“The students all knew the rules, passed down in whispers: Don’t get caught by the seniors in masks. Don’t be last. Don’t be scared. Don’t cry for help. Don’t, don’t, don’t.”

The imagery of the students passing along “the rules” in whispers underpins the dark academia genre. The howling is inherently scary and transgressive, so they can’t speak about it openly on campus. More so, the repetition of “don’t” advances the negative aspects of the tradition, as the students “don’t” gain anything; they just avoid getting caught. This all presents the prestigious university as a tense setting full of consequence.

“It didn’t matter that the main suspect had vanished. Someone had to pay.”

The blunt, declarative sentences communicate the starkness of Beckett’s situation. As Adalyn is gone, locals seek justice by targeting her. She and Delilah end up “paying” for Adalyn’s actions, though Beckett admits that she’s fair game since she took an active role in the plan.

“A girl with long blond hair was standing on one of the beds, hanging a set of dream catchers against the cinder-block wall behind her. She hummed along to the Killers, music blaring from the speaker on her desk.”

Beckett creates an enchanting image of Adalyn. Her long blond hair indicates her traditional beauty, and the “dream catchers” represent her bohemian dreaminess. The music is ironic. The Killers, a pop-rock band from the early 2000s, aren’t synonymous with transgressive music; nevertheless, Adalyn ends up killing two people.

“But I had already run through all the scenarios. I had already decided that I didn’t need his help. That I could do it on my own. Delilah had always belonged fully to me.”

Beckett’s reaction to Trevor not wanting to be a father showcases her resolute characterization. She doesn’t depend on him or others. She believes in herself, and she has the strength to raise Delilah on her own. At the same time, the diction—Delilah “fully” belongs to her—reveals her possessiveness and why she tends to treat her 18-year-old daughter like a child.

“I had just stood from the bench when a runner darted out from the woods, emerging from a trail that had been obscured. A young man, gangly limbs, dressed in all black.”

The sight of the “runner” and “young man” is crucial to Beckett’s theory. As the person is Bryce, she knows that Bryce was in the woods when Delilah vanished and Adalyn died, so Bryce becomes an empirical suspect. The image of him “dressed in all black” advances her suspicions; the outfit implies that he wants to avoid detection and blend in with the night.

“Twenty years later and the panic and adrenaline from the past were seeping into this moment, tinging it with something else—dark and dangerous and unspoken.”

As Beckett searches for Delilah, she feels history’s impact on the present. She alludes to her own past when tried to find Adalyn during the fire. Now, she has to locate her daughter, who’s in danger because of what Adalyn and Beckett did. Her evocative language, as well as the implication that the past is “seeping” in, shows how not even time can act as a sufficient barrier between what she did and the present day, particularly due to her and her family’s decision to try and escape the consequences of her actions.

“A sound from somewhere below. A creaking door. The thud of it latching shut.”

The noises continually symbolize the ongoing mystery, as Beckett can’t even feel at ease in her childhood home—every creak or thud could be someone coming to attack her. Alone in her parents’ attic, Beckett hears things, but she can’t identify who’s making them. The sounds add to the haunting atmosphere and sense of suspense.

“But even then I didn’t want to tell her. Didn’t want to say: There are other people out there. Another tradition. A different game.”

Beckett identifies as a local and a college student. As the former, Beckett is aware that locals mess with the students during the howling, which foreshadows Charlie and Micah targeting Beckett and Adalyn. However, Charlie and Micah’s aggressive behavior suggests that what they have in store for Adalyn and Beckett goes beyond the “tradition” and “game.”

“But that was before I realized Cliff was a chameleon, inclined to change his persona to suit whatever group he was with.”

Beckett suspects Cliff is involved with bullying, but Cliff is a red herring. The characterization is misleading. Cliff sincerely warned Adalyn and Beckett 20 years ago, and he honestly tries to help her in the present. Arguably, Cliff isn’t the “chameleon,” at least in any harmful way. Beckett is the one who hid something important to blend in with society, and she projects her choice to mask what she did onto Cliff.

“I had always been a person who made quick and finite decisions, who didn’t waver. Who knew what she wanted and took the steps to make it happen. Who wasn’t afraid to go it alone.”

Beckett reinforces her persistent, independent characterization. Her self-confidence makes her responsible for unraveling the mystery of who’s bullying Delilah. She “took the steps,” decisively drove to Virginia, spotted Bryce, and got Violet to confess in the tunnel. However, this unyielding personality type can also lead to mistakes—such as misidentifying who the villain may be or alienating her daughter—as she doesn’t pause to consider the facts, hear other perspectives, or reflect on her mistakes.

“We were seniors behind the gates of Wyatt College, traipsing down the hill for a taste of something different. They were six years out of high school, working construction. They smelled of manual labor—tar and diesel and tobacco and sweat.”

The imagery showcases the tension between the students and the locals. To get away from the privileged and sheltered school, Adalyn and Beckett patronize the bar and hang out with Charlie and Micah. Beckett fetishizes their working-class status and reveals that she’s always been less of a local and more a part of the school. If she was predominately a local, she wouldn’t exoticize Charlie and Micah.

“She was wearing a sweatshirt with the hood pulled up, so I couldn’t see her face. She seemed to be carrying a backpack […] And then I saw it: a cursive D for Delilah, hand-painted in neon gel on the back of her phone.”

The image ostensibly shows security footage of Delilah entering Beckett Hall by using her phone. However, the visual is another example of Beckett being misled by people using things with which she was familiar, as the person is actually Adalyn using Delilah’s phone. The picture pulls her away from the truth to continue the mystery.

“No clues. No note. Nothing. That was when I knew it was true. She didn’t want to be found. Not by me. Not by anyone.”

The repetition of “no” and “not” advances the negative aspect of Adalyn’s whereabouts. After she set the fire, she didn’t want to be present or exist. She wanted to evade justice. Conversely, the portrait sets up the narrative for one of the later twists: Adalyn comes back to get money from Doc and Hal and stay at their house. Her disappearance is only part of a web of lies. Adalyn also returns for a positive purpose—to protect Delilah.

“There was more than one type of siren coming closer—a police cruiser, yes. But also: the horn of a fire truck. And then the cry of an ambulance.”

Sounds continue to symbolize unknown threats. While the noises of the police, fire truck, and ambulance are familiar, Beckett doesn’t know why they’re going to Wyatt College and what triggered authorities to impose a lockdown. The sirens represent any number of calamities, thus heightening the tension and spurring on the story’s pacing.

“‘We found her. She’s safe at my parents’ place.’ Violet grabbed both of my arms at once, like we were closer than we really were. But fear could do that to people, bridging a divide, pulling them together in understanding.”

This passage suggests that Violet is relieved that Delilah is fine, as she hugs Beckett as if she’s Beckett’s ally. However, this will later on be revealed as part of Violet’s extensive deceit. She’s not glad Deliah is fine, and she’s not on Beckett’s side. Truly, she wants to punish Beckett as a form of justice for Charlie.

“We see you’ve come to us instead. Welcome home.”

The FordGroup adds to the haunting and thrilling atmosphere, as they continually send Beckett messages that let her know that people are surveilling her. The name foreshadows the culprits. Charlie’s truck was a Ford F-150, and the “group” hints that more than one person is after Beckett and Delilah. This implies that Bryce and Violet almost certainly work together. The message also alludes to the sinister nature of the past because of Beckett’s secrets—even home, which should be a place of safety, is presented as threatening.

“It’s just so loud everywhere else. And it’s so quiet there.”

Delilah’s reasons for sleeping in the theater have multiple layers. At first, she seems to be alluding to the general noise of living in a college dorm; she’d rather have peace. Less simply, she’s alluding to the sounds of whoever targets her—she doesn’t just want silence, she wants security. Delilah wants the “quiet” because it means her mysterious bully isn’t present.

“Fred Mayhew was the young officer who once sat in the Low Bar the night Adalyn was forced to turn over her pearl necklace. I remembered his inaction then. He’d picked a side, too.”

Justice comes across as a product of biases and allegiances. Beckett doesn’t trust the locals or local authority because she believes they’re not on her side. Mayhew allegedly proves her theory; he could’ve stopped Micah and Charlie from taking Adalyn necklace, but he chose the men’s “side” and withheld justice, as, presumably, he didn’t think Adalyn deserved it. The conclusion is off base, and while Beckett is merely expressing her honest beliefs of the moment, this demonstrates how subjective her recollection of the past is.

“‘I don’t think we should go tonight.’ ‘I think that they should be scared of us.’”

The dialogue between Adalyn and Beckett before their last howling highlights their opposite characterization. Cautious, Beckett doesn’t want to go through with the plan. Bold and searching for increasing excitement, Adalyn wants to strike fear in Micah and Charlie. Though Beckett routinely presents herself as independent and resolute, she doesn’t have the power to counter Adalyn. It is implied that Beckett becomes so certain and decisive because she regrets her inability to push back in this crucial moment.

“My mother is a ghostwriter. She tells everyone else’s story but her own.”

The line from Delilah’s college essay alludes to the metafiction genre. Beckett writes stories, which makes the reader aware that they’re currently reading a story. As the story is in Beckett’s voice, she is presented as the sympathetic protagonist; however, lines like this highlight Beckett’s antagonistic actions in refusing to confess certain details about her life. Quite literally, she won’t tell the story of what happened 20 years ago, a crime that continues to haunt her and Delilah.

“I heard someone else there. I called out to them for help, but they didn’t answer. They kept coming closer, but they wouldn’t say anything. I started backing away, but they were still coming. So I ran.”

Noises from an unknown source continue to spur on the mystery, as happens numerous times in the story. The sounds of “someone else” frighten Delilah away from the quarry. She tries to communicate with them, but they remain silent to build up their harmful ambiguity. Like with the other cases of Beckett hearing unexplained noises, these instances represent the omnipresent threat that the two women feel.

“‘I didn’t. I didn’t lock a door.’ But that was semantics. I’d closed it, and in the end, that was the same thing. I shook my head, walking back the lie.”

The honest dialogue between Doc and Beckett pushes Beckett to admit her role in the deaths of Micah and Charlie. She realizes that by closing the door, she locked it, so she doesn’t want to bury her complicity in “semantics.” She played an active role, so she deserves fair consequences.

“I curled up on my bed, where I waited for someone to come and find me.”

The image advances the infantilization of college students, who exist in a transitory period between childhood and adulthood that makes it difficult to decide how severe the consequences of their actions should be. Beckett presents herself curled up like a baby and helpless. While she does believe, then and now, that she deserve to be held accountable, this action also represents the broader way in which she passively waits for justice rather than seeking it out. In reality, despite what she may feel, she doesn’t confess or turn herself over, and she accepts help to escape consequences when it is offered.