The Hollow Thread

The day after Theo disappeared, Ravencroft felt colder.

Not in temperature, but in soul.

It was like something in the bones of the academy had stiffened — less wind through the ivy, less light through the stained-glass windows. Even the statues lining the east courtyard had shadows too long, too still.

Theo had vanished before. For hours. Even days.

But this felt different.

Final.

Intentional.

And wrong.

I didn't tell anyone, not yet.

Julian knew, of course. So did Lyra.

But for now, it was our secret.

One of many.

And secrets were beginning to rot beneath the floorboards.

That evening, I went to the observatory alone.

It had once been Theo's favorite spot — high above the towers, with broken glass panels and a view of the stars no textbook could name. He'd painted it once. Just once. A mural of ravens and fire, inked into the wall before anyone could stop him.

That mural had been scrubbed off.

But not completely.

There were still faint lines if you squinted hard enough.

Ghosts of a boy who'd seen too much.

The mirror shard in the corner glinted as I approached.

And then — it shimmered.

A whisper bled out. One I had heard before. But not in his voice.

"They'll twist what you remember, Elena."

Theo's voice.

"That's how they get inside. They don't erase everything. Just… enough to make you doubt what's left."

The whisper paused.

"Don't let them touch the thread."

I froze.

The thread?

Was it the red string I'd seen in the Book? The one that had once tied me to Julian in the vision?

Or… something else?

I knelt beside the mirror shard, touched the glass.

"Where are you?" I whispered.

No answer.

By morning, I was unraveling.

The Book had remained silent overnight. The page Theo had scrawled on stayed blank now — like it was ashamed of what it had shared.

Julian found me pacing the quad before breakfast.

He held out a mug of coffee. His hands were shaking.

"You're not sleeping."

"You're not either."

We didn't smile.

He walked with me in silence, past the gargoyle gate, down the eastern steps that led to the old library annex — the one abandoned after the fire two years ago.

"You think he's here?" Julian asked softly.

"No," I whispered. "But I think someone left a clue here."

Inside the annex, dust clung to every surface.

Most of the windows were broken.

A tree had grown through one wall.

But the books—

The books were untouched.

As if even fire didn't dare ruin them.

Julian lit a lantern, and together we stepped between the shelves.

Halfway down the theology aisle, something cold brushed my shoulder.

A whisper.

But not from the walls this time.

From a page.

I pulled a red leather volume off the shelf.

The Theory of Unraveling Memory Threads.

Author: L.A. (no surname).

Published: "Privately."

I flipped it open.

Inside: diagrams of minds split by magic, threads of memory unspooling like rivers. And on the third page—

A name.

Theo Blackthorne.

My knees nearly gave out.

Julian caught me.

I stared at the page like it would vanish.

A diagram sketched in black ink.

A boy's silhouette.

And a single line drawn through the center of his chest — connected to a circle labeled: "Thread Anchor: Unknown."

Beneath it, Lyra's handwriting.

"Subject exposed to experimental memory tethering. Symptom: heightened emotional recall, especially around one person (E.W.). Proceed with caution."

E.W.

Me.

Julian's voice cut through the fog.

"They tethered him to you."

I closed the book.

Not softly.

Not carefully.

Hard.

"They didn't just erase our memories, Julian. They rewired them."

"And Theo… he remembers me not just because of what we shared, but because he was made to."

The world spun a little.

I sat down on the dusty step.

Julian crouched beside me.

His voice was quiet.

"You're not just a girl caught in a war, Elena."

"You're the reason it's still going."

I looked at him.

At the boy I had once tied a thread around in a candlelit ritual.

At the boy who had remembered before I did, and stayed quiet so I could feel free.

"And you?" I asked. "Were you rewired too?"

His expression didn't change.

"No."

He placed his hand over mine.

"I remember because I refused to forget."

Something cracked in my chest.

Not a break.

A thaw.

I looked at him longer than I should have.

And when his thumb brushed over my knuckles, I didn't pull away.

I let myself feel it — just for a moment.

The steadiness of him.

The ache of everything we'd almost been.

By the time we left the annex, the sky was dark.

Storm clouds had gathered over Ravencroft — not heavy, but stretched too thin. The kind that threatened lightning without ever promising rain.

Back in the Keeper's Tower, the Book waited.

And when I opened it that night, a new name waited for me.

Milo Vance

Status: Former Keeper Candidate. Disqualified for ritual interference. Last seen with Lyra Addington. Disappeared in mirror collapse.

Known item: The Hollow Thread.

A sketch appeared beneath the name.

A necklace.

A simple chain.

With a needle hanging from the center like a pendant.

I reached out to touch the sketch—

And the Book burned gold.

The page vanished.

Replaced with one sentence.

"The Hollow Thread is not for mending. It's for cutting."

I stepped away.

Heart pounding.

Julian read the words too.

And he said nothing.

He didn't have to.

We both knew.

The Hollow Thread wasn't just a memory tool.

It was a weapon.

The next morning, I found Lyra waiting in the common hall.

No one else saw her.

They walked past like she was just another shadow.

She handed me something wrapped in velvet.

"You're going to need this."

I unwrapped it.

The Hollow Thread.

Real.

Cold.

Humming with a magic that didn't feel like Ravencroft's usual kind.

"Why are you giving me this?" I asked.

Lyra didn't blink.

"Because someone will try to bind you by force soon."

"And this is the only thing that can cut a thread that wasn't chosen."

I returned to my dorm and locked the door behind me.

Julian waited quietly as I slipped the Hollow Thread into my drawer.

"Are you afraid?" he asked.

I didn't lie.

"Yes."

"Of the war coming?"

"No," I said. "Of what I'll do when I have to choose."

Outside, thunder echoed.

The walls whispered.

And somewhere, far away…

Theo remembered something the rest of us had tried to forget.