He Comes At Night

Third POV:

Rose lay cocooned in the comforting confines of her bed, her thoughts spiraling over everything that had happened since her return. It hadn't even been 24 hours. 

Her first morning back, and already she'd managed to get lost, visit the ER, and—oh, let's not forget—sleepwalk into the woods behind her house. 

What could possibly be next? 

Her brain quickly chimed in with the answer: Getting late on the first day of college. 

That realization jolted her into motion. She had to get up. Quickly. 

Today marked her first day at Lake Erie College, a month into the academic year. It was a peculiar situation, being granted admission despite missing every deadline and skipping the aptitude test. Not that her credentials were lacking—no, it was her family name that opened the doors. That, and the dean, Mr. Adrian, who had been a close friend of her parents. 

She vaguely remembered him from her childhood: a jovial man who used to visit her home for dinner parties when life had been simpler. Back when her parents were still alive. He even had a son, someone she used to play with, though his name eluded her now. 

An hour later, Rose stood at the gates of the college, staring up at the bold letters that read: *The Lake Erie College.* 

It wasn't as intimidating as she'd imagined. The weather had shifted, warmer now after the freezing winds of the previous night. The campus hummed with life. Students were scattered across the grounds—some walking, others chatting, and a few making out. 

Well, at least some things don't change. 

Her gaze moved to the jocks tossing a football on the field in front of the main building. She hadn't expected the college to be so expansive or the architecture so imposing, with its old brick walls and grand windows. 

Earlier that morning, she'd exchanged texts with Aria, her best friend. Aria had promised to show up on time—for once in her life—and meet Rose at the entrance. But, as expected, she was nowhere to be found. 

With a sigh, Rose decided she couldn't wait any longer. She made her way to the parking lot, where she parked her shiny, slightly bruised Ferrari—a gift from her uncle Jake. 

Well, "gift" was a generous term. He'd handed her the keys after she'd nearly trashed the car the night before. Rose was sure he didn't want to be seen driving a scratched Ferrari around town. 

Still, it wasn't a bad consolation prize. 

It was her first day, after all, and though the idea of being alone on campus wasn't thrilling, it wasn't high school, where everyone judged you within five seconds. Surely college students were more civilized. 

Right? 

She stepped onto the grounds, navigating toward the main building. 

The campus buzzed with activity, and she noticed a few glances thrown her way. Some curious, some intrigued, and some directed at her car. 

The students seemed to be making the most of the pleasant weather, lounging and chatting outside as though they had no classes to attend. 

Rose's first stop was the dean's office. She needed to confirm her enrollment and discuss the logistics of joining a month late. 

She was focused on getting there when someone bumped into her from behind, sending her stumbling forward. She barely caught herself before hitting the pavement. 

"Watch where you're going, hag." 

Believe it or not, that comment did not come from Rose who was the one getting bumped.

The voice was sharp, dripping with entitlement. It came from a girl strutting past Rose, flanked by two others who snickered at her comment. 

Rose straightened, her cheeks flushing with irritation. An apology was apparently too much to expect. 

Instead, she was being blamed—for what? Existing in the same space as these self-appointed queens? 

Oh no. That wasn't going to fly. 

Without thinking, Rose caught up with them, grabbing the girl in the middle by the arm and spinning her around. The startled expression on her face was almost worth it. 

"You better apologize," Rose said, her voice steady. "You're the one who bumped into me. Maybe you should get your eyes—and your head—checked, Blindy." 

Rose felt pretty proud of herself for playing with her words. She was a blonde hence, blondie, therefore Blindy. Wordplay. 

The girl blinked in confusion, her sharp features twisting into a scowl. "What did you just call me?" 

Up close, the resemblance to the Mean Girls trio was uncanny. The girl in the middle was clearly the ringleader, with her perfectly styled hair and icy demeanor. The other two, who flanked her like loyal bodyguards, looked equally offended but didn't dare speak. 

"I said," Rose replied, tilting her head slightly, "maybe a doctor could check your head too. You know, in case your brain's as defective as your manners." 

That did it. The ringleader's face darkened with anger.