The paper burned in my hand like ice.
You are next.
I stared at it. My heart hammered so hard I was sure the walls could hear it.
Aria sat on the edge of her bed, her eyes dark in the moonlight.
"You have to hide this," she whispered.
"Hide it?!" I gasped. "They left it for me! What if they come for me now?"
Aria didn't answer. She never shouted, never panicked. That calm made me more afraid than the threat itself.
"They watch everything," she said finally, her voice low. "Every movement, every word, every glance. You don't know what they can see."
I swallowed hard. "Who? Father Michael? Sister Perry?"
"They're just the front," she said. "The system is bigger than them. Bigger than this orphanage. Bigger than anything you can imagine."
I wanted to ask her what she meant. But I was already too scared to breathe.
The night dragged on.
I didn't sleep. Every sound — the creak of the floor, the rustle of the curtains, even the distant drip of water — made me jump.
Aria finally whispered, "You need to stay awake. Don't let them know you're afraid."
"Afraid?" I snapped. "Afraid doesn't cover it! They wrote that I'm next!"
"They know," she said simply. "And now they're testing you."
I didn't understand. "Testing me? For what?"
She turned her gaze to the dark hallway outside our room. "For survival."
The word made my stomach twist.
The next morning, the orphanage looked the same. Clean floors. Polished shoes. Empty smiles.
But nothing was normal anymore.
During breakfast, I noticed how Father Michael watched me. Not from the pulpit. Not casually. But in that way that made me feel like he could reach inside my mind.
And Sister Perry? She smiled — the fake, sharp smile that never reached her eyes.
I realized that the You are next message wasn't just a threat.
It was a warning.
A warning that I had already entered a game I didn't understand — a game where losing wasn't an option.
Later, Aria pulled me into the laundry room.
"Listen," she said, her tone urgent. "You can't tell anyone about the paper. Not Sister Catherine. Not the girls. Not anyone. And you especially can't tell him."
"Father Michael?" I asked.
"Yes," she said. "Especially him."
Her eyes softened for a moment. "I know it's hard to trust me. I know it's scary. But you have to. Because if you don't… they'll know you're afraid. And then…"
She let the words hang. I didn't need her to finish them. I already knew.
That night, I stayed up again.
Aria sat beside me, silent. Together, we listened.
Footsteps echoed in the hall. Soft, slow, deliberate.
Then, a whisper:
Taya…
I froze.
Not a dream. Not the wind.
It was real.
And it wasn't just a warning this time.
It was an invitation.