Evershade High rose from stone and iron, its presence dominating the hill it sat upon like a watchful sentinel. Arched windows lined the structure in perfect symmetry, their glass dark and reflective, catching the overcast sky in fractured pieces. Heavy wrought-iron gates stood open, but they did not feel welcoming. They felt permissive—like the building allowed entry rather than invited it.
Rowan paused just beyond the gates.
The school looked more like a private academy than a public institution. Too grand. Too deliberate. Its architecture carried weight, as if each stone had been set with intention far older than the district records claimed. There were no banners announcing school spirit, no colorful murals painted by students. Everything was muted—grays, blacks, deep greens—colors that absorbed light instead of reflecting it.
The place felt older than its paperwork suggested.
Older than the town itself.
Rowan had grown up in enough places to recognize when something didn't quite line up. Evershade High gave him that feeling immediately—the quiet itch between his shoulder blades, the sense of standing on ground that remembered things people had long forgotten.
As he stepped fully into the courtyard, the air shifted.
Students moved through the space in loose clusters, their voices low, their laughter restrained. No one shouted across the yard. No one ran. Even the usual chaos of teenagers gathering before class felt… subdued. Conversations stayed close, faces leaned inward, as if sound itself carried consequences here.
Rowan adjusted the strap of his backpack, the familiar motion grounding him, and started forward.
Gravel crunched softly beneath his shoes.
That was when he felt it.
Not sound. Not sight.
Attention.
It brushed against him like a change in temperature. A subtle awareness that sharpened his senses and raised the fine hairs along his arms. He didn't see anyone staring outright—but he felt the weight of glances sliding toward him and then away again, quick and practiced.
As though they didn't want to be caught noticing.
Rowan kept walking, jaw tightening.
He told himself it was nerves. New school. New town. People always noticed the unfamiliar face. But the sensation didn't fade as he crossed the courtyard. It intensified.
The closer he got to the main entrance, the stronger it became.
When he passed beneath the stone archway, something inside him flared.
Warmth ignited at the base of his throat—right where his pulse beat strongest. It wasn't painful, but it wasn't pleasant either. It felt like pressure. Like something waking up.
Rowan sucked in a sharp breath.
The hallway beyond the doors stretched long and straight, tiled floor gleaming under fluorescent lights. Lockers lined the walls, dull metal and numbered in neat rows. A normal school corridor.
And yet—His vision blurred.
The lights flickered.
For a single heartbeat, the world slipped.
The tile vanished beneath his feet, replaced by cold stone worn smooth by centuries of passage. The ceiling arched higher, shadows pooling where light couldn't reach. Torches lined the walls, their flames casting uneven light that danced across ancient banners—deep green and silver, their symbols unfamiliar yet unsettlingly close to recognition.
Voices echoed.
Not laughter. Not chatter.
Chants.
Low and rhythmic, spoken in a language that vibrated through his bones rather than his ears.
Rowan stumbled.
Someone collided with his shoulder, knocking him off balance. "Hey—sorry," a boy muttered, barely glancing back as he continued down the hall.
The vision shattered.
Fluorescent lights snapped back into focus. Lockers. Posters announcing club meetings. A bell ringing faintly in the distance.
Rowan braced himself against the wall, breathing hard.
His heart pounded violently, each beat sending another surge of heat through his throat and chest. He swallowed, trying to force his pulse to slow, but his body refused to listen.
Because it hadn't felt imagined.
It hadn't felt like a trick of the mind or the product of stress.
It had felt remembered.
Rowan straightened slowly, scanning the hallway. Students passed him without comment now, some glancing briefly in his direction before looking away. None of them seemed shaken. None of them seemed to notice anything wrong.
That disturbed him more than if they had.
He pushed away from the wall and started walking again, this time slower, more cautious. Every step echoed too loudly in his ears. Every flicker of light made his muscles tense.
As he moved deeper into the building, the sensation of being watched returned—not sharp, but constant. Like a presence just behind his line of sight.
He turned suddenly.
Nothing.
Just lockers. Doors. A bulletin board layered with outdated notices.
Rowan exhaled through his nose, frustration mixing with unease.
Get a grip, he told himself. You're overthinking it.
But the building disagreed.
The further he went, the more wrong things felt. The air seemed thicker, heavier. Sound carried strangely, footsteps echoing longer than they should. And beneath it all, there was a low hum—too subtle to be sound, more like vibration.
His schedule crinkled in his hand as he checked it again.
Room 214.
Second floor.
He took the stairs two at a time, eager to put distance between himself and the entrance hall. But halfway up, the warmth flared again—stronger this time. His fingers tingled. The railing beneath his palm felt warmer than stone should.
Rowan pulled his hand back sharply.
For a moment, he swore the shadows along the stairwell shifted.
Not moved.
Adjusted.
He reached the second floor and paused, chest tight.
This place knows me.
The thought arrived fully formed, uninvited.
And worse—Some part of him knew it was true.
Rowan shook his head, trying to clear it. He wasn't ready to unpack that—not here, not now. He forced himself down the hallway toward his classroom, every instinct screaming for him to pay attention, to listen, to remember something just beyond reach.
Behind him, unseen and unacknowledged, eyes followed.
Not with curiosity.
With recognition.
Evershade High had been waiting a very long time.
And now that Rowan had crossed its threshold, the past had finally noticed him back.