Eli didn't even know St. Augustine's had a guidance counselor until the morning he was called in.
The message came through his wristband—a polite but firm notification from the school system.
**"Report to Room 108 at 8:45 AM. — Mr. Halden."**
He thought it was a mistake. He hadn't done anything, not recently. Not since the incident with Nova. Not since the footage.
Still, when the second reminder pulsed on his wrist, his gut twisted. You didn't ignore system notifications. Not here.
He shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket and walked the narrow hallway, the soles of his shoes squeaking against the polished floor. The air was too clean, too quiet, the kind of silence that pressed on your eardrums. Students passed him, heads tilted down, lenses glowing faintly as they scrolled through their feeds. No one looked up.
Room 108 was tucked at the end of the hall, past a row of malfunctioning lockers that blinked in soft blue light. The door was half open.
"Come in," a voice said before Eli could even knock.
Mr. Halden sat behind a desk that didn't belong in 2098. It was real wood, scarred and uneven. Papers were stacked everywhere—actual paper, yellowed around the edges. A small clock ticked on the wall. No screens. No trackers. No cameras.
That was strange enough.
"You must be Eli Nwoko," Halden said, gesturing to the chair across from him. "Sit."
Eli hesitated. "Uh… sure."
He sat. The chair creaked. The air smelled faintly of dust and ink.
"You've been busy lately," Halden said, flipping through one of the papers. "Your name's been in quite a few feeds."
Eli's pulse jumped. "If this is about the video—"
Halden's hand lifted slightly, silencing him. "I'm not here to punish you. I'm here to talk."
Eli frowned. "About what?"
Halden leaned back, eyes sharp behind wire-rimmed glasses. "About what you *saw*."
For a second, Eli couldn't breathe. He didn't know which part Halden meant—the glitch in Nova's recording, the thing that had flickered behind her reflection, the moment her FameScore display had gone *blank* for exactly three seconds.
No one else had noticed. At least, he thought no one had.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Eli muttered.
Halden smiled, slow and tired, like someone who'd heard every lie before. "I think you do."
He opened a drawer and pulled out a file—an actual manila folder. Across the front was Eli's name, written in blue pen.
Eli blinked. "You keep paper files?"
Halden didn't answer. He flipped the folder open, revealing a printed still frame from the video—the same one Eli had deleted from his devices days ago. Nova's face mid-laugh, and behind her, the shadow. A faint outline. A person-shaped distortion.
His chest tightened. "How did you get that?"
"Everything digital leaves a fingerprint," Halden said. "Even things you think are erased."
Eli leaned forward. "Who was that in the video?"
Halden's eyes darkened. "Not who. *What.*"
The room felt smaller now. The hum of the fan grew louder, the walls closer.
"You shouldn't have seen it," Halden continued. "The system hides things like that for a reason. Some people—some *things*—aren't meant to be seen."
Eli's mouth went dry. "You mean like… a glitch?"
Halden shook his head. "Do you think the world you live in runs on glitches?" He tapped the side of his temple. "Every frame of every feed, every ranking, every number you see—it's all curated. The system decides what's visible. And what isn't."
"Why me?" Eli asked quietly.
"Because you weren't supposed to look that closely."
Halden stood, crossed to the blinds, and peered through them. "You've caught their attention now. That girl—Nova Reyes—she's already in too deep. But you…" He turned back to Eli. "You still have a choice."
Eli's hands gripped the edge of the chair. "A choice about what?"
"To stay quiet," Halden said softly. "Or to disappear."
The words sank in like ice.
Halden sat again, his voice lower now. "Tell me, Eli—did Nova ever mention the Gray Files?"
Eli shook his head. "No. What's that?"
"Then she doesn't know everything," Halden muttered, almost to himself. "Good. That buys us time."
"Time for what?"
Halden looked at him, expression unreadable. "For you to decide who you trust."
Eli stared at him. The room felt colder, like the air itself had shifted. "This is insane," he said finally. "You're talking like this is—what—some secret conspiracy?"
Halden didn't answer. Instead, he reached into the drawer again and slid something across the desk—a flash drive, small and black, sealed in translucent tape.
"Take this," he said. "Don't plug it into your home system. Don't connect it to anything linked to your name. Watch it offline. And when you're done—burn it."
Eli didn't move. "What's on it?"
Halden's gaze didn't waver. "Proof."
He hesitated, then picked it up. The plastic was warm, almost like it had been used recently.
Halden leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Some people aren't meant to be seen, Eli. Stay quiet if you want to stay alive."
Silence.
Eli's heartbeat pounded in his ears. "You sound like you're scared of them," he said finally.
Halden smiled faintly. "Scared? No. I'm already marked."
Before Eli could speak again, the office door clicked. The lights flickered once, twice—and then went out completely.
Eli froze.
The ceiling fan stuttered to a halt, the faint ticking of the clock the only sound left.
"Don't move," Halden whispered.
Something shifted behind the door. The sound of soft footsteps. A faint mechanical whir.
Eli's breath caught.
Then—*click*. The lights blinked back on. The door was open. The hallway was empty.
Halden exhaled shakily and adjusted his glasses. "You need to go. Now."
Eli stood, confused and terrified. "Who was that?"
"Not who," Halden said again, voice trembling just slightly. "*What.*"
Eli bolted out of the room. The hallway seemed endless now, each step echoing louder than it should. He didn't look back until he reached the stairwell, where the light flickered again—just for a second—and a silhouette flickered in the reflection of the glass panel.
Not his. Not Nova's.
Something else.
By the time he got outside, the morning sun had turned harsh. He could still feel the flash drive burning in his palm.
He didn't notice until later—when he looked down—that the tape wrapped around it wasn't smooth anymore. It had a faint symbol etched into it, one he didn't recognize.
A circle. A line through it. And three dots underneath.
It wasn't part of any brand or file mark he'd seen. But somehow, deep down, he already knew—
It was connected to Nova.
And maybe to whatever was watching them both.