I.
The old treehouse on the edge of campus is burning to the ground as I type. I know what you're thinking: why should you care? Well, Hanna Banana. You might want to check your drawers. ― A
Matchbooks. Black leather gloves. An empty green canteen that still reeked of gas.
This was all in Hanna Marin's underwear drawer, and she had no idea how any of it had gotten there.
She looked around the room. Her dorm at Rosewood Academy was small, but practical. She had decorated the room with the bare minimum ― sheets on the bed, a lamp on the nightstand, and a laptop that sometimes worked and always stayed open on her desk.
She didn't have a roommate, and no one else had the key to her dorm. How someone could have broken into her room without wrecking the door or having the other nosy Cavanaugh Hall residents notice was beyond Hanna. She shuddered, suddenly feeling exposed.
She put the items back in the drawer, hid them at the bottom. Imagine explaining that to the dean: "Someone burned the treehouse down? What? No! I have no idea how those fire-starting tools got mixed in with my push-up bras!"
Hanna sighed. Shut her eyes and inhaled. For now, she would pretend it didn't happen. The text, the equipment, all of it ― swept aside.
In the morning, though, she would have to get to the bottom of this.