Avery didn't sleep.
The storm had faded hours ago, but the hum it left behind—low, constant, almost like the school's breathing—followed him into the night. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the stairwell again. The smear of dust. The shape that shouldn't have been there. The echo of a voice that sounded too much like his own.
By 3 a.m., he gave up trying.
The dorm was quiet. Everyone else had long surrendered to sleep, wrapped in blankets and oblivious to the fact that the building felt… wrong tonight. Too still. Like it was listening.
Avery got dressed silently, pulling on his jacket as he stepped into the hallway. His footsteps seemed louder than usual, even on the carpet. He paused—but no one stirred. Good. The less anyone saw him at this hour, the better.
He wasn't sure where he meant to go. Only that something in Lockridge was shifting, and ignoring it felt dangerous.
The hum followed him down the corridor.
When he reached the end of the hall, he found something he didn't expect: a faint glow bleeding out from underneath the old archive room door. The room was always locked. Admin only. Records. History. The things Lockridge never wanted anyone else reading.
But tonight, a thin line of light cut across the floorboards.
Avery's breath stopped.
Someone was inside.
He pressed his ear against the wood. At first he heard nothing. Then—
sshhhhhhk—
A scraping sound.
Slow. Methodical.
Paper being dragged. Or a chair. Or something else.
Avery swallowed hard. "Hello?" he whispered before he could stop himself.
The scraping stopped instantly.
Silence spread like a stain.
He took a step back.
Then the doorknob turned.
Not fast. Not with intent. But slowly, as if whoever—or whatever—was inside was deciding whether to let him in.
A chill crawled up his spine. He took another step backwards.
The knob clicked.
Avery's heartbeat hammered.
The door creaked open a few inches.
Just wide enough for a draft of cold air to slip out. It smelled like dust and something older—like the pages of a book left closed too long, absorbing secrets.
"Avery."
His name slipped out from the dark room.
Not spoken loudly. Not whispered.
Just… stated. As though the speaker already knew he was there and didn't need to ask why.
Avery froze. The voice was familiar. Too familiar. It sounded—
Like him.
Like someone had taken his voice and removed all warmth from it.
He stepped back fast, hitting the opposite wall. His breath fogged in the chill now leaking from the half-open door.
"Avery," the voice repeated.
Then something slid forward—a shadow, tall enough to reach the doorframe, its edges shifting like dust stirred by a breath.
Avery turned and ran.
He didn't stop until he burst through the stairwell door, almost tumbling down the first few steps. He kept going, taking them two at a time, not caring how loud he was now. He didn't slow down until he reached the first floor, where the emergency lights cast long red streaks across the hall.
Only then did he stop and grab the railing to steady himself.
The building was silent again.
Except—
He heard it.
A soft thud upstairs.
Then another.
Measured.
Pacing.
As though something in the archive room had decided to follow.
Avery backed away from the stairwell.
He didn't know where he was going. Only that staying still felt like death.
He reached the entryway and pushed out into the cold night air, breathing hard. He braced his hands on his knees, letting the freezing wind sting his face, clear his head.
When he finally straightened, he saw someone standing near the courtyard fountain.
Tall. Still. Watching him.
Not moving.
Not calling out.
Just waiting.
Avery blinked, trying to see through the dark. "Hello?"
No answer.
The figure stepped back into the deeper shadow of the courtyard trees, disappearing as though swallowed.
Avery felt something shift inside him.
The school wasn't just remembering.
It was responding.
And whatever waited inside Lockridge… now knew his name.