The light from Kayla's phone flickered once, then went dark. She stared at the screen, the last message burned into her mind—"Marked."
Caston stood near her bedroom window, arms crossed but clearly on edge. "That thing... it's still around, isn't it?"
Kayla gave a tired nod, hugging her knees to her chest on the edge of the bed. "Yeah. I don't think it ever really left."
There was a silence. Not awkward exactly, but heavy. Like both of them knew something big was coming—they just didn't know what.
"I'll stay close," Caston said suddenly. "If anything happens again… just text."
She looked up at him, caught off guard. "You don't have to—"
"I want to," he cut in, voice a little too sharp. Then he sighed, softer this time. "I just… don't like the idea of you dealing with this alone."
Kayla didn't answer. She didn't trust herself to. It was easier to pretend she didn't hear the emotion in his voice, or the way her heartbeat picked up at his words.
At school, everything felt... off.
Whispers followed Kayla wherever she went. Not loud. Not obvious. But always just close enough to make her doubt whether they were real. In the library, she thought she saw something move behind the shelves. In class, her name was whispered when no one was around.
The worst was in the girls' bathroom. She looked in the mirror—and for a second, her reflection wasn't hers. Her eyes were hollow, face pale, like something drained the life out of her.
And carved into the stall behind her?
"CHOSEN."
She didn't scream. She didn't run. She just walked out, calmly, and texted the group:
"We need to meet. Tonight."
The five of them sat in Rose's living room, papers and snacks scattered across the floor.
"She's ramping up," Kayla said, dropping into the couch. "And she's not hiding anymore."
Marina looked uneasy. "You mean Eleanor?"
Kayla nodded. "I think she wants something from me. Something specific. I don't know why, but… she picked me."
"And now we're all involved," Laura added, flipping through an old news article. "There's something about these graveyard disappearances. All the victims? They had nightmares. Hallucinations. One kid even scratched the word 'Marked' into his arm before he vanished."
Caston sat beside Kayla, quieter than usual. But when she reached for her bag, their arms brushed—and she felt it.
A sudden jolt of warmth. Like electricity.
She froze. So did he.
"…Did you feel that?" she asked quietly.
He looked at her, eyes narrowed. "Yeah."
Then he rolled up his sleeve—and Kayla stared.
There, on his forearm, was the same mark that had burned into hers days ago.
Her voice cracked. "No. No, that's not possible. I didn't touch you when it happened."
"You didn't have to," he said. "I think... whatever's happening, it's not just about you anymore."
Later that night, Kayla lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.
Sleep didn't come easy anymore. But when it finally did, it brought her another dream.
This time, Eleanor wasn't floating in the distance—she was beside her bed. Her mouth moved, her eyes glowed faintly, and Kayla could hear her in her head:
"You opened the door. You and him... you're part of this now. Both of you."
Kayla jolted awake, gasping.
A cold breeze passed through the room.
And written in the condensation on her window was a single word:
"Together."