Ivy stood there for a long minute after Arlo left.
His words hadn't been loud. They hadn't even been strange, not at first. Just quiet, even, like he was stating the weather.
"I only exist when you remember me."
She pressed her palm to her sketchbook, still tucked into the inside of her coat. The corner of the drawing—his face, crown and all—poked gently into her ribs like it was trying to remind her she didn't imagine it.
Students moved past her. Someone bumped her shoulder.
She turned and followed.
Inside, Morley buzzed as usual: shoes echoing on polished tile, a hundred conversations layered over the undercurrent hum of fluorescent lights. Someone dropped a textbook. Someone laughed like they were trying too hard. Someone said the word assembly, and Ivy's stomach twisted again.
She didn't remember hearing anything about an assembly.
Not on the announcements. Not yesterday. Not ever.
The school had three types of emergency gatherings: drills, honor rallies, and disciplinary meetings for when someone got caught doing something very expensive and very stupid.
None of those were happening today.
She reached her locker. Turned the dial. Left, right, left. It stuck for a second, then popped open.
Inside, taped to the top: a note she hadn't put there.
"West Wing Auditorium. Mandatory. No excuses."
Her breath hitched.
No signature.
She peeled it off and stared at the handwriting. Clean, sharp, elegant. It reminded her of the way Arlo had written that one line in detention.
But it wasn't quite the same.
This felt older.
She folded it and shoved it into her pocket, grabbed her notebook, and headed toward the West Wing with the rest of the student herd.
As she walked, her mind tugged gently against something—like a thread catching on a nail. Her steps slowed when she passed the mirror near the band hall. She didn't mean to look into it, but she did.
This time, her reflection was moving normally.
Almost too normally.
She turned her head quickly. So did it. She blinked. So did it. It smiled exactly when she did.
But there was something off about the timing. Like it was waiting for her. Not copying.
Waiting.
She walked faster.
---
The West Wing Auditorium was cold, wide, and echoey. Most of the school was already packed in by the time she stepped inside. Teachers lined the walls. The principal stood stiffly near the mic. The giant projector screen behind the stage flickered once, then held steady on a blank white slide.
Ivy sat in the last row, far left, tucked behind a half-broken podium that no one had bothered to move in two years. She liked it there. She could see the whole room without being seen herself.
Except… Arlo was already there.
In her row.
At the far end.
She didn't make eye contact, but she could feel him. That same pressure, that same gravity.
She kept her eyes on the stage as the principal finally stepped up and cleared his throat.
"Thank you for coming on such short notice," he said, in that voice all administrators learned: too calm, too neutral, too rehearsed. "What we're about to show you is… unusual."
Someone near the front coughed. Another student whispered something about this being a prank.
The lights dimmed.
The projector clicked.
And the screen lit up with a video.
It was grainy. Black and white. The timestamp in the corner read October 9th… 1996.
The auditorium fell silent.
Onscreen, students were sitting in the same seats. In the same room. Same stage.
Except—
The girl on the screen, walking across the stage?
It was Ivy.
Not like her now. Not fully.
But close enough.
Same eyes. Same shoulders. Same tilt of the head when she paused at the podium and looked directly into the camera.
Ivy's hands curled around the edge of her chair.
She could hear her own heartbeat over the speakers.
The girl on the screen opened her mouth and said:
"You won't remember this. That's the point.
But if you're watching it now…
I didn't make it in time."
Someone in the audience laughed nervously. A few students shifted uncomfortably.
Ivy sat perfectly still.
Onscreen, the girl turned her head.
"Look for the one who remembers fire."
The video cut out.
The lights came back on.
The projector shut off with a click.
The principal looked confused. Then angry. Then confused again. He turned to one of the staff and whispered something behind his hand.
"We'll… we'll continue with the rest of the program in a moment," he said.
But Ivy wasn't listening anymore.
She turned her head slowly toward Arlo.
He was already looking at her.
His lips didn't move. But his expression did.
A question.
A warning.
Or maybe just recognition.
Then he stood up and walked out of the room.
---
End of Chapter Three