The morning sun had finally broken through, but somehow the fog still clung to the grounds like a stubborn ghost, especially thick around the administrative block.

"I'm telling you, Inspector," Mrs. Adaobi Okaro, the registrar, said as she scrolled through her computer, "we have no student registered under the name or nickname 'Spacko' this semester." Her fingers flew across the keyboard. "In fact, besides the entrance exam, we only had seven new students transfer in: four from Enugu, two from Lagos, and one from Port Harcourt."

James leaned against her desk, frowning. "What about audit students? Anyone sitting in classes unofficially?"

"Inspector, this is Holy Cross." She adjusted her glasses with dignity. "We don't allow unofficial attendance. This isn't UNN, where students can just wander in."

Boni was flipping through physical files in the corner. "What about the faculty? Anyone remember teaching this guy?"

"I've already sent messages to all department heads," Mrs. Okaro said. "Dr. Nnamdi from Computer Science responded that he has no student matching that description in any of his classes. Dr. Olayinka from Engineering says the same."

James pulled out his phone, showing her the rough description they'd gotten from Mmesoma. "Tall, light-skinned boy, early twenties, speaks with a slight accent—possibly American or British. Always wears designer clothes. Drives a black Range Rover."

Mrs. Okaro shook her head. "The only Range Rover in our student parking belongs to Obinna Ezeokafor, and he's been here three years. Besides, he's currently in Lagos for his sister's wedding."

Outside the registrar's office, James and Boni compared notes.

"Nothing," Boni grumbled, slamming the file shut. "No enrollment records, no attendance, no parking permits—it's like this guy doesn't exist."

"Or someone erased him." James watched a group of students hurry past, their voices hushed as they discussed the morning's events. "Think about it—what kind of student has no digital footprint? No social media? No photo ID?"

"The kind that doesn't want to be found," Boni muttered.

They made their way across campus, questioning students and staff. The responses were eerily similar. Everyone had heard of Spacko. Everyone knew someone who'd been to a party he'd thrown. But no one could remember actually having a class with him, or seeing him in the library, or eating with him in the cafeteria.

At the campus security office, Chief of Security Chidi Okoro proved equally unhelpful.

"CCTV?" He gestured to the wall of monitors, most showing static. "System's been glitchy for months. Especially around the parking lots and forest areas. Weirdest thing—equipment's new, but something keeps interfering with the signal."

As they walked back to their car, a young janitor ran up to them, looking nervously over his shoulder.

"Inspectors," he said in a low voice. "My name is Kelechi. I... I clean the east wing lecture halls. That boy you're asking about—I've seen him. But never during the day. He comes at night, when the fog is thick. Walks straight into lecture hall 13 like he owns it."

"Lecture hall 13?" Boni asked. "That building's been closed for renovation all semester."

Kelechi nodded frantically. "Exactly. But here's the thing—sometimes, I hear voices from inside. Many voices. And when the door opens..." He swallowed hard. "The fog pours out like it's alive."

James's hand instinctively moved toward his weapon. "When was the last time you saw him?"

"Last night." Kelechi's voice dropped to a whisper. "Around midnight. He wasn't alone. There was a girl with him—one of the missing students. Yinka. She looked... scared."

James and Boni were already moving, their footsteps echoing across the empty campus quadrangle. Behind them, the fog began to thicken again, despite the midday sun, rolling across the grass like a living thing.

Lecture hall 13 waited at the edge of campus, its windows dark, renovation signs hanging crooked on its doors. As they approached, both men noticed something odd—while fog surrounded the building, none of it seemed to touch the walls. It was as if the mist itself was afraid to get too close.

Lecture hall 13 loomed before them like an abandoned church. James tested the handle—locked. Through the dusty windows, they could see construction materials scattered about: half-opened paint cans, rolled carpeting, plastic sheets covering old desks.

"Around back," Boni whispered, drawing his weapon.

They found a service entrance, its padlock hanging broken. Inside, their flashlight beams cut through darkness thick with dust and the smell of mildew. Their footsteps echoed off bare walls, creating ghostly acoustics.

"Look at this," James called, crouching near the lecturer's podium. Fresh footprints in the dust led to a door marked 'Storage.' The trail was clear—multiple sets of shoes, including what looked like designer trainers and a pair of women's sneakers.

The storage room door creaked open to reveal... nothing. But the air inside was different—denser, carrying a faint metallic tang, like blood or rust. Somewhere deep in the building, a faint echo—almost like a whisper—carried through the darkness, though neither man could tell its source.

Just empty shelves and more construction materials. The footprints ended abruptly at a blank wall.

"This makes no sense," Boni muttered, running his hands along the wall. "They had to go somewhere."

A thorough search of the building revealed nothing: no hidden doors, no secret passages, no signs of recent occupation except those footprints that led nowhere. Even the security cameras in this section of campus were dead, their wires cleanly cut.

Another dead end. James rubbed his temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache building behind his eyes.

Back outside, the afternoon sun had begun its descent. The fog was thickening again, earlier than usual.

James's phone rang—it was the station.

"Inspector," Officer Chioma's voice crackled through. "We found some items near the attack site. Things you need to see."

James exhaled heavily. "On our way."

As they walked back through the campus, the atmosphere had shifted. Students who had been openly talking earlier now ducked their heads, changed directions, or simply froze as the inspectors passed. The fog rolled lazily between buildings despite the afternoon sun, giving everything a dreamlike quality.

As they walked back to their car through the foggy campus, students scattered like startled birds, their conversations dying to whispers as the inspectors passed.

What neither inspector noticed, as they climbed into their vehicle, were two figures standing in the shadow of the humanities building. A girl, tall and elegant in her designer hijab, and boy, wearing an expensive blazer that seemed out of place on a college student's budget, watched the police car pull away.

"The Inspector is getting closer," the girl whispered, her voice trembling slightly despite her poised appearance. Her manicured fingers gripped her textbooks like a lifeline. "He's asking too many questions—and he's not like the others."

The boy smirked, adjusting the cuffs of his designer blazer. "Nyamekye warned us this might happen. But the pattern is breaking—it's not supposed to target them yet."

The fog swirled around them, almost possessively, as they slipped into the humanities building. Behind them, something large moved through the mist, its massive shadow briefly visible against the pale gray backdrop before dissolving back into the haze.

The police car turned onto the main road, its occupants unaware of the whispered conversation that would soon set even more dangerous events in motion.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚

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