SAVE FILE ZERO

STATIC IN THE HALLWAY

If Calypso Ridge High looked normal that morning, it was only because the building hadn’t realized yet that reality was cracking under its own weight. The fluorescent lights buzzed with a strange impatience, lockers slammed too loudly, and the hallways carried a hum like the walls were remembering something before the students did.

Barry and Brighton walked through the front doors together, but it felt like they were stepping into a place that was trying too hard to pretend it wasn’t falling apart.

Brighton nudged Barry with his elbow. “If someone taps me on the shoulder and it’s Charles, I swear to God I’m punching you for bringing me here.”

Barry almost smiled. “I didn’t bring you here. School did.”

“Coward’s deflection.”

“Survival skill.”

Brighton grumbled, but the truth was he wasn’t actually joking. Neither of them had slept. Neither of them had spoken about Charles appearing in the hallway last night. But that silence wasn’t protection. It was more like fear wearing a cheap disguise.

The hallway smelled faintly of burnt dust—the scent lights make when they’re about to die. Students moved like nothing was wrong. Laughing, complaining, shoving each other. It would have been comforting if it didn’t feel so staged.

The narrator won’t lie: some days, the town forgets better than others.

Barry stopped at his locker, pretending to search for a book while Brighton scanned the hallway like a paranoid security guard.

“See anything?” Barry asked without looking.

“Just teenagers. Which is terrifying enough.”

Barry opened his notebook.
And froze.

The Russian words from last night were gone.

Brighton peeked over his shoulder. “Well that’s promising. The demon graffiti removed itself. Very hygienic.”

Barry closed the notebook slowly. “Maybe Rae erased it.”

“Or maybe your notebook’s possessed by a minimalist.”

Barry didn’t answer. Because something else shifted in his peripheral vision—someone passing by slowly, quietly, as if moving through a different world entirely.

A girl with dark curls tied loosely behind her neck, wearing a faded green hoodie and holding a book upside down without realizing it. She wasn’t looking at them. She wasn’t even looking at where she was going. She was looking at the ceiling lights flickering overhead, her expression caught somewhere between curiosity and sadness.

Esther.

She didn’t stop. She didn’t speak. She didn’t notice them. She simply walked past, her eyes following something invisible.

Brighton blinked. “Who the hell is that?”

Barry shook his head. “New student?”

“She doesn’t look new. She looks… misplaced.”

Barry watched her turn the corner. He felt a strange tug behind his ribs, like déjà vu mixed with pity. Something about her presence felt like a glitch—quiet, human, soft, but undeniably wrong in this timeline.

He checked his schedule. Same classes. Same teachers. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone had added Esther to the roster without asking permission.

The bell shrieked overhead like it hated its job, and every conversation shattered into movement.

In English class, the lights flickered again. The teacher droned on about narrative perspective, which would have been ironic if he wasn’t so painfully unaware of the narrator hovering above his head like a sarcastic guardian angel.