Chapter Twenty-six
573 Words
Xavier’s POV
The hallway was a blur of noise — lockers slamming, laughter echoing, the usual chaos of changeover.
But I didn’t hear any of it.
All I could hear was Lennox’s voice: “Dig too deep, and you might not like who you find.”
He said it like a dare.
Like he knew exactly how far I’d go to prove him wrong.
Mila walked fast beside me, her heels clicking against the tiled floor. She hadn’t said a word since we left the classroom, but her shoulders were tense, her jaw set. I knew that look.
She wasn’t scared.
She was angry.
“Library,” she said finally, her tone clipped. “We start there.”
I frowned. “You sure that’s smart? After what happened last time?”
She shot me a look over her shoulder. “You can stay out of it if you’re scared.”
“Scared?” I laughed, even though it sounded hollow. “No. Just not a fan of walking straight into traps.”
“Then don’t walk,” she snapped. “Follow.”
That part made me smirk, despite everything.
She didn’t even see it.
*****
We waited until the halls cleared, then slipped back into the library. The place was dark again — all shadows and quiet hums of machines asleep.
Mila moved first, heading straight for the system terminal like she’d rehearsed it. Her fingers flew over the keyboard, precise and furious.
Every click echoed.
“You remember what you saw last time?” she asked.
“The corrupted files? Yeah.”
She nodded. “I think they were wiped on purpose.”
I leaned against the desk, arms folded. “So someone deleted school footage and left a fake system in its place? Why?”
“Maybe to hide what really happened that day,” she murmured, eyes scanning lines of code.
Then — the screen flickered.
Once. Twice.
A new folder appeared.
No name. No date. Just a blinking symbol — a small, red Ω.
“The hell is that?” I muttered.
Mila hesitated, then double-clicked.
The screen filled with static for a moment, then sharpened into video.
But it wasn’t live feed.
It was recorded.
Footage from years ago.
And in it —
the library.
Same desks, same shelves, same everything.
Only… someone was there.
A younger Lennox.
Sitting where Mila stood now.
Talking to someone — out of frame.
I stepped closer. The audio was faint, muffled by time, but his words were clear enough to make my skin crawl:
> “You said she’d never remember.”
Mila froze.
> “If she comes back,” Lennox continued, “we’ll have to start again.”
Then — the screen glitched.
The video cut off, replaced by a single message flashing across the display:
“YOU WEREN’T SUPPOSED TO SEE THIS.”
The cursor blinked once. Twice.
Then the system shut itself down.
*****
Silence.
Mila stood completely still, her reflection staring back from the black screen.
“She?” I said quietly. “Lennox said she’d never remember. He meant you, didn’t he?”
Her lips parted, but no sound came out.
And that’s when it hit me — the memory files, the erased records, the strange familiarity Lennox had shown since day one.
Mila wasn’t just another student.
She was part of something that had already happened.
Something everyone else had been made to forget.
- Writer
