Zara woke to whispers.
Not the gentle murmur of wind or voices in the hallway—but low, guttural echoes that slipped beneath her pillow and curled inside her skull.
She opened her eyes.
Cain was asleep in the chair beside her desk, arms crossed, chin on his chest. She blinked again, trying to ground herself, but then she saw it.
Her reflection in the window.
She was sitting up in bed, but the reflection showed her still asleep.
Frozen.
Mouth slightly open.
Eyes fluttering.
She gasped and turned to the window, but the image shifted to match her current position. No lag, no inconsistency.
Except for the eyes.
Her reflection's eyes lingered, watching her longer than they should've.
"Cain," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
He stirred. "What?"
She didn't answer. Just pointed at the window.
He rose, rubbing his face. "What is it?"
She looked back. Normal now. Her reflection mirrored her movements perfectly.
"Nothing," she muttered. "Just... thought I saw something."
He walked over and sat beside her on the bed. "The codes... they're getting stronger."
She nodded. "They're watching. Listening."
Cain looked away. "They might be using you."
"What?"
"You heard what the professor said. The Watcher doesn't just feed off pain—it inhabits it. Zara, what if it's not just haunting you? What if it's trying to become you?"
She shivered.
He handed her a small piece of paper. "This was under your pillow."
Zara read it.
"To find what's buried, return to where silence began."
Below it was a symbol she now recognized from the codes. A mirror. Split in two.
"It's her handwriting," Cain said. "Maddie's."
"Then she's not gone."
"Or she's trying to warn us. From wherever she is."
They spent the next day researching the phrase. Return to where silence began.
Cain traced it to an old underground music room that had been sealed off years ago after a fire. According to records, that room was once used for initiation rituals in the university's secret society—one Cain's brother was rumored to be part of.
At midnight, they broke in.
Dust coated everything. The air was thick and sour. Broken instruments lay scattered like corpses, and in the center stood a cracked mirror nailed to a wooden frame.
Cain stepped forward. "This is it."
Zara approached the mirror.
Her reflection looked wrong again. Her lips moved, but no sound came out.
Then, without thinking, she reached out and touched the glass.
A jolt of pain shot through her arm. She screamed.
Cain caught her as she collapsed. Her body convulsed, eyes rolled back.
And then she whispered a name.
"Elara."
Cain froze.
"Zara? Who's Elara?"
But she didn't answer. She was no longer there.
Zara awoke in the hospital hours later.
Cain sat beside her, pale and furious.
"You said a name," he told her. "Elara. Who is that?"
Zara blinked. "I... I don't know. It just came to me."
Cain opened a notebook.
"Elara Quinn," he said slowly. "She was a music student here in the 1950s. Went missing. Her dorm room? 304."
Zara sat up. "She had the same last name as Maddie. As me."
Cain nodded. "I think you're all connected. All drawn here. And I think the Watcher is trying to resurrect her—through you."
Later that night, back in their dorm, Zara stood in front of the mirror again.
She looked into her own eyes and asked, "Who am I?"
The mirror fogged.
A message appeared in red:
The mirror lied.
Then the lights went out.
And someone knocked at the door.
Cain opened it slowly.
No one was there.
But on the floor—
A single photo. Burned at the edges.
Zara picked it up.
It showed her. In the dorm. Smiling.
Only... it was dated 1971.