CHAPTER NINE:The Names We Don't Say Aloud

Elianah

The hallway was empty after hours — all echo and dim light. She wandered without meaning to. Her feet always knew where to go before her mind did.

She stopped in front of the old trophy case near the west wing staircase — the one no one really looked at anymore. Dust-covered names. Cracked glass. Forgotten victories.

But there, tucked into the bottom corner, was something that hadn't been there before.

A torn photograph.

Two figures — blurry, but unmistakable.

One was a girl with eyes like hers.

The other… Isaiah.

Not now-Isaiah, but a version of him. Different face. Same presence. Same pull.

She reached out — hand hovering, not touching. Her breath caught like it hit a wall.

> "You're not crazy," a voice said behind her.

She turned. Mr. Dane stood there, hands in his coat pockets, watching her like she was a page he'd read before.

> "What is this?" she asked, her voice thin, almost breaking.

> "A memory someone didn't want remembered," he said.

---

Isaiah

He dreamt again.

This time, the dream started in fire.

A burning house.

A girl screaming his name.

His own hands, covered in blood and ash.

He woke up gasping, heart pounding like a war drum.

He sat at the edge of his bed, gripping his sketchpad.

Without thinking, he started to draw. Not with care. Not with thought. Just motion — line after line, smudge after smudge — until a face stared back at him.

It was the girl.

Not Elianah.

But still… Elianah.

A version of her, wrapped in smoke and sorrow.

He didn't know how he knew.

He just did.

---

Cassia

Cassia stood outside Isaiah's window in the dark, watching the light flicker behind his curtains.

She never needed sleep. Not really.

Her body did, maybe. But not her spirit. Not the part of her that remembered everything.

She held the vial around her neck and whispered to it like it was a person.

> "He's close," she said softly.

"Closer than he's ever been."

Then she smiled. But it wasn't a happy smile. It was the kind of smile you wear when you know something is about to break.

---

Narrator

Some memories don't return gently.

They arrive like thunder —

ripping open the silence you've built your life around.

Names left unspoken.

Photos that move when no one's watching.

Eyes you've only met in dreams.

And in the dark corners of their school,

beneath dusty glass and whispered truths,

the past was no longer sleeping.

It was waking up.