Misty stared at the black box in her palm, the small blinking red light casting soft glows across her fingertips.
"Do you remember who you really are?"
The voice was smooth. Familiar. But she couldn't place it.
"They've been lying to you."
"All of them."
"Even him."
Even... him?
Her first thought was Ken.
But Ken didn't lie. Ken didn't even talk unless he had to.
The box clicked. The red light blinked one last time... then shut off.
Gone.
Misty stood frozen in the bathroom stall, her mind racing. Her hand shook. Not from fear.
From memory.
But nothing came.
Just flashes. Blood. A tree. Screaming. A swing set.
And her mother's voice—
"Find a boy named Dawn. He will show you the way."
Ken sat in the library, head bowed over a notebook he wasn't writing in. The words on the page blurred, not from fatigue—but from thought.
He couldn't stop thinking about Ravyn.
The way she watched everyone.
The way she smiled.
She hadn't said a single word after class. Not to anyone.
But somehow, she'd still left a mark.
He leaned back in his seat, eyes flicking to the security camera perched high above the bookshelf.
It tilted slightly.
Too slightly.
He stared back at it.
When Misty walked into the library, Ken noticed immediately.
She looked like she'd seen a ghost. Or remembered one.
She sat beside him without a word, eyes distant.
He waited.
And then, quietly: "Did you ever... feel like someone erased something from your brain?"
Ken blinked.
Of all the things she could have said, that was not what he expected.
"...Yes," he finally admitted.
She looked at him, wide-eyed. "Really?"
Ken nodded. "It happens in dreams. People I don't remember. Places I know I've never been to."
Misty's voice dropped to a whisper. "I found a box. It talked to me."
Ken straightened up.
"What did it say?"
"That someone's lying to me," she whispered. "That I'm not who I think I am."
Ken didn't respond immediately. He glanced at the camera again. It had moved.
They weren't alone.
"Come with me," he said.
Ken led Misty down a hallway no student used. Not anymore.
The floors here were uneven. The walls had chipped paint. No cameras. No perfection.
They stopped in front of a locked janitor's closet.
Ken pulled a paperclip from his pocket.
Misty raised an eyebrow. "You know how to pick locks?"
Ken didn't answer. But the door creaked open.
Inside were dusty shelves and cleaning supplies.
He reached behind the shelf and pulled out a thin black journal. It was wrapped in a torn white ribbon.
He handed it to Misty.
"What is this?" she asked.
"I found it last year," he said. "It doesn't have a name. But there are entries from students who don't exist anymore. Erased. Transferred. Gone."
Misty opened it.
The first page read:
"My name is Berlin.
And I'm not a teacher. I'm a prisoner."
At the same time, Ravyn sat alone in the music room.
She slid her fingers across the piano keys, playing softly. Minor chords. Unsettling.
Behind her, the wall creaked.
She didn't turn around.
"I know you're there, Crow."
He stepped forward, hands in his pockets.
"You shouldn't be snooping through staff files," he said.
Ravyn kept playing.
"You shouldn't be spying on Misty."
"I'm not spying," she said flatly. "I'm protecting her."
Crow's fists clenched. "From what?"
She stopped playing.
"From you."