The silence inside the town was heavier this time.
Not just stillness—tension . Like the air itself was holding its breath, waiting for something to break.
Mira, Luka, and Eli moved carefully through the frozen streets, their footsteps swallowed by the unnatural quiet. Shadows stretched unnaturally long across the pavement, curling around their ankles like smoke caught in wind.
Eli kept close to Mira, one hand resting lightly on her shoulder as if to remind himself she was real.
Luka walked slightly ahead, his fingers twitching at his sides, the melody he'd been hearing since childhood now a constant hum beneath his skin.
They didn't speak.
Words felt wrong here.
Too loud.
Too fragile.
It started with a flicker.
A wavering glow from the corner of Mira's eye—just beyond the edge of the schoolhouse.
She stopped.
Luka noticed immediately. "What is it?"
She pointed toward the light.
He followed her gaze.
Then he stiffened.
Because there, half-hidden behind the building, was a house that hadn't been there before.
A small, weathered home with peeling paint and broken shutters.
And in the upstairs window—
A single flame.
Flickering.
Growing.
Spreading.
Mira's breath caught.
She knew this place.
Even if she had never seen it before.
Her hands trembled as she flipped open her sketchpad.
One line.
Then another.
Then another.
Until the image took shape—a house burning from the inside out.
Smoke curling into the sky.
Figures standing in the doorway.
Watching.
Waiting.
Eli saw it and exhaled sharply. "No."
Luka turned to him. "You remember too, don't you?"
Eli's jaw tightened. "I don't want to."
Mira reached for his hand and placed it over her chest.
Just like before.
And then—
The memory surged through him.
Not his own.
But something close .
His mother's voice calling his name.
His father shouting something he couldn't hear.
And then—
Fire.
So much fire.
And in the middle of it all—
Mira.
Standing alone.
Calling for help.
But no sound came.
Only silence.
And the smell of smoke.
And ash.
And fear.
Eli staggered back, gasping.
"No," he whispered. "That wasn't how it happened."
Mira met his gaze steadily.
Then signed:
It was. You just forgot.
He shook his head. "Why would I forget something like that?"
She hesitated—then added something new to the drawing.
A figure standing outside the burning house.
Watching.
Not helping.
Not moving.
Just… watching.
Eli stared at it.
Then his stomach dropped.
"That's me," he said hoarsely.
Luka looked between them. "You were there?"
Eli swallowed hard. "I must have been. But I don't—I don't remember running. I don't remember not running."
Mira touched his arm gently.
Then signed:
You weren't ready to remember.
He clenched his fists. "I don't know if I am now."
She tilted her head.
Then drew again.
This time, a boy standing in front of the burning house.
But this time, he reached out.
Took his sister's hand.
And pulled her free.
Eli stared at it.
Then whispered, "Is that what really happened?"
She nodded once.
Then tapped the edge of the page twice.
Confirmation.
He exhaled shakily. "Then why did I forget?"
Luka answered quietly, "Because some memories are too heavy to carry until you're ready."
Inside the echo-town, the fire spread.
Slowly, deliberately—as if it had nowhere to go but forward.
The figures in the streets began to move again, drawn toward the flames like moths to light.
Some screamed silently.
Others stood still.
One by one, they vanished into the smoke.
Mira watched them disappear, her expression unreadable.
Then she signed:
We need to stop this. Before it spreads.
Luka frowned. "How?"
She closed her sketchpad.
Then pointed toward the house.
Toward the fire.
Toward the past.
And signed:
We finish what was left undone.