If Elle Wrenwood had walked just a little faster that morning, maybe the locker wouldn’t have whispered her name.

But fate—
Fate always knows how to wait.

The fog in Moonhollow curled through the streets like a secret that refused to stay buried. It draped over rooftops, blurred the edges of fences, swallowed the yellow glow of the streetlamps until the world felt like it had been drawn in charcoal and half-erased.

It didn’t feel like morning.
It didn’t feel real.

Elle moved through it like she belonged to the mist—soft-footed, silent, half-faded at the edges.

Her scarf was wrapped tightly around her face. Not just against the cold, but for the quiet comfort it gave her. The wool scratched her chin, rough and familiar. Her fingers curled white-knuckled around the straps of her backpack, like if she held on tight enough, nothing could slip through the cracks.

Each step crushed the half-rotted leaves beneath her boots.
The wind bit through her coat with sharp teeth.
She didn’t flinch.

She liked the cold.

It reminded her she was still here.

She didn’t look back—she never did—not even when the prickling sensation slid down her spine, the kind that whispered someone’s behind you. It had been happening more often lately. Especially in the mornings.

Especially in the fog.

Her steps slowed as the silhouette of Ravenshade High emerged from the white. The school didn’t sit on the earth—it rose from it. Its red bricks were stained with time, the ivy clinging like veins trying to hold something in. Its windows were narrow and dark, never catching light the way they should have, and its roof jutted like jagged teeth, too steep, too wrong.

Some towns had schools that felt warm. Safe. Places filled with bulletin boards and seasonal banners, classrooms that smelled like chalk and hand sanitizer.

Moonhollow didn’t.

Ravenshade wasn’t built to welcome.

It was built to endure.

And this morning—it looked like it was trying to hold something back.

“Elle!”

She flinched. Her heart kicked hard against her ribs.

A voice. Cutting clean through the fog behind her.

Luke.

Of course it was Luke.

He jogged up beside her, cheeks flushed pink from the cold, his gray hoodie dusted with frost. His breath came out in clouds, curling in the space between them. In each hand, he carried a thermos—both gently steaming.

“You almost left without your hot chocolate,” he said, a little breathless. “And don’t even lie and say you didn’t know I was coming.”

Elle blinked at him, her pulse still thudding in her ears. Without a word, she took the thermos.

“Extra marshmallows,” he added, nudging her shoulder with his. “Because you’re spoiled.”

“You mean because I didn’t ask for it, and you did it anyway?”

“Exactly.”

She took a sip. It burned her tongue.

Perfect.

Luke grinned like he’d won something. He always did when she smiled—like he’d memorized every version of her face, and this one was his favorite.

They walked side by side, the school growing larger, more monstrous with every step. Luke was talking—about a quiz maybe, or how he’d fallen asleep halfway through some history podcast—but she barely heard him. Her eyes kept drifting to the fence line, to the shifting shadows just beyond it.

Once, she thought she saw something—tall, unmoving. Not a tree. Not wind.

But when she looked again, it was gone.

They reached the front steps of Ravenshade.

Luke used his foot to push the heavy door open, then held it there for her.

The hinges groaned like something waking up. Something that didn’t want to.

Elle stepped inside—

And instantly regretted it.

The air was colder in here than it was outside. It always was.

The hallways stretched long and dim, lit by flickering fluorescent lights that buzzed overhead like angry wasps. The floors gleamed too clean, the sharp scent of antiseptic biting into her nose. There were no posters, no student artwork or clubs or cheer. Just lockers. Just tile. Just silence.

Ravenshade always felt less like a school and more like a warning.

Her boots echoed too loud.

Luke walked beside her, sipping from his thermos, pretending not to notice how her shoulders curled in tighter with every step. He never pushed. Never questioned. That was one of the reasons she liked him—he gave her space, even when he didn’t understand why she needed it.

And even when it clearly hurt him not to ask.

They passed a group of seniors by the office—loud, laughing, wrapped in the shiny armor of confidence that only ever seemed to come with popularity.

One of them caught sight of her.

“There goes the witch,” he muttered, not quietly.

Another snorted. “Bet she hexed her own parents.”

Elle didn’t flinch. She didn’t slow down.

But her fingers clenched tighter on the strap of her backpack until her knuckles turned white.

Luke’s voice dropped low and sharp. “Say that again.”

The group went quiet.

The boy raised his hands, mock surrender. “Chill, man. Just joking.”

Luke didn’t answer. He just kept walking. But the storm in his eyes lingered.

They turned the corner into the east wing, and Elle finally spoke.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I know,” he said softly. “But I want to.”

They passed the janitor’s closet and the faculty bathroom. A flickering light buzzed above, stuttering with every blink—casting jagged shadows that moved like broken teeth across the floor.

And then—
She saw it.

Locker 237.

Except… there was no Locker 237.

There had never been a Locker 237.

The hallway always ended with 236. Elle had counted them. Again and again. A dozen times, desperate to prove herself wrong. But today, nestled at the end of the row like it had always been there, was one more locker.

Darker than the rest.
Almost black.

Its surface was rough, the metal uneven and unpolished, like it had been welded in haste or torn from somewhere else. The number plate wasn’t there. In its place, etched into the top right corner, was a small crescent moon.

She stopped walking.

Luke took a few more steps before realizing. “Elle?”

She didn’t answer.

The locker vibrated—barely.
A tremor.
Like something inside had stirred.

And then—
A sound.

Not a bang. Not a creak.
A whisper.

Her name.

Elle.

It was so soft she couldn’t be sure she’d really heard it. But her spine knew. Her skin knew. Her heart knew.

Luke was beside her now, hand on her arm. “Elle? What is it?”

She blinked. Swallowed. “Nothing. Just tired.”

But as they walked past it, she could feel the locker behind her.
Watching.
Listening.
Waiting.

That feeling followed her all the way to first period.