CHAPTER EIGHT
510 Words
The door moved slowly.
Not slammed.
Not forced.
Just… guided.
Amelia’s heart pounded as the narrow gap between the door and the frame shrank inch by inch. The weak lamp above them flickered, casting trembling shadows across the rows of forgotten files.
“Edward,” she whispered.
He stepped forward, his hand reaching the door just before it closed completely.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
The silence was unbearable.
Then Edward pulled the door open.
The corridor outside was empty.
But the air felt wrong — heavier than before, as though someone had been standing there moments earlier.
“We’re not alone,” Amelia said softly.
Edward nodded.
“I know.”
They left the auxiliary archive without speaking, walking quickly through the darkened courtyard. The night had settled over Oxford like a veil, muting colours and sounds.
Only the bells broke the stillness.
As they crossed the quad, Amelia felt it again — that strange sensation of being watched.
She turned suddenly.
Nothing.
Just stone walls, tall windows, and the faint glow of lamps.
“Do you think someone followed us?” she asked.
“Yes,” Edward replied without hesitation.
Her stomach tightened.
“Who?”
He hesitated.
“People who ensure certain things remain forgotten.”
The next morning, Amelia received an email.
The subject line was blank.
She stared at it for several seconds before opening it.
There was no greeting.
No signature.
Only one sentence:
YOU WERE NEVER MEANT TO RETURN
Her fingers went cold.
She found Edward near the Bodleian Library later that day. He was leaning against a pillar, reading, as though nothing in the world could disturb him.
But when she showed him the email, his expression changed.
“They’ve noticed you,” he said quietly.
“They?” she repeated.
Edward looked around before speaking.
“The Custodians.”
Amelia frowned.
“Who are they?”
“A group,” he said. “Not official. Not visible. But powerful. They’ve existed in Oxford for generations.”
“What do they do?”
He met her gaze.
“They protect the university’s secrets.”
“And erase people who discover them?” she asked.
“Yes.”
Her breath caught.
“Why haven’t they erased me again?”
Edward’s voice dropped.
“Because they can’t.”
Amelia felt a chill run through her veins.
“Why not?”
Edward looked at her with a mixture of fear and awe.
“Because,” he said softly, “you’re no longer entirely part of their system.”
That night, Amelia returned to her room, her mind racing.
She opened her notebook again.
The strange page was still there.
But now, beneath the original words, new writing had appeared.
She had not written it.
The ink was fresh.
THEY ARE WATCHING
TRUST NO ONE.
NOT EVEN HIM .
Her breath stopped.
She looked up slowly.
Her door was closed.
She was certain she had left it open.
And on the other side of the door, she heard footsteps.
Stopping.
Right outside her room.
- Writer
