn’t speak at first.
Just stepped beside him.
He handed me the photo without looking at me.
A printed shot — grainy, almost faded.
James, maybe nineteen, arm around a boy I didn’t recognize. They both wore lanyards. College IDs, probably. There was laughter in their posture, even if their smiles were small.
“What is this?” I asked.
His voice was rough.
“That’s Anthony Morgan.”
The name the stranger gave at the school.
The name on the visitor log.
“He was my best friend,” James said. “Freshman year.”
“Was?”
“He disappeared sophomore year. Dropped out. No wa
