When I get home, the air inside the house feels wrong.
Like it's heavier somehow. Still.
The windows are shut. The lights are off. But something feels… watched.
I lock the door behind me and double-check the chain, even though I've never done that before. My mom's working late, and the house is dead quiet. Not even the fridge hums. I drop my bag, trying not to think about the pact, or the bracelet, or Ivy's name spoken out loud for the first time in a year.
But I can still hear it.
We left her.
We lied.
Now she's coming back.
I head upstairs to my room, open the door and stop.
My mirror's gone.
It used to hang on the back of my door. It's been there since I was twelve. I didn't move it. My mom didn't move it.
But now there's just an empty hook.
And something else.
A crack in the wall behind the door. Thin, jagged, like the wall split from the inside.
I reach out to touch it. My finger comes away dark. Dust? No—ash. It crumbles between my fingers.
Then I hear it.
A whisper.
It comes from the wall.
Lena.
My name. Too soft to be real. Too close to be imagined.
I step back, heart in my throat. My eyes burn. I blink fast.
There's nothing there.
I leave the room without grabbing anything and head straight to the bathroom. I splash water on my face. Count to ten. Try to breathe.
When I look up, Ivy's bracelet is sitting on the edge of the sink.
I stare at it for a long time.
I didn't bring it home. None of us did. It was in Cami's pocket this morning. I watched her hold it.
Now it's here.
Sitting on my porcelain sink like it belongs.
I don't touch it. I just close the bathroom door and back away.
In the hallway, I grab my phone and text Riley.
Me: Did you give me the bracelet?
Riley: ??? no wtf
Me: It's in my house.
Riley: get rid of it.
Riley: now.
I don't reply.
I go back into my room. The mirror is still gone. But the crack in the wall has grown longer, curling toward the ceiling like a creeping vein.
And then, just as I'm about to lie down and pretend I'm not terrified, my phone vibrates again.
It's a photo.
No message. No sender. Just the image.
I click it open.
It's me.
Standing in front of my mirror.
But I'm not looking at the camera.
I'm looking over my shoulder.
And Ivy is behind me.
Smiling.