Avery stumbled back so fast they nearly collided with the doorframe.
The reflection didn't mirror the movement. It stayed still, its palm pressed flat against the glass on the other side, as if the boundary was thin—just thin enough to crack.
Mira finally noticed Avery wasn't following.
"Avery? What are you—"
"Don't come closer," Avery said quickly.
Mira froze mid-step. "Why? What's wrong?"
Avery couldn't look away from the reflection.
Its expression shifted—not softening, not hardening, but sharpening. Like a blurry photograph coming into focus.
It mouthed another word.
"Below."
Avery's breath clouded in the air even though the morning was warm.
"Below?" Mira repeated. "Below what?"
The reflection's hand slid down the glass—slowly, leaving a smear of dust on the surface. The gesture was deliberate, almost guiding.
Then—
It vanished.
Not faded. Not dissolved.
Just gone, like someone had snapped their fingers and erased it.
Mira grabbed Avery's arm. "You're pale. Talk to me."
Avery forced their eyes away from the door. "You didn't see it."
"See what?"
"My reflection." Avery swallowed. "It moved on its own. It told me to run. And now… it wants us to go below."
Mira went still. "Below… like the basement?"
"No." Avery shook their head. "Lower."
Mira's voice dropped. "The tunnels."
Avery's heart lurched.
Lockridge had rumors—whispered ones—about an old system of maintenance tunnels beneath the school. Some said they were sealed decades ago. Others said they were never properly mapped. There were stories about things echoing down there at night. Old stories. Half-warnings.
"Why would it want us to go there?" Mira asked.
Avery didn't know.
But something deeper inside them—something quiet, instinctive—felt that the reflection wasn't threatening them.
It was warning them.
Before they could speak, Mr. Sato stepped out of the office corridor.
"You two," he said, tone sharp. "Classes started minutes ago. Inside, now."
Avery flinched. For a moment, the fluorescent lights above him flickered, and Mr. Sato's shadow stretched long across the floor—too long.
Mira tugged Avery's sleeve gently. "Come on. We'll talk later."
They headed inside. Avery tried to shake off the feeling of being watched, but it clung to them like a second skin.
In first period, the classroom felt wrong.
The air was heavier, as if someone had sealed it shut.
Avery's pencil rolled off their desk.
They bent down to pick it up—
—and froze.
Under the desk, right against the metal leg, someone had etched words into the wood.
Freshly carved.
Still dusting the floor.
"THEY'RE ALREADY THERE."
Avery jerked upright. Their chair scraped loudly, earning confused glances from classmates.
Mira mouthed, Are you okay?
Avery didn't answer.
Their gaze drifted to the classroom door.
The hallway outside was empty, but the shadows there were wrong—stretched, leaning, almost waiting.
Avery realized something with a cold drop of dread:
The reflection didn't tell them to run from the school.
It told them to run from something inside it.
And whatever lived "below"…
…was already closer than they thought