Ayla's hands shook as she stared at the photo on Elian's phone. Her dorm window.
Curtains half open. Taken in the dark.
"Who sent it?" she asked.
Elian's voice was tight. "No name. No number."
Her stomach twisted. "Someone's watching me, Elian."
He locked the screen. "Then stop sleeping with your curtains open."
"That's not funny."
"I wasn't joking."
She glared at him. "You think this is part of your little game? Because it's not."
He met her eyes, serious now. "No. This is bigger. Someone doesn't want us getting
close to the truth."
She crossed her arms. "Then tell me what you know."
He hesitated. For once, his confident mask slipped. "The student who disappeared after
the fire… it was my brother."
The words hung between them.
Ayla froze. "Your brother?"
Elian nodded slowly. "He was accused of starting the fire. But the report was fake.
Someone rewrote it. And I think your name was supposed to be in it."
Her pulse quickened. "That's why you hate me."
He didn't answer. His silence said enough.
She took a step closer. "You think I had something to do with what happened to him."
He looked away. "I didn't think. I knew."The words hit her like a slap.
Ayla's voice cracked. "And now?"
He didn't answer right away. His jaw tightened. "Now I'm not sure anymore."
The air between them felt raw. Heavy.
A crash sounded from the hallway. They both turned.
Someone was running.
Elian motioned for her to stay put, then moved to the door. Ayla followed anyway. The
corridor was empty, but a locker door swung open at the end. A single photo was taped
inside.
Elian tore it off and handed it to her.
It was the two of them—taken that same night in the basement.
Ayla's throat went dry. "This was just hours ago."
He nodded. "They're watching both of us now."
She tried to steady her breath. "We have to tell someone."
"And say what? That ghosts are stalking us?" He slipped the photo into his pocket. "No
one will believe you. They'll say you're acting out again."
Her eyes flashed. "You think I care what they say? Someone's following me, Elian."
"Then we find them first."
He started walking away. She grabbed his arm. "You're not dragging me into another
trap."
He looked down at her hand on his sleeve. "You already are."
For a moment, she didn't let go. The hallway lights flickered. His face softened.
Something passed between them—fear, anger, and something else neither wanted toname.
"Why do you look at me like that?" she whispered.
He stepped closer. "Because you remind me of everything I tried to forget."
Her chest tightened. The space between them felt like fire.
"Don't," she said. "Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Look at me like you—"
She stopped when a sharp alarm blared through the corridor. Red lights flashed.
"Fire alarm?" Ayla shouted.
Elian's eyes widened. "No. It's the old wing."
They ran. Smoke curled from the far side of the building, spilling through the hall.
Students screamed. Teachers shouted orders. The same wing that burned ten years ago
was glowing orange again.
Ayla covered her mouth. "Not again."
Elian grabbed her wrist. "Stay back."
She shook her head. "Someone's in there!"
He tried to hold her back, but she broke free and sprinted toward the smoke.
"Ayla!"
She didn't stop. Her lungs burned as she pushed through the haze, searching for the
sound of a voice crying for help.
Then she saw it. A figure trapped behind the collapsed door. Reaching out.
Her heart stopped.It was her name written on the wall beside them—fresh, in red paint.