Harper stared at the glass.
Her reflection stood upright in the fire extinguisher case. But Harper—real Harper—was still crouched on the floor, papers scattered around her like fallen feathers.
The reflection shouldn't be smiling.
But it was.
Crooked. Calm. Knowing.
Harper's breath turned cold in her throat.
She blinked.
The reflection didn't.
She rose to her feet slowly, knees trembling as she took one hesitant step toward the glass. Her sneakers squeaked faintly on the floor. The Archives room stayed silent—too silent, like even the walls were holding their breath.
And still, the reflection smiled.
Not wide. Not malicious.
Just… somehow off.
Harper reached the case and raised a hand. Her reflection mirrored her. Same gesture. Same speed.
But Harper's hand was shaking.
The reflection's wasn't.
She whispered, "What are you?"
The moment her voice broke the silence, the lights in the hall went out—all at once.
Only the red emergency light in the ceiling flickered faintly, tinting the corridor a blood-like hue.
She turned back to the reflection—and screamed.
It was gone.
Not replaced by an empty mirror. Not static.
Just… gone.
Like it had walked away.
The air around her turned heavy--like something was pressing down from above.
A sound rose up from beneath the floorboards. Faint at first.
Like someone whispering her name.
"Harper…"
She stumbled backward, kicking over the open file. Papers flew, the photo of Katherine spinning like a leaf until it landed face-up on the dusty floor.
Harper Quinn.
Katherine Quinn.
Two names. One face.
But only one of them was standing in this hallway right now.
Right?
She looked back toward the open Archives door. It now felt impossibly far.
But the whisper came again--this time closer.
More urgent.
"Don't trust the glass."
She turned. No one was there.
But on the wall next to the fire extinguisher case--scratched deep into the paint--was a symbol.
One of the symbols from the ceiling.
Only this time, beneath it, in a hurried scrawl:
"They watch through reflections. Avoid mirrors. Avoid water. Stay awake."
Harper didn't remember how she got back to the main hallway.
Her legs carried her on autopilot, her brain buzzing too loud to process each step.
When she finally returned to the main building, the bell had already rung.
Students filed out of classrooms. Laughing. Talking. Living.
Everything felt normal.
But Harper felt changed.
She made her way toward her locker, still gripping the crumpled photo of Katherine and the strange symbol she'd copied from the wall.
And then she saw him.
Jamie Lorne.
Leaning against the lockers like nothing had ever happened.
Same denim jacket. Same tilted smile. Talking to some girl from biology like it was just another Tuesday.
Harper's heart slammed in her chest.
She walked straight up to him.
He looked at her. Blinked. Smiled politely.
"Hey," he said. "Can I help you?"
Her stomach dropped.
"You don't know me?" she asked, voice small.
Jamie tilted his head. "Sorry. Should I?"
And then, like lightning through the fog, she remembered the photo—the one from Room 13A.
The boy without a face.
It was him.
Jamie.
They erased him too.
And now he was standing here… without memories. Without recognition. Just like everyone else.
Except Harper.
Because she remembered.
And something--someone--was working very hard to make sure she didn't.