Zelda's POV

The drive to campus is unsettlingly quiet. The roads are empty, everyone seems to be gone for the holidays. I shoot Link a quick message, informing him that I will be a little later than expected, and that I will explain everything when I'm back.

The Uber driver pulls into the deserted parking lot outside the administration building. The campus is still, the windows dark. It's surreal seeing the whole university closed.

I use my keycard to unlock the door and head upstairs to Father's old office. The hallways are eerily quiet. There's no one here—no bustling students, no faculty running to their next meetings.

Inside the office, I move toward the large desk that always seemed so daunting when facing Father. This is where I told him I wanted to marry Ramses, and that I was pregnant with his child. This is where I yelled at him for expelling Link, clueless that he would later advocate for Link's readmission. This is where Father grounded me freshman year, when he confiscated my phone and locked it in the top left drawer.

I take a seat in his chair and unlock that very drawer to retrieve the hard drive. It's hard to believe that this tiny thing might soon take down a monster.

I plug it into the computer, the bright screen the only source of light in this large building. I have never watched the video. Until now, I simply couldn't bring myself to take a look. But I have to, to make sure it's all there–everything they need to take Karusa down for good.

My fingers hover over the mouse for a long moment, before clicking on the file. The video begins to load, and my heart pounds in my ears. This is it.

The camera that filmed the moment of the assault was located outside the rec center, somewhere in an overhead corner not far from where I was standing. My body tenses as I see myself from the camera's view—a version of me that seems so far removed from who I am now.

Three guys, carrying their equipment, move toward Lorule's bus, then one breaks away to talk to me. It's Karusa, his baseball bat resting on his shoulders. I remember the look he gave me. That awful, rotten smile.

He moves closer on the screen, cornering me, and when I try to push myself past him, he blocks my escape with his arm. Goosebumps rise on my arms and legs as I watch every move of his with the utmost attention, wondering what is going on behind those lifeless eyes. Was he thinking of Malice? How he's doing her a favor? Or of Ganondorf, and how he'll punish them both if Karusa doesn't go through with the assault? Or was he not thinking of either? Was he, perhaps, finding pleasure in this after all? Was Malice wrong about him?

In the video, I clearly tell him to stop. I don't necessarily look terrified, but I am visibly distressed by his behavior. He goes through with it anyway, kissing me just below my earlobe. And then I slap him. It looks gentle from this perspective, his head doesn't even move when my hand collides with it. The camera captures how he raises his bat, cusses me out, and how I trip backward and shield myself.

Link appears just in time, shoving Karusa away from me. Karusa plunges down in front of me with Link towering between us. Unlike what happened at the baseball brawl, it is Karusa who takes the first swing this time. Link blocks the attack and secures the bat in his own grip. Threats are fired, threats I didn't need to hear again.

"If you ever touch her again, I will beat you unconscious," Link said to Karusa.

"You won't always be there, you know? You can't always protect her," Karusa said to Link. "One day, when she's alone, I'll be back. And she will regret rejecting me."

Both kept their promises... Both were right.

Karusa then provokes Link some more, tempting him to use the bat. I can't tell if he just wanted Link to get in trouble, or if he secretly sought the punishment... the pain.

The last view moments of the video show how Link tosses the bat onto the lawn and instead uses his fists to fight Karusa, as if to keep it all fair. Or to prove that he doesn't need a weapon to beat Karusa. My past self was frozen to the spot for a good ten seconds before I dragged Link away from the scene, leaving Karusa to pick himself up.

The video ends there, and I find myself staring at the frozen screen, the image burned into my mind as the room plunges into stillness. Darkness and silence wrap around me, yet my thoughts are louder than ever. I don't know what to feel—fury or fear. Sadness? Regret? Disgust. Maybe a little of everything, swirling together into something I can't untangle.

I wish I had some of Link's courage, that fierce determination that drives him to stand up and act no matter the cost. If I had even a fraction of it, maybe this would feel easier. Maybe I wouldn't feel so powerless. Taking this to the police should be a simple choice. A moral obligation. But it's not that easy, is it? I fear that they will hold Link accountable for Karusa's injuries. What if this evidence, meant to expose the truth, only brings Link more pain? He's been through so much already. It would be tragic if this video caused him to be expelled again. This time Father wouldn't be here to protect him...

But what choice do I have? If I keep this hidden, if I let my fear guide me, Karusa might never face accountability. He'll keep walking around with the belief that he can do whatever he wants without consequence.

I close my eyes and exhale a long breath. The truth is the truth, no matter how painful. It is not fair to keep Karusa's assault a secret just to protect Link. It's hypocritical. I told Malice I'm not like that. The right choice is to tell the authorities about this and let them decide on a fitting punishment for all parties involved.

I unplug the hard drive and slide it into my coat pocket. Once I hand this over to the police, Karusa shall no longer dictate my life. I will move forward, fully, without the shadows of his cruelty hanging over me like a puppeteer. It's time.

Starting now, I want to finally do all the things I have been pushing off for too long. First, I'll take Karusa down. Then, I will appoint the vice president as the new president of the university. Impa was right; this endless juggling of administrative duties in my Father's absence has only been a way to keep myself busy, to avoid thinking too much. But it's not my responsibility, and it's certainly not my future.

Once that's taken care of, I want to apply to a research position on campus. It's been on my mind since last semester, and I think it's okay for me to focus on my own ambitions for once, to do something for myself instead of always trying to fill the gaps for others. Majoring in political science was my father's choice, not mine. I need to accept that there is no pleasing him anymore. I can, and I should, focus on Biology.

I order an Uber, lock the office, and leave the building. The walkways outside are quiet—too quiet.

"Be careful, you might be a target," the officer's warning plays on a loop in my mind. "It's dangerous to go alone, especially at night."

And here I am wandering around alone. At night.

This campus is safe, I remind myself. But the whisper of wind and the shadows of swaying trees make my grip tighten on the hard drive in my coat pocket.

I better take the shortcut through the student center building. It's warm, and it's safe.

But as I enter the building, it doesn't feel as safe as I had hoped. Never have I seen the cafeteria completely void of life. It's so quiet and empty in here that my boots echo against the linoleum as I walk.

I cross the vast room, ready to head for the exit, when the faintest sound of movement stops me cold. My breath catches. I strain to listen—there it is again. Footsteps.

Eyes squinted in the darkness, I try to scan my surroundings for shapes and movement. Maybe I'm just imagining things. But then, from the corner of my eye, I notice something shifting near the serving line.

I quicken my pace, eyes on the glowing green exit sign. I'm so close when the sound comes again, closer this time, and I whip around, my heart pulsating in my throat.

A man, standing right in front of me, is all I can process before I stumble back against the wall. The figure steps into view, and for one horrifying second, I expect the worst. But then—

"Shad?" I exhale, my voice shaky.

He freezes, equally startled, clutching the strap of his bag like a lifeline. "Good heavens, Zelda, I didn't mean to scare you!" His wide eyes blink behind his glasses, and he adjusts his scarf nervously.

"What are you doing here? It's Christmas," I pant, still trying to calm my racing heart.

He looks genuinely flustered, glancing around as though embarrassed by all of this. "I just stopped by to heat up some food," he explains quickly.

"Heat up food?" I question. I might be a little paranoid, maybe it's the officer's warning that makes me think of the worst, but is it possible Shad was following me? Does he work for Ganondorf too? "Why are you here?" I ask again.

"I've been in the lab all day, working on some new relics," he admits. "And I hadn't eaten since morning. So I came to use the microwave." He opens his bag to show me the steaming tupperware. "I was just heading back now."

His words sink in, and my nerves slowly unravel, replaced by relief. "Oh," I manage, leaning back against the wall. "I—I thought..." I swallow, shaking my breath. "Never mind." I must look like a frantic nutjob.

"Are you... alright?" he asks with an uneven smile. "You look a bit pale."

"I'm okay," I say. "Just startled."

"For what it is worth, you startled me just as much," he laughs. "So what are you doing here?"

"I was just... handling something personal," I say vaguely.

He nods, clearly curious but too polite to pry. "I see. Well, I should get back to the lab before my dinner gets cold."

He turns slightly, but the officer's words flash through my mind again, making me stiffen. I hesitate, my fingers clutching the hard drive inside my pocket.

"Shad?"

He stops and looks back at me.

"Would you, err... would you mind staying with me until my Uber arrives?"

He blinks, clearly surprised.

"I know it sounds ridiculous," I rush the words, "but everything is a bit eerie at night and... well..."

Understanding dawns in his expression. "Certainly. I'd be happy to."

I thank him with a shy nod and we step outside together in silence. It's only been two weeks since I last saw him, but it feels longer. I don't recall much of my last weeks of school, given that I was too busy with presidential duties and funeral arrangements to be truly present mentally. In retrospect, I have no idea how I managed to complete all my assignments on time AND plan the funeral AND attend my father's meetings.

"I'm terribly sorry about your father," Shad says, as though he's plucked the thought straight from my mind. His tone has softened, and a rare tenderness reshapes his normally composed expression. Genuine compassion marks every line as he looks at me.

"Thank you," I reply, my voice subdued. "I've been doing a lot better recently. I have incredible friends—they make even the hardest days bearable."

Shad's eyes leave mine, returning to the dark parking lot far ahead. "You strike me as someone who emerges stronger from every battle."

Unsure how to respond, I change the topic to something I have been meaning to address for a while now. "I'm... I'm sorry if my final research project didn't meet my usual standards. My mind wasn't where it needed to be. I just couldn't seem to focus on anything during finals week..."

"Please, you need not worry about that," he reassures me.

"I meant to email you about it."

"About what?"

"My final paper for your class. I was so embarrassed when I turned it in, so I considered sending an email to... I don't know... prepare you for how terrible it was going to be."

"What makes you think it was terrible?"

"It felt incomplete."

"I disagree. Your work throughout the semester was nothing short of exceptional. From the very first assignment, I remember thinking, 'This might be the most polished, thoroughly researched response to a research exercise that I have ever received.' I loved how frankly you charted your twists and turns, your missteps, your breakthroughs, and how you kept delving deeper even when you had answered the question in its most direct form."

I feel my whole face heat up against the chill of the night. "I really appreciate that, but it doesn't change the fact that my final project wasn't my best work. I don't think it deserved an A. I just hope you didn't give me a good grade out of sympathy because my father..."

Shad seems to understand the direction my words are taking. He shakes his head before I can finish my thought.

"I assure you," he interjects unhurried, "your grade had nothing to do with your father. It was purely based on the merits of your work, Zelda. The depth of your research was remarkable. In fact, your bibliography was the most extensive I have ever received in my five times of teaching this course, and it lent itself beautifully to some extraordinary scene-setting. Your ability to quote a first-hand account of the excavation at the Zonai ruins, capturing the workers' astonishment at uncovering the temple, was particularly evocative. Or your speculation of the Zonai having chosen remote and treacherous cliffs—a combination of spiritual reverence for high places and the practical advantage of defensibility—was not only plausible but very insightful. Needless to say, your use of informed conjecture is, I think, among the most effective I've encountered in student writing... So carefully grounded in the available context, but pushing beyond that context into the plausible realms of imagination."

"Shad..." I am at an utter lack of words. The part of me that is insecure, the one that craves to prove itself, is eager to disagree with his praise. But how could I possibly be so rude as to debate his own opinion?

"Don't sell yourself short," Shad adds. "You may not think your essay was worthy of an A, but that's because your standards have always been set far above the typical A. Your final project, despite your doubts, was more thorough, more thoughtful, and better researched than anything I saw from your peers. Don't forget that this course was also designed for graduate students. Whether or not you consider it your best work, you earned that grade, and you should be proud of what you accomplished." He pauses, looking up at the black sky with a pondering expression. "Of course, there are still areas for improvement. There was a part of the puzzle that you didn't quite untangle in your writing."

"Exactly," I say.

"But," he goes on, "that doesn't make it incomplete. In archival work, as in life, there are always missing pieces—buried beneath layers we may never uncover. We often work with what we have: broken artifacts, partial texts, or clues scattered across centuries. The goal isn't always to uncover every fragment but to interpret the story they tell. Even gaps hold meaning. And being able to work with those gaps is what I was trying to teach you guys all semester... To resolve the mystery entirely would be fantastic, sure, but to shed light on it, to bring us closer to understanding, is often all we can do. And your work did just that. It told a story, and shared something that would otherwise have been lost to time. Out of all the papers I read this semester, yours was the one that made me want to pull up the databases and dive into the archives myself, searching for that missing piece. And that's a testament to the eloquence of your research and storytelling."

We reach my pick up location and come to a slow halt.

"I really don't know what to say, Shad."

"There needn't always be words. Like I said..." He diverts his eyes from the sky briefly to glance at me, "even gaps have meaning."

I respond with a faint nod. "I suppose I am still trying to understand the gaps in life."

"I wouldn't worry too much if I were you. You have a remarkable talent for these pursuits. And while I am sorely tempted to extend another invitation for you to join my research team, I believe I've pestered you enough on that front."

"Actually," I begin, sounding a bit more confident again, "I've thought about it. And if there's still room on your team, I'd love to join. I think it would be an incredible experience."

"Wonderful. I'll prepare the paperwork and send it your way immediately. I assure you, you'll find that archaeology can rival biology in its excitement—if not surpass it."

My Uber arrives and I turn to face Shad fully. "Thank you for waiting with me."

"It's no trouble at all."

"Don't overwork yourself, Shad. Those relics aren't going anywhere."

"As to you, Zelda. Merry Christmas."

On the drive back to the townhome, Shad's words linger on my mind. Everything he said was an unexpected validation I didn't realize I craved. I've been so wrapped up in my responsibilities that I've neglected the quiet victories within myself. Maybe he's right and it's time to believe in my own potential, to stop doubting my worth and start embracing what I've accomplished. The path ahead doesn't seem so daunting now that the police are going to take down Ganon, and possibly Karusa too. I wonder if they have caught one of them yet, maybe both. I will have to tell Malice soon. She will be upset, but she will understand eventually that this is the right thing to do.

Having arrived at the townhome, I tip the driver and step into the house.

"I'm back," I call out.

I leave my keys by the door and enter the living room. There is no one here. The lights are all on, but everyone who was here when I left has vanished. No Link, no Mipha, no Revali, no Sidon, no Impa or Kiroh.

With some hesitation, I slide off my coat, my head turning toward the empty kitchen. "Anyone home?" I ask, almost laughing at myself as if this was some sort of prank. A joke I'm not in on. A surprise party.

But nobody is hiding behind the furniture, and nobody is jumping out into sight shouting "Surprise!"

Pik's vinyl is still on the turntable, the needle resting at the end of the tracks.

"Link?" I shout up the stairs. Where is everyone? The house feels...empty.

My breath catches as a faint unease slithers through me. I call out their names again, but nobody replies.

I pull out my phone and start dialing, one by one—Link, then Revali, then Mipha. Each call rings through, unanswered. I try Impa next, but it's the same—nothing but an unanswered tone. What is going on?

I hurry up the stairs toward Malice's room, hoping... praying she's there. When I open the door, the room is as empty as the rest of the house.

Something is very wrong. They wouldn't just disappear like this. Especially not Malice!

--------

Hi friends! So I looked into the whole process of printing the "You" series and guess what! Print shops can only print up to 800 pages per book. (Thinking About you has over 900 pages. I know, crazy right?) So unless you want me to trim the chapters and cut a buncha stuff out, the best solution is to split each book into two or three parts.

For example: "Thinking About You vol. 1" would have chapters 1-50, and "Thinking About You vol. 2" would have chapters 51-100. The same for Never Without You and Because of You. Each printed part would have around 500 pages (this is an estimate).

Would you guys be cool with the books being printed in multiple parts or is that like a total turn off? Let me know :)

Oh, also! Some of you expressed concern about international shipping. I checked the print shop's list of countries and saw almost everything from A-Z. So let me assure you that it is totally possible to have the books shipped to South Africa and Australia. If any of you are still concerned about this, leave a comment with your country and I will double check it for you!