The seat bothered Eli more than the missing sign.
It sat in the second row, near the window—close enough to catch sunlight in the mornings, close enough that Eli had definitely noticed who used to sit there.
Someone had.
He was sure of it.
When Eli walked into English class, the desk was perfectly aligned, chair pushed in, surface clean. Too clean. Like it was part of a display, not something a real person used every day.
He slid into his own seat and stared at it.
"You okay?" Jonah whispered.
"Who sat there?" Eli murmured back.
Jonah glanced over. "No one, dude."
"Yes, someone did," Eli said. "A girl. Quiet. Brown jacket. Always drawing."
Jonah hesitated, like he was trying to be polite to someone who was clearly wrong. "You sure you didn't dream that?"
Before Eli could answer, Mrs. Hanley started class.
Halfway through, Eli raised his hand. His heart was pounding harder than it should've over something this small.
"Mrs. Hanley," he said, "weren't there twenty-six students in this class?"
She paused. Just for a second.
Then smiled. "There are twenty-five."
Eli counted.
She was right.
But the number felt wrong.
At lunch, he scanned the cafeteria harder than he ever had before. Faces blurred together until he spotted something off—a table with space where someone should've been sitting. No spilled drink. No backpack. No memory.
That afternoon, Eli checked the yearbook room.
Pages stuck together. Photos blurred. A strip near the middle was just… blank.
No caption.
No image.
Just empty space where a face should be.
When Eli left school, he noticed something carved faintly into the desk near the missing seat. He hadn't seen it before.
Three words.
Scratched deep, like someone was afraid they wouldn't last.
REMEMBER ME FIRST
Eli stepped back, a chill running through him.
Whatever had taken her wasn't finished.
And now it knew someone noticed.