The storage room door creaked open wider, revealing a darkness that seemed too thick, too unnatural for the middle of the day. Ava hesitated at the threshold, the stale air prickling against her skin. Something inside her whispered not to go in. That if she stepped through, something would change—permanently.
Elijah held up his phone's flashlight. "Do you want me to go first?"
Ava shook her head. "No. If anyone should, it's me."
The room swallowed them whole as they stepped inside. It was colder in here than it should've been. Not just cold—empty. Like something had pulled the warmth out and sealed it away.
Shelves lined the walls, sagging under the weight of dust and forgotten supplies. Broken desks, crates of ancient textbooks, and yellowed posters from school events decades past filled the space like debris in a sunken ship.
Ava walked carefully, each footstep stirring the dust. The beam of Elijah's flashlight landed on a collapsed bookshelf, revealing a trail of something dark smeared along the floorboards—possibly ink… or old blood. She didn't ask.
"I can feel her," Ava said, almost to herself.
"Danielle?" Elijah whispered, standing close behind her.
Ava nodded. "She was here. She left something behind."
At the far end of the room, something caught her eye—a large, dented metal trunk under a broken window, half-buried beneath a ratty old tarp.
She dropped to her knees and pulled the tarp away. Her hands were trembling.
"What do you think is in there?" Elijah asked, crouching beside her.
"I don't know," she said, though she felt like she did.
With a sharp creak, she opened the trunk.
A gust of cold air rushed out, hitting her in the chest like a breath from the grave. Papers fluttered behind her. Elijah stumbled backward as his flashlight flickered violently.
"Did you feel that?" he asked, wide-eyed.
Ava nodded slowly. "That wasn't just air."
She reached into the trunk and pulled out a leather-bound journal, the cover cracked and faded, the binding loose from years of neglect. Her fingertips tingled as she opened it.
Inside the cover, a name was scribbled in hurried pen strokes:
Danielle Rivera.
Ava's breath hitched.
"I've heard this name before," she said. "People at school mentioned her. Quiet girl. Vanished without a trace."
Elijah knelt beside her, peering over her shoulder. "You think this is her journal?"
"I know it is," she murmured. "It's soaked in something. Not just age—emotion. Fear. Pain."
She flipped through the pages. Most were covered in sketches—dark, abstract forms that seemed to twist in on themselves. Others were lists, notes in shorthand, some scratched out violently.
And then she found it.
A list of names.
Most were crossed out with thick, angry lines. All except one:
Jaxon Knight.
Elijah inhaled sharply. "Your Jaxon?"
Ava swallowed hard. "Yes. But this was written before I killed him. Before I even knew him."
She ran her fingers down the list. The names scratched out made her skin crawl. One of them was a teacher from the school. Another—a guidance counselor. And one… Ava was pretty sure that person had died in a fire two years ago.
"What does this mean?" Elijah asked. "Was she tracking something?"
"She was warning someone," Ava said. "Or documenting. She was looking for someone like Jaxon. Maybe… other people like him."
Suddenly, the room chilled even more. The air shifted, pressing down on them like a wave of invisible pressure.
Elijah's flashlight died.
"Oh, come on," he muttered, shaking it.
"No," Ava whispered. "It's not the battery."
Because she could feel him.
Before she even saw him, she felt him.
"You're getting too curious," Jaxon's voice said, smooth and cruel. It echoed around the room, no clear source, as if it came from the walls themselves.
Ava rose to her feet and turned slowly. In the far corner, a figure flickered into view.
Jaxon.
He was clearer than before, more defined. Wearing the same tailored suit, his eyes gleaming like coals under ash. The smugness in his expression made her stomach churn.
"You never learn," he said, stepping closer. "You're a moth. And here you are, flying straight into fire."
Elijah took a step forward, trying to find what she was reacting to. "Ava? Talk to me. What's happening?"
Ava clenched her jaw. "He's here."
Elijah moved to her side. "What's he doing?"
"Trying to scare me. Again."
Jaxon's lips curled. "Scare you? No. I'm just reminding you."
Then the room around her changed.
Not physically—mentally.
Suddenly she was standing in the street again. The night Jaxon died.
But not how it had actually happened.
This time, he was unarmed. Bloody. Crawling backward, pleading.
"I don't want to die," he said. "Please. I have a son. I'm not a monster."
And behind him—Elijah.
Younger. Tear-streaked. Screaming her name.
"Ava, stop! Please!"
Ava staggered, gripping the sides of her head. "No… this isn't real. You were armed. You threatened me."
But the vision refused to fade.
Blood on her hands.
Jaxon sobbing.
Elijah collapsing in the street.
"You're the villain," Jaxon whispered in her ear. "You always were."
"Ava!" Elijah's voice broke through. She turned—and the vision snapped away like a stretched rubber band.
The room was back. The cold air. The darkness.
Jaxon was gone.
Ava dropped to her knees, gasping.
Elijah held her. "What did he do to you?"
"He twisted it," she said shakily. "Made me see the night he died—but made it look like I was the killer. Like he was innocent."
Elijah didn't hesitate. "You're not the villain. He's trying to break you, Ava. Don't let him."
She forced herself up again. "I won't."
She turned back to the trunk and found something she hadn't seen before—a photograph tucked inside the back cover of the journal.
It showed Danielle.
Younger. Smiling faintly. She stood beside a man in a sharp suit—his hand on her shoulder.
Jaxon.
Elijah saw it too. "He knew her."
"I think… I think he was involved in her death," Ava said. "He was charming. Powerful. Maybe he manipulated her like he's doing to me."
She folded the photo and pocketed it.
"I think Danielle was trying to expose him," Ava said. "She left this behind in case something happened to her."
"Then we finish what she started," Elijah said. "We find out the truth. And we help her move on."
A sudden noise made them both flinch—a creak from the hallway. A door swinging open slowly.
Ava looked toward it. "She's leading us somewhere."
They followed the sound down a narrow hallway, lined with broken lockers and old maintenance gear. At the end, an old office door stood half-open, dust swirling in the faint light.
Ava pushed the door open.
Inside was a small office, desk overturned, papers scattered everywhere. On the wall hung a corkboard covered in notes—photos, newspaper clippings, articles. Some of them were about the school. Others…
Ava froze.
One clipping had a headline: "Local Business Mogul Under Investigation for Illegal Acquisitions."
The photo was of a younger Jaxon Knight.
Pinned beside it was Danielle's school ID.
"She was building a case," Ava said. "She was smart. Brave."
Elijah nodded. "And she trusted the wrong person."
Ava felt a pulse in the air. Not cold. Not dark.
Warmth.
Danielle.
The girl's spirit flickered into view near the desk. Bloody. Pale. Her eyes wide, but no longer hollow.
"You see her?" Elijah asked.
Ava nodded, tears in her eyes.
Danielle stepped closer, lips parting.
"You can stop him," she whispered. "Finish what I started."
Then—she was gone.
And Ava's resolve solidified.
Jaxon thought he could haunt her.
But now, Ava knew—she wasn't alone.
She had Elijah.
She had the truth.
And she had ghosts willing to fight beside her.