Kayla's phone died mid-text, the screen fading to black. Her fingers hovered above it, numb, as the words she hadn't sent lingered in her mind—"Marked."
Caston leaned against the wall, silent, his eyes scanning the dim room. "It's… still here," he said finally, voice low.
Kayla nodded, a shiver running down her spine. "I don't think it ever left. Not really."
The air between them felt thick, heavy, as though the shadows themselves were listening. Neither moved for a moment, both aware that something was closing in—but what, they couldn't tell.
"I'll keep watch," Caston said finally. "If anything shows up again… we'll know."
Kayla didn't respond. There was no comfort in his words. Only the gnawing feeling that whatever hunted them was patient—and clever.
School had changed. The hallways felt narrower, the lights dimmer. Whispers slithered from corners, echoing in her mind. Sometimes, she thought she saw someone standing just out of focus, vanishing when she turned.
The worst moment came in the bathroom. The mirror reflected her, pale and hollow, her eyes empty as if something had looked out from behind them. On the stall door, carved deep:
"CHOSEN."
She didn't scream. She didn't run. She only felt the cold brush of inevitability as she left and typed to the group:
"Meet tonight. Something's moving."
The five gathered in Rose's living room, maps, papers, and old photographs spread across the floor.
"It's getting bolder," Kayla said, voice steady. "She isn't hiding anymore."
Marina's hands trembled slightly. "Eleanor?"
Kayla's nod was slow. "She wants something. And it's not just me now."
Laura flipped through a yellowed newspaper. "All the disappearances… every victim talked about nightmares, hallucinations. One even carved 'Marked' into their skin before vanishing."
Caston didn't speak. His eyes were fixed on the shadows in the corner of the room. When Kayla moved closer to her bag, a chill swept the room—something unseen brushing past her.
She turned sharply, heart thudding. The mark on her arm flared, and for a brief, terrifying moment, she felt a presence close enough to touch.
Her stomach dropped as Caston rolled up his sleeve. The same mark burned across his forearm.
Her voice was barely a whisper. "How…?"
"You don't need to touch me," he said. "This isn't just about you. It's spreading."
That night, sleep arrived reluctantly. When it did, it brought a nightmare sharper than before.
Eleanor hovered at the foot of Kayla's bed. Her eyes glowed faintly, a whisper brushing against Kayla's mind:
"You opened the door. Now, you're part of this. Both of you."
Kayla awoke to a freezing breeze. She froze.
Written across her window in the condensation, jagged and deliberate:
"Together."
And the shadows moved.