ECHOES OF YESTERDAY

The sun had barely risen, but the dormitory was already stirring with the usual morning chaos. Blankets rustled, sleepy murmurs filled the air, and the occasional thud of someone tripping over their own feet echoed through the stone corridors. The scent of lavender soap and damp stone mixed with the musty air, creating a strangely nostalgic morning atmosphere.

Tasha sat on the edge of her bed, rubbing her temples. The events of the previous day still lingered in her mind—the horror she had witnessed, the strange girl's warning at lunch, and the restless sleep that followed. Even now, she could still hear the distant whispers of students gossiping about the murders.

"You okay?" Lina's voice cut through her thoughts.

Tasha looked up to see Lina standing near the dresser, her short auburn hair still slightly messy from sleep. Naomi was behind her, buttoning her uniform with an exaggerated yawn.

"I'm fine," Tasha muttered, though the dark circles under her eyes said otherwise.

Lina narrowed her eyes. "You look like you spent the night fighting demons in your dreams."

Naomi snorted. "Wouldn't be surprised if she did. Considering what she saw yesterday, I'd be having nightmares too."

Tasha sighed. "I just need some fresh air. Maybe a walk before class."

Lina tilted her head. "Alone?"

Naomi scoffed. "Pfft. Like that's happening. If you go missing, who's going to laugh at my jokes?"

Tasha smiled faintly. "I'll be fine. I just… need to clear my head."

Lina folded her arms, clearly debating whether to argue. After a moment, she sighed. "Fine. But if you're not back by breakfast, I'm dragging you back myself."

Tasha chuckled. "Deal."

With that settled, she grabbed her cardigan and slipped out of the dormitory, taking in a deep breath as she walked down the quiet hallway.

The school in the early morning was a different world. The usual noise and chatter had yet to take over, leaving only the occasional echo of footsteps or the rustling of leaves outside. The stone walls of the corridors were cool under her fingers as she trailed them absentmindedly.

Then she saw her.

Celeste.

The school's self-proclaimed queen stood in the hallway ahead, chatting with her usual entourage. The moment Tasha spotted her, she instinctively lowered her head, hoping to pass by unnoticed.

No such luck.

Celeste turned just in time to see her and immediately stepped into her path, blocking her way with an all-too-satisfied smirk.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't Tasha Monroe," Celeste sneered. "I almost didn't recognize you, considering how much you love hiding in the shadows."

Tasha clenched her jaw but said nothing, stepping to the side. Celeste mirrored her movement, cutting her off again.

"You know," Celeste continued, crossing her arms, "I should be furious. Thanks to your little circus act, I got detention. Do you have any idea how humiliating that was?"

Tasha finally met her gaze. "I didn't do anything to you."

Celeste scoffed. "Please. If you and your little gang hadn't interfered, none of this would've happened. But I suppose it's fitting. Losers always stick together, right?"

Tasha swallowed down the retort rising in her throat. She wasn't in the mood for this.

Just then, Collins appeared from the other end of the hallway. He was clearly pretending not to notice the scene as he strolled by, hands in his pockets, whistling an off-tune melody.

Then—bam.

He collided straight into Tasha.

The impact sent them both stumbling, with Tasha nearly toppling over. Collins, however, recovered quickly, rubbing the back of his neck as he blinked down at her.

"Oh, wow. Tasha?" He feigned surprise. "Didn't see you there. You should really work on not being so small. Very easy to miss."

Tasha shot him a look. "You walked into me!"

Collins grinned. "Debatable. Could've been the other way around."

Celeste rolled her eyes. "Oh, look. The idiot brigade has arrived."

Collins gasped dramatically. "Celeste, I had no idea you knew my full title! How kind of you."

Celeste's face twisted in irritation. "Get lost, Collins."

Collins stroked his chin as if thinking hard. "Hmm. Tempting offer. But no. See, Tasha here is my friend, and since I just crashed into her, I should probably stick around to make sure she doesn't die from the shock of colliding with my devastating charm."

Tasha groaned. "Oh my God, Collins—"

But Collins wasn't done. He turned to Celeste's minions. "By the way, ladies, is it true you all have to worship Celeste at midnight, or is that just a rumor?"

Celeste's minions stiffened.

Celeste's eye twitched. "You—"

"Anyway!" Collins clapped his hands together. "This was fun, but I think it's time for us to leave before Celeste decides to summon a lightning bolt to strike me down." He turned to Tasha. "Shall we, my dear victim of unfortunate hallway blocking?"

Tasha quickly nodded, and before Celeste could throw another insult, Collins lightly nudged her forward.

They walked in silence for a few moments, the tension from earlier still hanging awkwardly between them.

Then came the awkward part.

"So…" Collins rubbed his neck. "That was fun."

Tasha cleared her throat. "You call that fun?"

He chuckled. "Well, watching Celeste turn red was definitely amusing."

Tasha shifted uncomfortably. "Thanks for stepping in, I guess."

Collins smiled. "Anytime."

Silence again.

Tasha opened her mouth, then closed it. Collins did the same.

It was painful.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Tasha nodded towards the hallway. "I, um… I need to go somewhere."

Collins arched a brow. "Somewhere?"

Tasha nodded vaguely. "Yeah. Behind the library."

Collins blinked. "Ah. Mysterious. I like it."

She turned to leave, but not before noticing Collins watching her go, his gaze lingering for just a second too long.

---

From the shadows of the corridor, Alexander watched everything.

He had seen Celeste's humiliation. He had seen Collins' effortless interference. He had seen Tasha walk away, completely oblivious to the fact that she had just made things worse for herself.

For a long time, he didn't react.

Then, without a word, he stood. His minions followed immediately as he walked towards a small, hidden room near the end of the hallway.

It was time to make a move.

---

Tasha found herself beneath the large oak tree behind the library.

The gentle rustling of leaves above the oak tree should have been comforting. The morning air was crisp, carrying the distant murmurs of students shuffling to their classes. But none of that mattered to Tasha as she sat with her back pressed against the rough bark, her knees pulled close to her chest.

She hadn't meant to dwell on the past. She never did. But something about this morning—the lingering tension with Celeste, the awkward yet strangely warm moment with Collins, the way Alexander had watched everything unfold with unreadable eyes—left her unsettled.

Her mind wandered back, slipping past the years, past the hardships, to a time when life had been simple. When love had surrounded her like an unbreakable shield.

Back to them.

---

The house smelled of vanilla and fresh roses, a scent Tasha had come to associate with home. She could still picture the grand living room, its high ceilings adorned with golden chandeliers that sparkled when the sunlight hit them just right. Plush ivory couches filled the space, the walls lined with expensive paintings her mother adored.

Her father sat by the piano, his fingers gliding effortlessly over the keys, filling the room with a soft, melodic tune. He was a tall man with sharp features and a smile that always held warmth, even in his sternest moments.

Tasha sat cross-legged on the floor, flipping through a book. She wasn't really reading; she was just listening.

Her mother appeared from the kitchen, her long, elegant dress swaying as she moved. She carried a tray of tea and biscuits, setting it on the table before walking over to where her husband played.

"Must you always play such sorrowful songs?" her mother teased, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

Her father chuckled but didn't stop playing. "It's called emotion, my love."

"It's called depressing," her mother corrected. "Play something joyful for once. Something lighthearted for our daughter."

Tasha smiled at the exchange. They were always like this—her father, the composed and refined one; her mother, the vibrant and lively force that balanced him out.

Her father sighed dramatically but obliged, switching to an upbeat tune. Her mother clapped her hands in delight before twirling around the room.

Tasha laughed. "Mom, you're going to break something again."

"That was one time," her mother said, still spinning. "And in my defense, that vase was ugly."

"It was an antique from France," her father reminded her.

"Exactly. Ugly," her mother said with a grin.

Tasha shook her head, standing up to join them. Her mother took her hands, spinning her in circles as they danced to the music. Laughter filled the air, warm and golden, wrapping around them like a blanket.

Her mother kissed the top of her head before pulling back. "Now, darling, be good while we're away, alright?"

Tasha frowned. "Do you have to go?"

Her father stepped in, resting a hand on her shoulder. "It's just a short business trip, sweetheart. We'll be back before you know it."

Her mother cupped Tasha's face, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "We'll bring you something special, I promise."

"You always say that."

Her mother smirked. "And have I ever broken a promise?"

Tasha hesitated before shaking her head. "No."

"Exactly." Her mother pressed a kiss to her forehead. "We'll be home soon. You behave, alright?"

Tasha sighed but nodded. "Okay."

Her father squeezed her shoulder before standing. "We need to leave soon. The car is waiting."

Her mother gave Tasha one last smile before following her husband toward the door.

Tasha watched them go, standing in the doorway as they stepped into the sleek black car that would take them to the airport. Her mother turned one last time, waving brightly.

Tasha waved back.

And that was the last time she saw them.

---

The memory shifted.

She was back in the house, but it was different now. Dark. Empty. A suffocating silence had replaced the laughter.

The phone had rung late that night. She remembered the way her heart had pounded as she picked it up. The voice on the other end was calm—too calm.

"Miss Monroe?"

"Yes?"

"We regret to inform you that Flight 217 from Paris to New York has crashed. There were no survivors."

The words had slammed into her like a physical blow.

Her breath caught. The room swayed.

"No."

"I'm very sorry for your loss."

The phone slipped from her grasp, clattering onto the marble floor.

Her legs gave out beneath her.

She didn't cry. Not at first.

She just sat there, staring at nothing, as if waiting for someone to tell her this was all some cruel joke. That any moment now, her mother would walk through the door, laughing about how she'd found another ugly antique in Paris, while her father rolled his eyes behind her.

But the door never opened.

They never came home.

And Tasha was never the same.

---

A cold gust of wind stirred the leaves, pulling her out of the memory.

She blinked, her vision blurry. She hadn't realized she was crying until she felt the wetness on her cheeks.

She let out a shuddering breath, wiping her face with her sleeve.

The past was the past. There was no changing it.

But no matter how much time passed, the weight of it never truly faded.

She pulled her knees closer to her chest, closing her eyes. The exhaustion from the emotions, from the restless night before, from everything, finally took its toll.

Sleep pulled her under.

But just before she drifted off completely, she had the strangest feeling.

That she wasn't alone.

That someone was watching.

And somewhere, not too far away, Alexander sat in a dimly lit room with his minions, a dark smirk curling on his lips.

Whatever he was planning—

It was about to begin.