**(Dora's POV – Three Weeks Before the Fall)**
The note slipped from Rhea's locker like a confession.
*Meet me at the bleachers. We need to talk. –D*
Dora watched from the shadows as Rhea unfolded it, her hands shaking. For a second—just a second—hope flared in Dora's chest. *Maybe she'll remember. Maybe she'll choose me this time.*
Then Marla snatched the paper, cackling. *"Ugh, she's *still* obsessed with you, Rhea. Pathetic."*
Rhea's face twisted. Not with guilt. With *disgust.*
*"I'll handle it,"* she muttered, scribbling something before shoving the note back inside.
Dora didn't need to read it to know.
Her last friend had just signed her death warrant.
---
**(Elle's POV – Present Day)**
The janitor's closet reeked of bleach and something older—mildew, maybe, or rot.
Mr. Halden leaned against his mop, his grin stretching too wide. *"You wanna save your little ghost friend? I can help. For a price."*
Elle's pulse hammered. *"What price?"*
He chuckled, tapping the ledger in her hands. *"Names can be *changed*, girl. Swap yours for someone else's. Marla's, maybe. Or…"* His yellowed teeth glinted. *"Your brother's. Jules *did* graduate, but the ledger's got a long memory."*
Elle recoiled. *"You're sick."*
*"Nah. Just practical."* He shrugged. *"Tick-tock, though. That ink's drying fast."*
Behind him, the closet door creaked shut on its own.
The light went out.