The fire was gone.
The house remained, but it no longer burned.
Instead, it stood silent—its walls no longer pulsing with memory, its windows no longer reflecting echoes that had long since faded.
Mira, Luka, and Eli stepped outside together.
The town had changed.
The figures who once filled the streets were vanishing one by one—dissolving into light like breath on cold air.
Some smiled as they disappeared.
Others simply nodded.
As if finally understood.
Luka turned to Mira, his voice barely above a whisper. "Did we do this?"
She didn't answer right away.
Instead, she flipped open her sketchpad and began drawing again.
A boy standing alone beneath a tree, eyes wide with relief.
A girl sitting beside a river made of sound, listening for the first time.
A woman in red, walking away from the burning house.
One by one, the images formed.
Then she tapped the edge of the page twice.
Confirmation.
Eli exhaled slowly. "They're being remembered."
Luka swallowed hard. "So… does that mean they're free?"
Mira hesitated—then added something new to the drawing.
A spiral.
Beneath each figure.
And beneath their feet, something stirred.
Not the past.
Not exactly.
Something older .
Something that had been waiting.
Back in the real world, Hollowbrook was changing too.
People were waking up with memories they hadn't known they'd lost.
A man recalled the name of a childhood friend who vanished decades ago.
An old woman remembered a lullaby she used to sing to a daughter she never had.
A teenager woke up screaming from a dream where he was running through the woods, calling for help no one heard.
At school, rumors spread like wildfire.
"Did you hear about Mrs. Danner?" someone whispered in the hallway. "She says she saw her brother last night. He disappeared when they were kids."
"He just appeared in her dream," another student replied. "Said he was sorry."
Luka overheard it all, standing beside his locker.
Mira watched him carefully.
He looked shaken.
But not afraid.
Just… different.
Like something inside him had shifted.
He turned to her. "It's happening out here too."
She nodded.
Then signed:
We opened the door. Now the silence is speaking.
He exhaled sharply. "Do you think it'll stop?"
She hesitated.
Then drew again—a line of people walking away from the forest, leaving footprints behind.
But only some of them were real.
The rest?
Echoes.
Still trying to be heard.
That afternoon, they returned to the birch tree.
The door was still there.
But now, it pulsed faintly—like a heartbeat slowing.
Waiting.
Mira placed her hand against the wood.
Nothing happened.
No hum.
No shift.
Just stillness.
Luka frowned. "Is it… closing?"
She met his gaze.
Then signed:
Not closing. Sleeping.
He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
Eli stood nearby, arms crossed, watching them both carefully.
Finally, he asked, "Does this mean it's over?"
Mira shook her head.
Then drew one final image.
A boy and a girl standing at the edge of the forest.
Behind them, the trees leaned inward.
Listening.
Always listening.
She tapped the edge of the page twice.
Luka read it and smiled faintly. "It's not over. But it's quieter now."
Eli looked between them. "You two are staying, aren't you?"
Mira tilted her head.
Then signed:
We never left.
He sighed, rubbing his face. "I don't know how you do this."
She reached for his hand.
Placed it over her chest.
And for the first time, Eli felt it too.
Not sound.
Not silence.
Something in between.
A song only the lost could sing.
And maybe—just maybe—he wasn't so lost after all.