Free Spirit

The room felt wrong the second the lights dimmed. Aidra lay stiff under the sheets, listening to something slam the wall every few minutes. Heavy. Deliberate. She nudged Charlotte, who swore under her breath and bolted for the window—nothing outside but moonlight and empty fields. Door next. Empty hallway. Whatever it was kept hammering every time they lay down again, like it knew when they’d almost relaxed. By dawn nobody had slept. Worse, the professor had vanished. Aidra tore through corridors, shoving open classroom doors, yelling the woman’s name until her throat cracked. Nothing. Just stillness thick enough to choke on. Across campus Aiden watched Abigail burn a cigarette down to the filter, eyes half-lidded against the glare. She spoke about ditching class and riding south, windswept and free, wherever the asphalt led. The girl’s stare stuck to every move Abigail made, heat crawling under her skin. She wanted the open road. She wanted the smoke on Abigail’s lips. She wanted Abigail under her hands, unbuttoned and reckless.