Chapter 8

The director catching them out after curfew didn't bode well. Sara immediately braced for punishment. And when it came, it was worse than she expected—they were ordered to clean out an entire storage room packed with useless junk that belonged to the building.

The room was enormous. Sara knew there was no way they'd clean it quickly, even with all five of them working.

As soon as they stepped inside, a collective groan slipped from their mouths.

Only Laura swore out loud, not bothering to hide her anger. She didn't even care that a teacher was standing behind them. Maintaining a good image wasn't her concern—and she had no intention of changing.

"You have three long hours ahead of you," the teacher said sternly, eyeing them all. "Use that time wisely. I want to see results when I return. This place is supposed to shine by the end of the week, so don't slack off. Unless, of course, you'd prefer to extend your punishment."

Her gaze settled on Laura, who was already sitting on an old rocking horse, yawning exaggeratedly.

"I wonder where they got this from," Laura said aloud, eyeing the horse. "Maybe the director's into toys? Or are these sex toys? You could definitely have some fun with this one," she added with a smirk, trying to push the head back.

"Sounds like your area of expertise," Oliver shot back coldly. Laura glared at him, annoyed.

"I suggest you behave appropriately," the teacher cut in. "You're here to clean, not to play." She cast them all one last contemptuous glance before leaving.

As the door closed behind her, Laura stuck out her tongue and slid off the rocking horse.

"Great. After all those lessons, now they make us clean this crap," she muttered.

"You know the rules," Oliver said sternly, but Laura ignored him. She brushed past without even a glance and disappeared behind a shelf, where Alan had gone a few moments earlier.

Sara felt a sudden pang of jealousy.

Without saying a word, she moved to follow—but Oliver appeared in front of her, blocking her path. He crossed his arms, a mocking smile on his face as he looked her over.

She tried to slip past, but he wouldn't let her.

She hadn't done anything to deserve his constant hostility, yet he had treated her with spite since the beginning.

"Think there might be dead bodies in here too? Going to look for them?" he asked sarcastically. "Want me to tag along?"

Sara shot him a warning look. Was this his version of humor? His way of lightening the mood? His way of thinking definitely didn't match the others'.

"Maybe you attract them somehow. Better be careful they don't rise up as bloodthirsty zombies."

"If that happens, you'll be the first I warn," she replied coldly. "Usually, the ones who die first in horror stories are the assholes."

She didn't regret saying it. Not one bit.

She'd decided it was time to stop letting herself be pushed around. Otherwise, she'd always be the quiet girl who got walked all over. She might never become fearless—but at the very least, she could try to be braver. She couldn't go through life curled up like a frightened kitten every time something hurt. It was time to learn to fight back.

To her surprise, Oliver chuckled softly. It was the first time she saw him smile genuinely. But just as quickly, he masked his face in indifference again.

Matthew had told her that Oliver had been hurt worse than most by his family. That was why he kept everyone at arm's length. It was his way of coping. But Sara knew that pushing people away was no way to heal.

She didn't know exactly what had happened to him, but she knew that having friends helped ease the pain. If she were the type who made friends easily, she'd try to surround herself with as many as possible. Oliver had a way of drawing people in—but because of his abrasive behavior, they always pulled away.

"Laura, where are you? I think we need to have a little chat," Matthew's voice called out.

Sara watched as he disappeared behind the shelf. A moment later, he reappeared—dragging Laura with him toward the back of the room.

Laura pretended to resist, but the grin on her face gave her away. She could never stay mad at him.

Matthew backed her into the wall, caging her in so she couldn't escape. Laura swallowed hard, surprised by the move. It was bold—and admittedly attractive. But she didn't know what he wanted from her. Especially after the misunderstanding between them. She couldn't count on getting what she wanted.

"You did it on purpose, didn't you?" he asked, his eyes locked on hers.

A sly smile crept onto Laura's lips. She didn't know what exactly he meant, but his anger made him look irresistible.

"Depends what you're talking about," she purred, eyeing his lips from up close.

Matthew gave her a light shove, and she opened her eyes wider in shock.

"Last night," he said. "You spilled that drink on yourself on purpose, didn't you? You knew you'd look sexy."

Her smile widened. She bit her lip, and Matthew's eyes narrowed like an irritated cat.

"You're doing it again," he growled. "You're trying to seduce me—because you know it works. I couldn't sleep because of you. All night I kept thinking about how badly you made me want you."

"And did I succeed?" she whispered, noticing how close he was.

He pressed his body against hers, their faces just centimeters apart. She could feel his warm breath on her skin. She reached out to touch his cheek, but he grabbed her wrists and pinned her hands above her head.

"If you hadn't done that," he murmured, "I wouldn't be this close to you right now."

She smirked in response.

Matthew gripped her chin, his fingers pressing into her cheeks. Laura shifted restlessly.

"Do you want me so badly that you'll do anything to make your little fantasy come true?"

"Try going any further, and you'll find out," she whispered, holding his gaze.

He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her tighter against him. Then, without warning, he lifted her onto a low cabinet and kissed her.

Laura tilted her head back, savoring the moment.

She had finally gotten what she wanted.

And she knew—it was only a matter of time before Matthew fell completely into her hands.

*

Sara leaned out from behind the shelf, curiosity bubbling in her chest. It was unusually quiet at the back of the warehouse. Too quiet. Matthew had dragged Laura there looking far from pleased—they should be arguing by now. She hoped he hadn't done anything stupid. After everything she'd seen—dead people, ghosts—her mind was already hanging by a thread.

"What are you looking at?" Alan's voice startled her.

He leaned close, peering in the same direction. Her heart skipped a beat when she realized how near his face was. Their cheeks were just inches apart. She blinked in surprise, and Alan, catching on to her discomfort, quickly pulled back. Still, she felt the heat rise in her cheeks.

She thought she'd already fought off this silly crush. But being in such close proximity to him always caught her off guard.

"Nothing important," she muttered.

From the corner of her eye, she noticed Oliver glancing toward them, suspicious as always. He wasn't even trying to hide it.

Suddenly, a sharp pain pierced her arm again. She winced and hissed under her breath. The same pain had haunted her since last night. When she'd stepped out of the shower and looked in the mirror, she'd seen a mark—an ugly scar that looked burned into her skin.

She had no idea what that phantom had done to her in the tunnels. But the burn hurt as if her skin were scorched by fire. And she hadn't told anyone. Not even Alan. He was the one she trusted most, since they'd lived through that nightmare together—but how could she confess she was seeing ghosts and flashes from the past? He'd think she was crazy. She didn't want to lose his trust. Or the way he looked at her.

The door to the warehouse creaked open. They all turned sharply, expecting a teacher. But relief washed over them when they saw it was just Simon. The blond boy scanned the room, clearly searching for someone.

"Laura!" he called.

A thud echoed from the back of the warehouse, and moments later, Laura came sprinting out with a wide grin on her face.

"Why are you so happy?" he asked suspiciously. She threw an arm around his shoulders, steering him away from the others and toward the far end of the room, making sure he didn't glance back.

"Any of you smoke?" Laura called out after a moment, walking back toward the group. "Simon, being the sweetheart he is, managed to score some cigarettes."

Oliver snorted under his breath. Laura, unbothered, gave him the middle finger behind her back. Thankfully, he didn't see it. With his foul temper, he'd probably make a scene.

"I smoke," Matthew said lazily. "Weed, though."

Simon shot him a disgusted look. Jealousy flashed in his eyes—likely because Laura clearly favored Matthew. Simon would do anything for her, and not just because they were friends. That much was obvious. It was more than friendship.

"Gross. Weed might relax you, but it turns your brain to mush," Alan muttered.

"I know a better way to de-stress," Matthew added with a smug grin. "And it's actually good for your health."

Sara shot him a warning look. Simon caught it and eyed them both with suspicion.

Then the burning returned—intense and localized. She couldn't ignore it this time. Quietly, she slipped away from the group and disappeared behind a rack stacked with cardboard boxes.

Her eyes fell on a large mirror propped up against the wall. It was cracked but still usable. She stepped closer and rolled up her sleeve.

The mark was still there, etched into her skin—a scorched symbol resembling a swastika.

She tore her gaze away from the wound when she saw Alan's reflection behind her. He was staring directly at her arm, shock written across his face. Then his eyes rose to meet hers. She quickly covered the mark, but he was already walking toward her.

Sara swallowed hard.

She had no choice.

"It's worse than you think," she said quietly as he came closer. His gaze was intense, serious. She turned fully toward him. "There's something I didn't tell you."

Alan waited silently.

"You're going to think I've lost my mind," she went on. "But… I've been seeing ghosts. For a while now. And that mark—that's from one of them. It happened yesterday. In the tunnels." Her voice dropped to a whisper.

She braced herself for laughter, mockery, disbelief. But Alan didn't laugh.

Instead, he looked even more concerned.

"I don't see ghosts," he admitted, "but ever since I came here… I've been having nightmares. Every night. They feel real. Too real. Like memories—like pieces of a past life. And they're brutal. Violent."

Sara's mouth fell open in shock.

"That swastika on your shoulder…" Alan's voice lowered to a whisper. "In my dreams, I see it all the time. On the uniform of the man who causes all the pain. I feel like… like someone's trying to show me something."

Sara's eyes widened as she remembered the photograph she'd found in the tunnels. She'd kept it hidden ever since, too afraid to let anyone else find it.

Now, it was time.

Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out the worn photograph and handed it to Alan with trembling fingers.

"I found this underground yesterday," she said softly.

Alan took the photo, and as soon as his eyes landed on it, his expression changed.

He froze. His eyes widened.

Sara could see it clearly now—he was just as shaken as she was.