Varsha walked down the school corridor, books tucked against her chest.
She was too early. And also too quiet.
No students or whispers. Only the fluorescent lights buzzing above her, soft and tired, like they were struggling to stay awake.
She took another step.
No sound.
Her brows pinched. She stepped harder.
Still nothing.
The silence felt suffocated around. Something was wrong.
Everything looked normal. White tiles, clean walls, locked doors. But something behind the stillness felt stretched thin, like a painting she was walking inside instead of a hallway she had known her whole life.
She kept going. A faint pressure settled in her ears. Like the air itself was holding its breath.
Then she saw him.
Up ahead, near the window where the morning light spilled in.
Back turned. Black hoodie. Hands in pockets. Shoulders slightly slouched, lazy and familiar.
Paul.
Varsha slowed to a stop.
She tried to call out. Her lips parted, but no sound came. It was like her voice refused to exist here.
Paul did not turn. His voice slid down the corridor anyway, flat and quiet.
"You are late."
Her grip on her books tightened.
Something cold crawled up her back, slow and deliberate, like a hand she could not see.
Paul turned his head just enough for half his face to appear. Expressionless. Shattered. And unreadable.
Behind him, the corridor faded into pure black. Not shadow. Not darkness. A void.
Like someone erased that part of the school entirely.
Paul lifted a hand and pointed toward it.
"You should not look."
Her body resisted, but her eyes moved anyway.
Something was there.
Tall. Still. Human-shaped. But not shaped right.
Watching them.
Her pulse stumbled.
The air tasted metallic, like she was breathing an empty tin.
She tried to step back. But her legs stayed frozen.
Paul spoke again. This time the voice came from right beside her ear, like a whisper.
"You see it too."
She flinched and looked at him. He had not moved at all.
The tiles beneath her feet cracked. Thin branching lines spread under her shoes like fractures in glass.
Her chest tightened. Her throat was drying out. Her hands trembled.
Paul tilted his head slowly, as if studying her reaction.
"Do not turn around."
Her body turned anyway. Slowly, dragging herself. Everything felt wrong.
Behind her was nothing.
Just an empty corridor fading into a soft grey fog.
She turned back.
Paul was gone.
Only his hoodie was on the floor where he had stood. Neatly folded. A smear of blood dark on the sleeve.
Her stomach dropped.
Tap.
A single footstep behind her.
She froze.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Closer. Louder. Not human.
Her breath collapsed in her chest. Her legs locked. Her heartbeat thrashed painfully loud.
The lights flickered hard, slicing the world into pieces of white and black.
Everything shattered. Light. Sound. Floor. Gone. The stage collapsed.
Varsha jolted upright in her bed, breath dragging harshly out of her lungs.
The room was dark. Sheets tangled around her legs. Her hair stuck to her forehead with cold sweat.
She stared ahead, wide-eyed, feeling the echo of footsteps still moving somewhere inside her chest.
"What was that?"
(The phone vibrated.)
Simon's hand reached for it automatically. One glance at the screen.
Loka.
He blinked once, then answered. Phone to his ear.
"Yeah. It's me."
"Yeah, I know." Loka's voice was casual.
"That's why I called. Anyway, I got something you might wanna hear."
"I'm listening," Simon said, tone flat as ever.
"I've got that golden pendant with me, right? One of my guys said a kid showed up yesterday evening with his mum. Said he wanted to return it to the owner."
Loka paused long enough for Simon's silence to stretch. "I didn't care at first. But this morning, I actually looked at the pendant. Guess what I found inside?"
Simon didn't answer.
Loka filled the gap. "A picture. Two boys. Teenagers. One side's burnt so bad the kid on the left, his whole head's gone."
Loka's voice lowered. "But the other one? The one still visible? He kinda looks like you. Same dead-eye expression you carry around."
Simon's grip on the phone tightened, but his voice stayed the same. "…Go on."
"Asked the guy who wrote the report," Loka continued. "He confirmed it. The kid found this pendant last Sunday. Behind Pandora Hotel."
Another pause. Longer this time. "You get what I'm saying?"
"Yeah." Not a single tremor. "I need to see it myself."
"Sure. Plaza Circle, right? Same spot as usual. Gimme twenty minutes."
"I'll be there."
Simon ended the call.
He lowered the phone from his ear. Shoulders dropped slightly. A slow breath slipped out. The closest thing he'd had to a reaction.
Plaza Circle was already busy.
Morning sun hit the pavement in long streaks. Warm light bounced off parked cars.
Delivery scooters hummed around the edges.
A couple of restaurants were half-open, staff dragging chairs outside and sweeping the dust away.
Simon crossed the lot with steady steps. His shadow stretched ahead of him. The plaza had enough movement to feel alive, yet quiet enough that every sound lingered.
He spotted Loka near a gray sedan parked at the corner. The man had one hand in his pocket and the other raised to block the sun. Even in daylight he looked exhausted. His hair was slightly messy, the lines around his eyes deeper than last year, his clothes mismatched like he had grabbed whatever was closest before leaving home.
Loka straightened when Simon approached.
"You're early," he said. His voice carried the familiar gravel of age and too many cigarettes.
"You're late," Simon replied with the same calm tone.
Loka smirked. "Still a pain in the ass."
He reached into his coat. Simon's gaze shifted, alert but not tense, until Loka pulled out the golden pendant. Thick gold chain, round frame, old but polished.
"Here," Loka said. He handed it over casually. "Before someone sees it and starts asking stupid questions."
Simon caught the pendant. He examined the outside first. The polish had worn thin in places. A few scratches ran along the surface, but the gold still held its shine. It was quality work. Anyone could see that with a glance.
The chain dangled as he held the round frame. His thumb brushed the metal slowly, as if touching an old scar he had tried to forget. He drew a steady breath and opened the pendant. He already knew what would be inside. He knew it too well.
His finger rested on the photograph. He touched it gently, as if confirming it was real and not some illusion.
Burn marks had eaten through the top corner. One boy's face was gone completely. Only the second boy remained intact.
A teenager. Expression blank. Eyes calm.
A posture that reminded Simon of someone who carried secrets even a camera could not expose.
Loka shoved both hands into his pockets and watched him.
"Looks like you," Loka said. His tone was almost amused. "Same dead look. Same posture. I thought I was hallucinating."
Simon did not respond.
Loka continued with a shrug. "Kid brought that yesterday. Said he found it behind Pandora Hotel. Near the trash area. His mum made him turn it over."
Simon blinked once and closed the pendant.
"You're sure it was Sunday?" he asked.
"Yeah." Loka scratched his jaw slowly. "Morning. Around ten. Said he almost stepped on the damn thing. Lucky brat."
Simon slipped the pendant into his coat pocket.
For a moment the plaza sounds filled the space around them. Traffic rolled past. A bicycle rattled by. A restaurant shutter clattered open.
Loka studied Simon's face. "So? Does this bring anything back? Or are you pretending it isn't?"
"I'll look into it," Simon said.
Loka let out a soft snort. "Figures. You never tell anyone shit anyway."
Simon turned to leave, but Loka called out.
"Hey."
Simon stopped and looked back.
"If this is your past creeping up again," Loka said quietly, "don't try to handle it alone. Last time didn't end well for you. Don't repeat that."
Simon gave a small nod and walked away.
The sunlight followed him across the pavement. The pendant in his pocket felt heavier with each step.