Her knees buckled as she took unsteady steps toward the figure sitting on her bed. Her lips parted, and she stretched out a trembling hand as if to touch the girl's face—but she faltered and withdrew almost at once. Fear tightened around her chest like a vice. She could not bring herself to do it.
Her strength gave way. She collapsed to the floor, directly beneath the visitor's feet, trembling so violently she could not raise her head to look her in the eyes.
"Why?" she whispered, her tear-streaked gaze fixed on the floorboards. "Why do you look like her?"
"Because it is the face you miss the most," came the calm, unnerving reply.
Pressing her lips together until they hurt, Hannah forced herself to lift her head. The sight of the girl above her sent a wave of dread rolling through her chest.
"You can't do that," she whispered, her voice cracking. "By doing this, you only cause me more pain. Is that what you want?"
The girl crossed her arms over her chest, her posture laced with arrogance. Her eyes glinted coldly.
"You are strong," she said. "The only one who ever survived in this room. I thought it was finally time for us to meet, don't you agree?"
The figure leaned forward, bracing her hands against the floor, her gaze never leaving Hannah's. Hannah's body betrayed her—her shaking only grew more violent.
"Why do you come to me every night?" Hannah cried suddenly, her lips trembling. "Why do you claim to be my dead sister? Why did you steal her face? What do you want from me?"
"I want to be your friend," the entity said smoothly. "I intend to replace the sister you long for so much."
"You can't…" Hannah's voice broke into sobs. "You're nothing but a ghost who haunts this room. You will never replace her. Do you know why? Because you are her dark reflection." She glared at the figure through her tears. "Danielle warned me about you—the entity that pretends to be her. I don't trust you."
From the shadow of the corridor, Jin stood frozen at the threshold. Through the crack of the half-open door, he watched Hannah speak to the empty space, her eyes locked on a point that held no form.
She was seeing something that wasn't real.
Joseph had been right—things were getting worse. Hannah needed help.
Jin had discovered her secret entirely by accident. Only then had he understood the root of her strange behavior, the unexplained silences, the sudden bursts of fear. It had been at the end of the semester, when Joseph's questions grew too persistent, that the truth spilled out. Joseph had pressed him about his aunt—a respected psychiatrist in the city—until Jin could no longer bear the burden alone and confessed Hannah's condition.
Joseph's reaction had been unsettling. Over the holidays, he had abruptly changed his mind, insisting that Jin should be the one to deal with her. He wanted nothing more to do with Hannah and refused to help.
There were days Jin could not understand his friend at all. Joseph's moods were sharp, unpredictable, and exhausting. Sometimes a single word was enough to spark an argument.
But with or without Joseph's support, Jin knew what he had to do. He had to help Hannah before it was too late. He needed to move carefully, step by step, building her trust, until he could convince her that she needed help. Forcing her to see a psychiatrist, confronting her directly with the word illness, would only drive her deeper into the darkness.
At the same time, he would have to keep a close eye on Joseph. His attitude toward Hannah had shifted again, growing hostile, and Jin feared what recklessness he might be capable of.
*
That morning, Hannah skipped breakfast. She wasn't hungry, so instead of heading to the cafeteria, she went straight toward her classroom.
She perched on the wide windowsill in the empty corridor, her legs swinging lazily back and forth, though her eyes were fixed on a single spot on the wall opposite her. A faded poster hung there, its corners curling, its words meaningless to her. She wasn't reading it—she couldn't. Her thoughts revolved endlessly around the entity that had lingered with her throughout the night. The spirit's whisper still echoed in her mind, urging her toward darker deeds, urging her to punish the older student who constantly humiliated her.
But should she listen? Should she react at all?
At the far end of the corridor, Joseph stood silently. Leaning against the wall with his shoulder pressed against the plaster, arms crossed over his chest, he studied her intently. His gaze was sharp, narrowed, almost dissecting. In profile, she looked strikingly like someone else, and the resemblance unsettled him.
"Things are getting worse with Hannah," Jin said, breaking the silence as he joined him. His voice was quiet but edged with worry. "So let her go. We promised we'd be kind to her. I can't forget what she's done, but this… this is the beginning of something darker. You know what kind of illness this might become. Why make her life miserable again, Joseph? You know better. In situations like this, you should let go."
Joseph's eyes lingered on Hannah for another heartbeat before he turned to his friend. The two had been arguing about her since the holidays. Their views had split sharply—Jin was determined to help her at any cost, while Joseph, on the last day of school, had admitted with unsettling calmness that he wanted nothing more than to watch the suffering flicker across her face.
"So far, she doesn't look that bad," Joseph muttered, his tone dismissive. "This kind of disease develops slowly. Only in the final stage will it crush her completely. Maybe then you can make a call to your aunt and get her an appointment."
"Don't be cruel," Jin shot back, frowning. "You told me yourself this is dangerous—that she could end up hurting herself. Do you really want to risk that?"
"Then report her to the director," Joseph said coldly, pushing away from the wall and settling onto the windowsill with careless ease. "Have him call her mother. Better yet, let her mother lock her in a psychiatric ward."
"That's not helping," Jin denied at once, his voice firm. "You know as well as I do that parents react badly to this. Her mother would rush her to a psychiatrist and label her sick before Hannah even understood what was happening. That would only make things worse. You should know better than anyone—after what you've been through."
Joseph's jaw tightened. He swallowed hard, memories clawing at the back of his mind. Though he had been only a child, too young to remember everything clearly, certain images remained etched in him like scars. Eyes that glowed with unsettling tenderness. A gentle voice assuring him he wasn't alone. That there were other children in the house to play with, even though he had been the only one in the room.
His lips curved bitterly. "I will not pity her just because she's losing her mind. I have my reasons to hate her. If she wants to slit her wrists, let her. I don't give a damn."
He pushed himself away and strode down the hall, leaving Jin unsettled and alone.
Jin hesitated only a moment before walking toward the girl sitting quietly by herself. Hannah turned her head as he approached. She looked pale and distracted, her fingers twitching against her knees. But when she saw him, she managed a faint smile.
"Didn't you go to breakfast?" he asked.
She shook her head.
"I didn't either," he said, lowering his voice in a conspiratorial tone. "I've had no appetite since morning. I hope it's not a virus—half the school refused to eat today. Suspicious, isn't it?"
She nodded absently, but something else weighed on her. He could see it in the hesitation in her eyes, the way her lips pressed together as though she were debating whether to speak.
"Do you know why Joseph is treating me so cruelly again?" she asked softly. "I thought this semester might pass more peacefully."
"I have no idea," Jin admitted carefully. "But try to ignore him. I've been his roommate for more than two years. I've gotten used to his strange moods. Sometimes he's insufferable."
"Is that why you've been arguing so much lately?"
"Perhaps." He shrugged, offering her a small, reassuring smile.
Her expression faltered. Sadness welled in her eyes, and Jin's chest tightened. He regretted every sharp word he had ever thrown at her last semester. He should have been gentler. If only he had understood sooner what she was battling.
"I don't know if I'll survive here until the end of the year," she whispered.
His smile faded. Concern darkened his gaze. "Why?"
"Before I came here, I was so excited. I thought this was the best school in New York, an honor to study here. I thought that after graduating, every university would open its doors to me." She lowered her face, her hands twisting nervously in her lap. "But I was wrong. I don't fit in here. Danielle warned me. She told me this place was hell and that I shouldn't even apply."
"It's true," Jin said softly. "Danielle hated this place."
"And now I understand why. She was right. I'm starting to hate it too. I don't want to be here anymore."
"Because of Joseph?" he asked carefully, testing her. He knew she wouldn't reveal the full truth easily, but he had to try.
"In fact, he's the least of my problems," Hannah admitted quietly. "The real problem is this building… especially my room. I'm not sleeping. I can't focus in class. I'll end up at the bottom of the rankings, and then everyone will know I've failed. I'll burn with shame."
Jin resisted the urge to press her further. He already sensed she had said more than she meant to.
"Maybe you should talk to the director again, ask about changing rooms," he suggested.
"Do you really think he'd agree? He probably hates me after I ruined his daughter's life. I'd rather stay invisible to him." She shook her head firmly.
"Right," Jin murmured. "I almost forgot."
"Maybe I'll survive somehow," she said with a shrug, though her eyes betrayed no such belief. "I'll wait and see."
*
She was tired and hungry. After class ended, she finally dragged herself toward the cafeteria, her stomach hollow and aching since she had not eaten anything that morning. She was just about to step inside when she froze at the threshold. Her gaze caught on Joseph, who stood across the room with Ashley. The young woman seemed to be explaining something, her hands moving quickly as she spoke, while Joseph's jaw tightened with fury. He threw her a sharp, impatient glance. Hannah strained to hear, leaning subtly forward, but their voices were swallowed by the clatter of cutlery and the low murmur of conversations. She could only guess they were speaking of Halsey.
"Will you take long to go inside?" a voice muttered behind her.
Startled, she glanced over her shoulder, her expression twisting into a glare of pure hostility at the boy who had broken her concentration.
"Yes, I will stand here and think as long as I want. If you cannot wait, you may crawl through the kitchen door or climb through a window. Whichever you prefer," she snapped, her words sharp with spite.
The student's lips tightened. Without warning, he seized her arm.
"Step back."
"Leave me alone!" she cried, her voice sharp enough to draw the attention of the cafeteria attendant. The woman started forward, but Joseph raised a hand, halting her. His dark eyes flicked toward Hannah and the boy, who still clutched her shoulder. With nothing more than a sharp whistle and a commanding glare, Joseph made the student's grip falter. Reluctantly, the boy released her. Hannah's arm dropped, and she stared at the floor, her pulse still racing.
The fact that Joseph had stood up for her felt like a strange and fleeting mercy.
As she passed him, she allowed herself a cheerful smile, though his brow only furrowed, and he returned to Ashley without a word.
Inside, Hannah scanned the room for a familiar face. She longed for the comfort of company, but the only one she recognized was Nick, who sat alone, bent over his tray. Mariah was nowhere in sight.
"May I?" she asked quietly as she approached.
He looked up and gave a curt nod, gesturing at the seat across from him.
"Today without company?"
Nick answered with a short, humorless laugh. "I was abandoned. Mariah has no appetite, but I'm sure she's found something else to occupy herself."
"What is wrong with this day?" Hannah muttered as she sat down. "Hardly anyone has an appetite. Did they slip something into last night's dinner so they could save money on food today?"
Her remark brought the faintest smirk to Nick's lips.
"I'd say it's more like a virus going around." He stiffened suddenly, his fork halfway to his mouth, when he noticed Joseph glancing their way. "If he comes here, I'm gone in two seconds. I want nothing to do with him."
Hannah followed his gaze, immediately understanding. She only shrugged, feigning indifference.
But her focus shifted abruptly. Her chest tightened as if an invisible hand had gripped her lungs, and a strange lump rose in her throat. She widened her eyes, her breath faltering. Desperately, she lowered her gaze to the table, praying it would pass. When she dared to lift her head again, the figure was already closer.
Her skin went cold. Her pulse hammered in her ears. She watched with terror as the entity approached—a figure that looked like her sister. Its face was sweet, its smile delicate, but something in its expression was wrong, disturbingly wrong. The curve of the mouth stretched too long, and the warmth in its eyes felt empty, like painted glass.
"Hannah," the figure sang in an innocent, almost childlike voice. "We should become friends. Why don't you want that?"
Her hands trembled violently as she reached for Nick's glass of water. She could not steady her grip; the liquid sloshed and spilled across the table, soaking their trays. Nick's eyes widened, concern breaking across his face.
"Are you all right?" he asked. But his voice echoed strangely inside her head, distorted, as if the cafeteria had slipped underwater.
The room spun. Her vision blurred, then tunneled, until she saw only the entity smiling at her from across the table. A scream built in her chest, but she pressed it down, clenching her fists until her nails dug deep into her skin. Still, she felt nothing—no pain, no sensation—only the icy paralysis of terror.
Joseph noticed. He saw Hannah's wild, frantic stare, the look of a child cornered, prepared to lash out in blind desperation just to survive. The cafeteria attendant started forward again, but Joseph blocked her path with a raised hand.
"I'll handle it," he said flatly. "It's my fault she's like this. I gave her a good thrashing earlier."
Then, with an unsettling calm, he strode toward Hannah. Without hesitation, he pulled her up from her chair. She barely registered his grip as he guided—no, forced—her out of the cafeteria. Her eyes never shifted from the apparition only she could see.
But nothing was there.It was only an image, conjured from the darkness of her own mind.