By Wednesday, Lockridge High had a new substitute teacher: Ms. Sabine.
She was tall, copper-skinned, with a scarf wrapped around her neck even though the day was hot. She introduced herself with a slight accent Avery couldn't place.
"Today," she said, "we'll discuss how memory is preserved — not only in writing, but in the body."
She smiled when her gaze met Avery's, and Avery felt a twinge behind their eyes — like sand scraping glass.
At lunch, Avery found a tiny beetle on their desk. Black shell, bronze sheen. Dead.
Underneath it was a note, folded into a triangle:
The dust remembers the name that was stolen.
Avery's hands trembled. No one else seemed to notice the insect. Not Jordan, not the teacher. When they brushed it into a tissue, the beetle crumbled into powder — the same shade as the linen from their locker.
⸻
That evening, Avery biked home through the industrial side of town.
The air was thick with smoke and twilight.
They lived with their aunt — a quiet woman who collected old things from estate sales. The living room looked like a museum: cracked dolls, faded portraits, and glass cases of trinkets no one could name.
"Avery, you okay?" she asked over tea.
"You're pale."
"I think…" Avery hesitated. "Something's wrong at school. The building — it feels alive."
Her aunt chuckled softly. "Everything's alive if you listen. Even dust."
That night, Avery couldn't sleep.
They heard whispers under their bed, threads of air forming words that weren't in any language they knew.
When they turned on the lamp, they saw it: a faint imprint on their wrist — a pattern of lines like bandages wrapped around the skin.
⸻
(to be continued — Part 3 will reveal the origin of the mummy curse and how Avery's identity ties to it…)