The hatch beneath the stage.

Some truths are buried in graves.

Others?

They're buried under auditoriums.

It started with a whisper.

Not from a person but from a wall.

After the video of Isla, I couldn't sleep. My mind kept rewinding to her face, bruised, but breathing. Alive.

So I went back to the only place that ever felt real: the theatre stage.

The one where we held debates. Plays. Pep rallies.

The one the school built before anything else.

Because every lie needs a place to echo.

I crawled under the stage lights and sat in the center. The floor was warm, too warm for a building that hadn't been updated since 2003.

I pressed my palms to the wood.

Hollow.

I knocked.

It rang back.

I pulled out my phone flashlight and moved toward the far-left trapdoor, technically sealed, but I'd seen a custodian use it once during a lighting glitch.

Two screws. A crowbar. My heartbeat in my ears.

It opened with a groan like a dying animal.

Beneath it: stairs.

Not a maintenance shaft.

A tunnel.

Concrete. Wired. Clean.

I texted Ezra:

Found something. Come now. Bring backup.

But no reply.

I stepped inside.

Every step echoed like a shout. My flashlight flickered. The deeper I went, the more the walls changed from cement to stone.

Old stone. Like something that'd been added on top of. Buried.

A single door waited at the bottom. Steel. No handle. Just a keypad and a scanner.

But someone had scribbled a note in permanent marker beside it:

SPEAK THE OATH OR STAY A SHADOW.

I whispered, "What oath?"

Then a voice crackled from the speaker above me.

"You're not supposed to be here."

I jumped back.

"I.." I started. "I'm Nova Reed. I have a right…"

"You have a choice," the voice interrupted. "Turn around. Or be inducted."

"Into what?"

Silence.

Then a beep.

The door clicked.

And opened.

The room inside was blinding white.

Walls covered in paper. Maps. Names. Threads between students color-coded by sin.

In the center: a girl in a grey hoodie, back turned.

"I've been waiting for you," she said.

I froze. "Who are you?"

She turned.

Black lipstick. Nose ring. Tired eyes.

"I'm Remy. Ex-member. And apparently your real welcome committee."

"You were in the Row?"

"No," she said. "Worse. I was a Founder's Favor."

I blinked. "What's that?"

She walked to the wall and tapped a photo.

It was me.

My transfer papers.

Dated six months before I ever applied.

"You weren't admitted to Ravenshade," she said. "You were requested."

I felt the room tilt.

"They wanted me?"

"They planned for you," she corrected. "You fit the profile. Smart. Loud. Unbroken. The kind of mind that pokes holes in silence."

"Why?"

She pointed to a name on the wall I hadn't noticed until now.

Dr. Evelyn Reed.

My mother.

"Because you're a legacy."