The old art storage room had been sealed for years—ever since the fire. It was a place spoken of only in whispers, a forgotten wing at the far end of campus, just past the auditorium. Students avoided it. Teachers pretended it didn't exist. But Elara knew better now.
That symbol—the ring—was carved into its walls.
She had to see it for herself.
She slipped through the halls during lunch, her steps quick and silent. The corridor grew colder the closer she got. Dust coated the lockers here. Lights flickered above. The air carried the scent of mildew and long-forgotten secrets.
At the end of the hall, a locked metal door.
She pulled a pin from her hair, breath held, and jiggled it in the lock the way she'd practiced months ago—back when she thought sneaking into staff rooms was the worst crime she'd ever commit.
Click.
The door creaked open.
Darkness.
She turned on her phone flashlight and stepped inside.
---
The room was a time capsule of chaos. Shelves toppled, canvases torn, sculptures broken into pieces. The fire had left scorch marks across the ceiling and a large blackened hole in the center of the floor.
But what drew her eye wasn't the destruction—it was the wall behind the fallen bookcase.
She approached slowly.
There it was.
The same symbol—etched deep into the stone: a circle with a single line crossing through it.
But it wasn't alone.
Names were carved around it.
Juliet. Karis. Liora. Blake. Rowan. Ezra. Charlie.
And one more, smaller, barely visible—scratched as if added later.
Elara.
Her breath hitched.
She hadn't been added afterward. She had added herself.
A memory flashed—
Laughter in the dark. A hand gripping hers. The warmth of candlelight. "Seven of us," someone had said. "Sworn in silence. Sealed by fire."
And then—
Screams.
Flames.
Someone pulling her back as a figure burned in the corner.
Her knees gave out and she collapsed to the floor.
She remembered.
---
She had been there that night—not just a witness.
She had been part of the pact.
Part of the silence.
"Why did I forget?" she whispered.
But a more terrifying question came next.
"Why did I want to forget?"
Her phone buzzed, startling her.
A message from an unknown number:
> The more you remember, the more they'll hunt you. You were never meant to wake up.
She stared at the screen, heart racing.
Then a second message:
> They killed Charlie. Not in the fire. After. When he tried to tell.
Elara dropped the phone.
Charlie hadn't died in the fire.
He'd survived.
And they'd silenced him later.
That's why he became the watcher. Not to haunt them—but to warn her.
To help her remember.
She stood up, knees trembling.
A truth had just cracked open.
Not all of them were just victims of a terrible accident.
Some of them were murderers.
---
Later that night, she sat at her desk, hands trembling as she opened her notebook.
New list:
Elara was part of the circle.
The pact was real.
Charlie didn't die in the fire.
Someone silenced him afterward.
Someone is watching her now.
Someone knows she's remembering.
She stared at her mirror, unsure if she still recognized the girl in it.
If she had helped start all this—if she had helped hide the truth—then she wasn't just uncovering a mystery.
She was peeling back layers of herself.
And what waited at the core?
She didn't know.
But she would find out.
Even if it killed her.
Elara couldn't sleep.
Again.
She sat cross-legged on her bed, the notebook open in front of her, the pages now covered in frantic scribbles—names, symbols, dates, memories resurfacing like drowned corpses breaking through the surface. She traced the symbol again, her fingers smudged with ink. The circle and the line. A seal. A warning. A curse.
Her phone lit up once more.
> Stop digging. This is your final warning.
No name.
No number.
Her blood ran cold.
But she didn't stop. Couldn't.
Instead, she turned to her laptop and dug into old school archives, buried files from the year of the fire. The school's digital library had gaps—months missing. But she found something in the student directory. An old club listing.
The Hollow Circle.
Seven names.
No club photo. No description.
Nothing.
But they had been real.
A ghost club, hidden from everyone but themselves.
A secret society?
She found a list of staff sponsors from that year.
One name stood out: Mr. Alder.
Her literature teacher.
Still at the school.
Still pretending not to remember.
Her jaw clenched.
He had lied to her.
Everyone had.
---
At dawn, Elara stood in front of the school office. Her eyes were bloodshot, her hands trembling, but her mind was sharp—dangerously so.
She'd confront Mr. Alder. Not as a student. But as a survivor.
He arrived at exactly 7:12 AM, coffee in hand, coat slung over one shoulder. She stepped in his path.
He froze.
"Elara," he said slowly, voice tight. "What are you doing here this early?"
She didn't blink. "You were the sponsor for the Hollow Circle. Weren't you?"
His face paled. Just slightly. But she saw it.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"I remember now. I was there."
A long pause. The air thick between them.
Then he said something she didn't expect.
"You weren't supposed to survive the fire."
---
His eyes widened a second too late. He realized what he'd said.
But Elara had heard enough.
She turned and ran—not out of fear, but because she needed space to breathe. To think.
Mr. Alder had confirmed it.
There had been an intent to kill that night.
Not an accident.
A plan.
And she was never meant to live.
That meant one of the seven had wanted her dead from the beginning.
The list she had was more than a record now.
It was a suspect board.
And she was ready to start crossing names.
One by one.
Until she found the monster hidden among them.
Even if that monster… was herself.