"Deep enough," Hazell finally said, his voice heavy with finality, sending a chill through my chest. The shovel sank into the earth with a muffled crunch, each scoop landing with a dull thud in the otherwise still night. Together, we lifted the body, the weight of it heavy and resistant, as though it was aware of the fate it was about to meet. As we placed it in the hole, a fleeting apology formed on my lips, but I held it back—no one would hear me, and maybe no one should. Not Peterson James. Not after all that had happened.

We stood in the clearing, the moon casting an eerie silver glow across the scene, making the shadows from the trees seem even more sinister. The leaves littered the forest floor, glowing faintly in the moonlight, while Hazell and I stood drenched in dark, sticky blood—a grotesque reflection of the pale light above. The beams of our flashlights sliced through the darkness, but the ground beneath us was soft, giving with each step we took.

The air was heavy, the forest alive with the quiet sounds of night. Beneath our feet, the earth crackled with the shifting of leaves and pine needles. The moon hung high above, a lazy crescent that barely moved through the treetops. Hazell cleared his throat, breaking the silence.

"This is fun," he said with a strange, almost gleeful edge to his voice.

I tightened my grip on the shovel, feeling the tension in my muscles, my body aching as I looked around, swallowing my rising dread. "Fun? We're burying a body." My words felt absurd even as they left my mouth, like a bitter joke I couldn't take back.

Hazell's smile spread wide, unbothered. "Remember our Boy Scout days, Ezra? Besides, who's gonna find us out here in the middle of nowhere?" His shovel dug deeper into the dirt, concealing our crime a little more with each motion, like the world was erasing the truth for us.

I looked up at him, disbelief thick in my voice. "A movie? Right now? How exactly are we supposed to do that? We're in the middle of nowhere."

A mischievous glint sparked in Hazell's eyes as he continued his work, seemingly unperturbed by the gravity of the moment. "Funny," he muttered with a grin, the corners of his mouth pulling into something darker, more twisted.

I gritted my teeth, shaking my head as I shoveled more dirt into the hole. "First the grave, Hazell. Then maybe we can talk about movies—if we're not caught by then."

Hazell let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "Caught? Out here? You're worried about that?" His grin widened, almost predatory, as he shoved the shovel into the earth with enthusiasm. The way he was acting... it was like he was enjoying every second of this, the whole thing like a game to him, like life didn't mean a thing.

The soil piled higher, and the pit grew deeper, burying our secret and Peterson's final moments beneath layers of dirt and shadows.

∆∆∆

Liza Azukian, my closest friend who could be both alluring and painfully ordinary, strolled down the hall, adjusting her backpack on her shoulder. She slammed my locker shut, pulling my attention back to her.

"How's it going, Liza?" I forced a smile, trying to mask the unease in my chest. Liza returned the smile and leaned casually against the nearby lockers.

"Did you hear about Peterson James?" she asked, her voice low but full of something I couldn't quite place.

"P-Pete? Uh—" I stammered, my words failing me as panic gripped me.

Peterson James, just fourteen and a math genius, was the latest casualty of my brother. The memory of him, bound and gagged, haunted my thoughts. I could still see Hazell looming over him, swinging the hammer with a chilling precision. It was over in an instant.

"Peterson? Haven't heard from him in a while," I lied, hoping my voice didn't betray me. Just then, Hazell walked up behind me, slapping my side with a force that startled me.

"Hey, Liza. What's up?" His voice was casual, too casual.

Liza turned her attention to him. "Peterson's been missing for over a day. They haven't found his body yet."

Hazell's grin flickered for a second before he masked it with a mock scowl. "Poor guy. I'm sure he's fine," he said with a shrug, his smile widening. I forced a breath, trying not to react.

"I hope they find him," I muttered, my gaze flicking to Hazell, trying not to show how tense I felt.

At that moment, Verma Ramirez—a striking Latina with oversized glasses and her hair styled in playful buns—joined us, followed closely by Thomas Chang, an athletic jock with an insufferable grin. Behind us, Sebastian Johnson, a towering football player, made his way over.

"Did you guys hear the news?" Sebastian asked, his voice deep with intent.

I felt the words crawl up my throat, but my mind was on the cops. Would they figure us out? Would they trace it back to Hazell and me?

"The police think they found Peterson's body in the woods today," Sebastian continued. "They're examining it now."

The news hit me like a cold wave, and I could feel my pulse quicken. Hazell chuckled quietly to himself, clearly unfazed.

"Shit," I muttered under my breath, not realizing I'd spoken out loud.

Liza gave me a concerned look. "You okay, Ezra?"

My mind spiraled back to that moment with Peterson. Hazell, standing above him, hammer in hand. *Thud.* The image was seared into my memory, and my heart pounded faster, a frantic rhythm I couldn't shake.

"I mean, poor guy," I said, my voice a little too shaky. "I can't imagine what it would be like to be murdered."

Thomas raised an eyebrow. "How do you know it's murder?"

I glanced at Hazell, whose gaze was fixed elsewhere.

"Do you know something we don't, Ezra?" Verma asked, her voice suddenly more intense.

"Why would I?" I shot back, though the image of Peterson's final moments played in my mind like a broken record. The pressure in my chest mounted.

Verma wrapped her arms around my neck, trying to ease the tension. "Ezra, relax. I was joking."

"Yeah, you're a little on edge today," Hazell chimed in, his tone fake-sympathetic. He motioned toward the hallway. "After you, ladies," he said, flashing a grin.

We moved quickly, trying to beat the bell, my stomach still a heavy weight in my chest.

∆∆∆

The bell rang, and Mr. Pepperman rose from his desk, adjusting his glasses. The classroom was eerily quiet.

"As you may or may not have heard," he started, "the police believe they found Peterson's body today, likely in the woods. The counselor is available for anyone who needs support."

I chewed at my nails, staring at Hazell, whose expression had become unreadable.

"Yes, Hazell?" Mr. Pepperman called, as Hazell raised his hand with an innocent grin plastered on his face.

"How do they, like, examine a body and all that?" Hazell asked, his voice dripping with curiosity.

Mr. Pepperman sighed, clearly growing tired of the conversation. "You'd have to ask Mr. Woods, your science teacher, about that. But right now, I suggest we focus on class."

The bell rang, and students shuffled out of the room. Hazell's eyes met mine for a brief second, and my heart hammered in my chest. *Thump-thump.* *Thump-thump.*

"Remember," Mr. Pepperman said, "Ms. Hale is available if anyone feels the need to talk."

Hazell and I left the classroom through separate routes—he to the men's room, me to Ms. Hale's office.

∆∆∆

Ms. Hale was seated behind her desk, sipping coffee as I entered, my breath shallow and erratic.

"Ezra, are you alright?" she asked softly, her gaze sharp as I took a seat across from her.

I didn't answer right away, instead focusing on trying to calm my breathing—counting under my breath—1–2–3, 1–2–3.

"Do you think he suffered?" I asked suddenly, tapping my fingers nervously against the armrest.

Ms. Hale adjusted her glasses. "I'm not sure, Ezra, but I believe he's at peace now."

The silence stretched out, heavy and suffocating. She shifted in her chair, then spoke again. "Do you believe in God?"

I couldn't find the words. The image of Peterson's bloodied face and Hazell's hammer pressed against my mind. A book fell from her desk, and I flinched, feeling a surge of panic rise within me.

"No!" I shouted before quickly softening my voice. "I mean... I don't know."

Ms. Hale's expression softened. "Do you ever feel responsible for someone else's pain, even when you couldn't have stopped it?"

"Yes," I whispered, my voice cracking. "I feel like I could have done something, that maybe I should have."

Ms. Hale paused before speaking again, her voice kind but firm. "Maybe it's time to reconsider your guilt, Ezra. Feeling sad is one thing, but taking responsibility for something that wasn't in your control is another."

I tapped my fingers on the table again, this time more urgently. "Unnecessary," I muttered, though the word didn't feel like it fit.

"Alright, Ezra," she said gently. "But remember, if you ever need to talk, I'm here."

I grabbed my backpack and glanced at the book that had fallen—"The Lovely Bones". A story of a murdered girl trapped between life and death. I couldn't help but wonder if that's how Peterson felt now.

Nodding at Ms. Hale, I left the room. Hazell's influence hung over me, a constant reminder of how far we had both fallen. My guilt weighed me down like a stone, and I couldn't escape the fact that I was just as guilty as he was. Just as complicit in his madness.

I was no better than him.