The next morning, Elle skipped breakfast.
Told Nan she had a headache—which wasn’t entirely a lie.

There was a pounding in her skull that hadn’t stopped since she woke.
It felt like something had taken up residence behind her eyes—
A rhythm that wasn’t hers.

As she walked to school, her fingers brushed the edge of the spiral she’d drawn again and again.

It was burned into her memory now.
Not a shape.

A presence.

A keyhole waiting for the right turn.

At Ravenshade High, the mirrors were gone.
Removed.
Like they’d become too dangerous.

Even the announcement was strange. Principal Greaves’ voice crackled with static as he declared:
“A temporary reflective hazard removal… due to optical maintenance anomalies.”

Elle blinked.
She’d never heard anyone use so many words to say absolutely nothing.

Luke caught up to her by the lockers, earbuds around his neck.
“Hey. You good?”

She nodded.

But her eyes lingered on Locker 237.

It was closed today.
Perfectly closed.
Too perfect.

Luke followed her gaze.
“You know that janitor guy? Mr. Bowers?” he said. “I saw him down there at like five this morning.”

Elle turned sharply. “Doing what?”

“Scraping something off the floor. Looked like… ashes. And he was talking to himself.”

Her heart stumbled.
“What did he say?”

Luke frowned, thinking. “Something weird. Like… ‘Only two seals remain.’ I thought he was quoting a movie or something.”

Two seals.

Her chest tightened like a fist around her lungs.

Elle turned away.
“I’m fine. Just tired.”

She wasn’t.
She was unraveling.

She skipped lunch and went to the library instead.

Far corner. Oldest books. Dusty archives. School records.

She didn’t know what she was searching for.

Until she found it.

A yearbook.
1973.

Faded cover. Brittle spine.

She flipped it open—
And froze.

Among the students, a young woman.

Hollow eyes. Spiral pendant. Same face.

Nameplate: Marla Thorne.

Ms. Thorne.

Not aged a day.

Elle’s stomach dropped.
She slammed the book shut.

The librarian didn’t even glance up.

Elle shoved the yearbook back on the shelf and bolted from the archives.

Her hands shook.
Her breath came shallow.

If Ms. Thorne hadn’t aged…
If she was tied to the spiral…

Then what was she?

The question lodged itself in her mind like a splinter—
sharp, impossible to ignore.