The next morning—Cass's second day of scheming—he sat on the edge of his bed, hands locked, mind spinning like a storm.
If Kai hadn't slipped up in front of him, maybe he would slip when Cass wasn't there.
But that was the problem.
How could he be there… without being there?
Cass chewed on his lip until it almost bled, thinking. Replaying every option. Every angle. Every possible loophole.
Then an idea sparked. A stupid idea. A dangerous idea.
An idea so desperate it almost made him laugh.
The ceiling.
If he couldn't sit by Kai's bed without drawing suspicion, then he would hide above him. Watch him. Listen to him. Record him. Without ever being seen.
Once the thought lodged itself in his brain, there was no shaking it off. He could already feel the mania in his veins, urging him forward.
~~~
Finding the ceiling access wasn't easy. He spent hours wandering the hospital's deserted hallways, pretending to be lost whenever a nurse glanced his way. His palms sweated, his stomach twisted, but his eyes never stopped scanning the corners, the vents, the subtle cracks in the plaster where panels might open.
Finally—at the far end of a quiet corridor—he found it.
A maintenance hatch. Small, rusted, forgotten.
Perfect.
Cass's heart pounded as he dragged a chair beneath it. His hands trembled when he gripped the metal, pulling himself up. The hatch groaned loudly, and for a terrifying moment he thought someone might hear.
But no one came.
With a shaky breath, Cass shoved himself inside. The air was thick with dust and the faint hum of electricity. His knees scraped against beams, his shirt caught on nails. Every movement was clumsy, painful, noisy. But he forced himself forward. Crawling. Slowly. Like an animal.
All for Kai.
It felt endless shuffling through the cramped darkness, guided only by the faint grid of vents below. His shoulders ached, his lungs burned with every inhale of dust. Once, he almost slipped, his foot catching nothing but air, his body dangling above what had to be a deadly drop.
But he didn't stop. Couldn't stop.
At last, he found it.
The vent above Kai's ward.
Cass pressed his ear against the cool metal, holding his breath.
And then he heard it. Kai's voice.
Soft. Smooth. Controlled.
The voice that could convince anyone he was innocent. The voice that had turned everyone against Cass.
A thrill ran through Cass's spine.
He pulled out his small recording device, clicking it on with shaking fingers. The red light blinked faintly in the shadows as Cass pressed himself flatter against the ceiling, straining to hear every word.
From morning until night, he listened. Waiting. Hoping.
But nothing.
Not even when those bastards Kai's little circle came in. They spoke with polished conviction, voices like rehearsed actors. Every lie was seamless, every denial sharp. They laughed, chatted, whispered about him as though it was already a fact:
Cass had tried to rape Kai.
Not a single slip.
Not one crack in their armor.
These bastards were alert. Too alert.
Cass's chest tightened with a new weight. What if this plan… didn't work either? What if every trick, every risk, every shred of desperation ended in nothing?
For a moment, the darkness pressed harder around him. The dust, the beams, the suffocating silence it all clawed at his mind. He could almost hear himself breaking.
No.
He refused.
He shoved the doubt down, forcing his heart to steady.
Maybe—just maybe—all the times he'd unknowingly fallen asleep while listening, Kai's facade had slipped. Maybe the recorder had caught something while he wasn't awake to hear it.
That thought fragile and reckless as it was, was enough to keep him moving.
With hope clenched tight in his chest, Cass began the agonizing crawl back. Every scrape, every wobble, every hiss of pain was drowned out by the one desperate truth:
He had to check.
He had to know.
Cass climbed down from the ceiling, step by trembling step, until his feet hit the hospital floor again. His muscles screamed, his skin burned, but his mind… his mind was already running ahead.
By the time he stumbled into his dorm room, his heart was hammering with something almost like victory.
Maybe… just maybe…
The recorder had caught it.