For a long moment, none of them spoke.
Rain slammed against the windows like it was trying to get in.
The music room felt too small, too trapped, too heavy.
Aria clutched the parchment.
Lucien stood rigidly, a storm barely contained beneath his skin.
Killian leaned against the piano, breathing like the truth weighed more than his lungs could carry.
Finally, Aria whispered:
"Killian… what do you mean your mother's journals?"
His eyes lifted to her, soft but haunted.
"I shouldn't even have them," he said. "They were locked in my father's private safe, and—I only found them because I was looking for something else."
Lucien's voice cut through the air like a blade.
"What were you looking for?"
Killian hesitated.
His fingers gripped the piano edge so hard it creaked.
"My mother wrote a lot about… people."
He swallowed.
"Especially people connected to the academy."
Lucien stiffened. "That makes no sense."
But Killian didn't look at him.
He looked at Aria.
"Your name," he whispered, "appeared in her journal… before you ever transferred here."
Aria's breath stopped.
Impossible.
She shook her head. "No—Killian, that can't be me. There are lots of Arias—"
He cut her off.
"She described you."
Thunder cracked overhead like someone tearing the sky open.
Lucien's eyes snapped to Aria.
"Describe how?" he demanded.
Killian stepped closer to Aria, voice trembling.
"She wrote about a girl with a scar behind her right ear—a scar only someone who's touched your hair would know about."
Aria froze.
That scar wasn't visible.
It was tiny, hidden beneath her hairline since she was six years old.
A childhood accident no one at this academy could've known about.
Her pulse roared in her ears.
"How… how would your mother know that?" she whispered.
Killian shut his eyes as if the memory physically hurt.
"I don't know. But one entry—"
He opened his eyes.
Something terrified hid inside them.
"—one entry said she saw you standing at the end of her hallway… the night before she died."
Aria stumbled back like the floor tilted under her.
"No—Killian, I wasn't anywhere near your home. I didn't even know your family. I was—"
"I know," he said, voice cracking. "But she wrote it. She described the dress you told me you lost years ago. She described your necklace. She even wrote your name."
Lucien's expression went cold.
"Are you saying Aria was stalking your mother?" he asked, voice dangerously quiet.
"No!" Killian snapped. "I'm saying—"
He turned to Aria, eyes wide with fear.
"—I think someone made her see you. Or made her think she did. Someone who wanted her to write it down. Someone who wanted your name to matter."
Aria's hands trembled so violently she nearly dropped the parchment.
"Killian… why would anyone do that?"
He hesitated.
Then, slowly, he pulled something from his jacket.
Aria's blood chilled.
It was a photograph.
A torn, faded photograph.
He handed it to her with shaking fingers.
"It was tucked inside one of her journals," he whispered. "And I swear—I swear I didn't add this."
Aria looked down.
It was a picture of a little girl.
Six years old.
White dress.
Hair tied back.
A tiny scar behind her ear.
Her handwriting on the back:
A.R.
Her initials.
She couldn't breathe.
"That's impossible," she whispered. "That picture doesn't exist. It can't—my mother never—she didn't take many photos."
Killian's voice dropped to a trembling whisper.
"Aria… my mother had it. In her journal. Hidden. Years before you ever came here."
Lucien's expression wasn't cold anymore.
It was something far more terrifying:
Confusion mixed with suspicion.
Concern twisted with a sinking kind of dread.
He stepped closer, studying the photo.
"Where did she get this?" he asked Killian.
"I don't know!" Killian shouted. "But that's not all—"
He pulled out another page.
A torn half-page from a journal.
It had one sentence written in frantic, uneven handwriting:
"They're bringing her back."
Aria felt the room spin.
"Bringing who back?" she whispered.
Killian looked at her with eyes full of apology.
"I think… you."
---
Something Was Wrong With This Room
Lucien slowly moved to Aria's side, voice low.
"Aria, listen to me. Don't panic."
But she couldn't stop.
Because her mind raced back to everything:
The stranger following her.
The shadows in the old dorm building.
The note that appeared out of nowhere.
The mark on the bathroom mirror.
The feeling she was being watched even before Killian and Lucien.
It wasn't paranoia.
It wasn't imagination.
Someone had been connected to her for years.
Someone who knew Killian's mother.
Someone who wanted Aria brought to this academy.
Lucien reached for the photo, his fingers brushing hers.
The lights flickered.
Just once.
Then again.
The storm outside roared.
The piano strings vibrated on their own.
The parchment on the bench fluttered though the windows were closed.
Killian looked around, suddenly terrified.
"Aria…" he whispered, "do you feel that?"
She did.
Something shifted in the room.
A pressure.
Almost like the air itself recognized her.
And then—
The lights cut out entirely.
Darkness swallowed everything.
Aria gasped.
Lucien grabbed her wrist immediately.
Killian grabbed her other hand.
And for a single heartbeat—
All three of them felt it:
Something else in the room.
Breathing.
Watching.
Waiting.