Survival

The final school bell rang, and students poured out of the classrooms like bees escaping a hive. Emma and Nathan didn't speak as they walked through the crowded halls. They had stayed quiet all day, pretending to be normal students, answering questions in class, nodding along like everything was fine.

But nothing was fine.

Emma gripped the straps of her backpack tightly as they walked side by side out of the school gates.

"You still have the recorder?" Nathan asked in a low voice.

Emma nodded. "Bottom of my bag, wrapped in a scarf."

"Good," he said. "We'll need it."

They walked past groups of laughing students, kids with headphones, and parents waiting in parked cars. No one paid attention to them. To the world, they were just two more tired teenagers heading home after a long day. But Emma's mind was far from schoolwork.

They didn't go home right away. Instead, they took the long route, cutting through the park and then into a quiet back street. When they reached a small bench under an old tree, they sat down.

Emma pulled the recorder out for just a second, checking it hadn't been damaged. The message they had found in the library—the voice, the warnings—it still echoed in her head.

Nathan glanced around. "You think The Cell is already tracking us?"

Emma looked up. "If they're not yet, they will be soon."

Nathan nodded. "Then we need to move fast."

Emma looked at him seriously. "We go home, grab what we need, then vanish."

They stood and walked toward her neighborhood, sticking to less crowded paths. As they turned the final corner onto her street, Emma stopped suddenly.

The front door of her house was open.

A chill ran down her spine.

Nathan stepped in front of her. "Stay behind me."

They crept closer, eyes scanning the front yard. Nothing moved. But inside, the living room was a wreck—pillows slashed open, books and papers scattered, drawers pulled out and thrown across the floor.

"They were looking for the recorder," Emma whispered.

"Let's move fast," Nathan said, pointing to the stairs. "Grab what you need. We're not staying here."

They ran up to Emma's room. She tossed clothes into her bag and opened the small box beneath her bed, filled with her drawings, notes, and dream journal.

She paused, her hand hovering over it.

Nathan watched her. "You don't have time."

"I need this," Emma said. "It's all part of it."

She stuffed the notebook into her backpack.

Suddenly, a car door slammed shut outside.

Emma peeked through the curtains. "My aunt's home."

Aunt Bertha climbed out of her car with a grocery bag in one hand and a cigarette already lit in the other. Her usual frown pulled at her face like gravity.

"Don't let her see us," Emma whispered.

They ducked down and moved quietly back downstairs. As they crouched in the kitchen, the front door creaked open.

Bertha stepped inside and stopped, her eyes slowly scanning the chaos.

She didn't panic. She didn't call out for Emma. She just sighed loudly, walked to the counter, and dropped her grocery bag.

"Seriously?" she muttered. "This place was already a mess."

She picked up a broken picture frame, stared at it for some time and just dropped it into the trash can.

"No one ever tells me anything," she mumbled. "Not my problem."

Emma peeked around the corner. Her aunt didn't even look upstairs. She just sat down and flipped on the TV.

Nathan looked at Emma and whispered, "She really doesn't care, does she?"

Emma didn't answer. Her face said it all.

They slipped quietly out the back door and didn't look back.

They didn't stop running until they reached the train station. Emma bought two tickets with cash. No names. No tracking.

"Where to?" Nathan asked as the train approached.

Emma looked at him. "Wherever they're not."

But even as the train pulled away from the station, Emma knew running wouldn't be enough forever. They still had to go to school, to blend in, to act normal.

So, the following Monday, they returned.

Backpacks on their backs. Secrets in their pockets.

Math class, Geography and lunch break—it all felt strange now. Like a game they had to play. They answered questions, took notes, smiled at teachers. But under it all, they were searching, watching and planning.

After school, they met at Emma's place or the park. Always careful. Always quiet.

"We keep going like this," Nathan said one afternoon. "School during the day. Mission after."

Emma nodded. "We become shadows."

At night, Emma had more dreams. The same red door. The same whispers. She wrote everything in her journal, adding pieces to the puzzle only she could see.

One night, she wrote:

"The world thinks I'm just a girl. But there's more. There's always been more. And if I disappear, let this be the proof I existed. Let someone remember me."