Elinea no longer trusted the windows.
She kept the curtains drawn now, even in daylight, afraid to see him again—or afraid of what she might not see this time.
The boy's face lingered in her mind. Not terrifying, but distant, almost like he belonged to a memory she didn't have.
The next morning, she wasn't summoned to breakfast.
No tea. No dry bread. No footsteps waiting in the hall.
Just silence.
She opened her door carefully and stepped out. A new note was pinned to the wall beside her room.
"South corridor. Third mirror."
Nothing else.
No signature.
No instructions.
The south corridor was colder. The walls were bare, the lamps unlit. She counted the mirrors as she passed them—one, two, then the third.
It was smaller than the others. The frame was cracked, and a faint smear trailed across its surface like a hand had once pressed there.
When she looked into it, she didn't see herself.
She saw the boy.
Standing somewhere behind her, just out of reach.
She spun around—empty.
She turned back to the mirror.
Gone.
Her fingers brushed the edge of the frame and she noticed something wedged behind it.
Another note.
"The boy nobody sees is the boy who never left."
Elinea's throat tightened. She tucked the note into her pocket, her pulse racing.
When she returned to her room later, she found the brass key from her drawer had been moved.
Not missing.
Just… placed gently on her pillow.
Someone had come in.
At dusk, she heard faint knocking.
Not at her door—but from the wardrobe.
The one nailed shut when she arrived.
The knocking continued, soft but steady, as if waiting for her to answer.
She stepped closer, her hand hovering over the nails.
"Who's there?" she whispered.
Silence.
Then, barely audible—
"It's me."
The voice was young. Familiar.
The same voice that whispered her name outside her door.
"I can't come out. But you can let me."
Her heart pounded. She backed away, her fingers curling around the second brass key on its chain.
Had he put it there? Was this the key meant for the wardrobe?
Her body trembled with a choice she didn't want to make.
The knocking stopped.
But in the stillness, a final note had appeared beneath the wardrobe.
"When you find me, do not forget me."
Elinea sat on the edge of her bed that night, staring at the key in her palm.
The house had stopped whispering.
But the boy hadn't.
"Elinea…"
His voice drifted from the cracks in the walls, soft, persistent, as though he was everywhere now.
Waiting.