The night was pitch-black, the kind of darkness that felt deliberate, as though the world itself had conspired to swallow all light. The moon hung somewhere above the administration building, distant and useless, its glow unable to penetrate the thick, narrow windows that lined the ancient structure. Not that there were many windows to begin with. The building had always felt sealed off from the rest of the school, watchful, secretive, and far too quiet.
Tonight, the silence was worse.
It wasn't the peaceful kind. It was intentional. Heavy. As though sound itself had been warned not to exist here.
In one corridor, footsteps moved with purpose, slow, careful, almost reverent. In another, footsteps moved with a different intent entirely, guided by instinct rather than direction. Two searches unfolding at the same time, unknowingly circling the same truth.
Elaine swallowed hard, her fingers tightening around the small flashlight she carried but dared not use. Her eyes strained against the darkness, every shadow stretching unnaturally along the walls.
"Is it alright if I turn on the flashlight?" she whispered, her voice barely more than breath.
Allan walked a few steps ahead of her, his posture rigid, alert. They weren't supposed to be here as they were on a break, getting caught would not be a good idea, there wre not others around, anyway. Still, Elaine knew better than to do anything that would alert something.
"I'll tell you when," Allan replied quietly, not slowing his pace.
Elaine nodded even though he couldn't see it. She hesitated, then spoke again, unable to help herself. "Are we… are we going to search the entire administration building?"
Allan stopped.
The sudden halt nearly made Elaine bump into him. She froze, heart thudding, immediately regretting opening her mouth again. She could practically feel his irritation radiating off him.
"I'm sorry," she rushed out. "I was just asking because I'm nervous. I don't want to make a wrong move."
For a moment, Allan said nothing. Then he exhaled slowly and resumed walking.
They moved deeper into the corridor, where framed paintings lined the walls, portraits of former principals, benefactors, and figures Elaine didn't recognize, but this wasn't the ones they would check and she knew it, they were going for the old ones. One by one, they removed each painting, checking behind them carefully. Hollow spaces. Dusty walls. Nothing.
They couldn't rely on dreams alone. Dreams twisted reality, distorted truths. If the hidden passage existed here, it wouldn't necessarily be behind the same painting.
An hour passed.
Elaine's legs ached. Her nerves were frayed raw. And they had barely covered half the corridor.
Then Allan stopped again.
This time, it was different.
He went completely still, as though time itself had forgotten him. His brows furrowed, eyes unfocused, his entire body tense with concentration. Elaine's chest tightened.
The memory of the previous night flashed through her mind, how he'd frozen like this before.
"Allan, are yo—"
His head snapped toward her.
The glare he shot her was sharp enough to cut. Elaine flinched.
"Stay here," he said flatly.
Before she could respond, he turned and walked away down the corridor. His footsteps were impossibly silent, swallowed by the darkness.
Elaine stood there alone.
Only then did she realize how wrong the corridor felt. The air was colder. Thicker. The walls seemed closer, the ceiling higher than it had any right to be. She tried to remember how they'd gotten here, left turn, right turn, another corridor, but the memory slipped through her grasp like smoke.
"Allan?" she called faintly.
Her voice echoed.
Once. Twice. Three times.
Elaine's breath caught.
Had these walls always echoed like this? She hadn't remembered them being like this when she was with Allan.
"Allan?" she tried again, quieter.
This time, there was no echo.
No response.
Not even the distant chirping of crickets from outside. The silence pressed in, suffocating.
Cold sweat trickled down her forehead as the temperature dropped abruptly, her breath fogging faintly in the air.
She wasn't alone.
She could feel it.
------
Dana waited patiently as Vanessa worked on the lock to Mr. Hance's office. Vanessa's movements were precise, confident, every twist and press well-practiced. A soft click broke the silence.
The door opened.
"About time," Dana muttered, straightening from where she'd been leaning against the wall.
She stepped into the office without hesitation. Vanessa followed, closing the door softly behind them.
"What exactly are you looking for?" Vanessa asked, for what felt like the thousandth time.
"I'll know it when I see it," Dana replied lazily.
Her attention was already on the desk. She rifled through drawers, papers, folders,bnothing. Her frown deepened as minutes ticked by, irritation building.
"Where would he hide it?" Dana murmured, frustration slipping into her tone.
She resisted the urge to tear the office apart. That would leave evidence, questions. Mr. Hance was observant. Paranoid, even.
Then her hand stopped.
Hovering over a book.
At first glance, it looked ordinary, a case housing a ledger, perhaps. But something about it felt… wrong. Dana lifted it gently, revealing another book inside. This one was ancient, its cover cracked, edges frayed, dust clinging to it like decay.
She brushed her fingers across the surface, reverent.
"Is that it?" Vanessa asked softly.
"It is," Dana replied.
"How do you know?"
Dana exhaled slowly. "It feels the same."
Vanessa frowned. "The same as what?"
"Nothing," Dana said. "No feeling at all. Just… blankness. Hidden memories. Old ones."
She paused. "The kind that would take a lifetime to bring to the surface."
Vanessa stiffened. "Room 777."
Dana nodded. "The same void. Only stronger."
She slipped the book back into its case and tucked it under her arm.
"Then let's leave," Vanessa urged. "Now."
They exited the office, locking the door carefully behind them. The corridor beyond was darker than before. No moonlight reached here, only pitch black, at least to human eyes.
They rounded a corner.
Something moved.
A shape emerged from the darkness, tall and still, stopping directly in their path.
It was Allan.
But he wasn't looking at them.
His gaze was fixed on Dana's hands.
And whatever she was holding.