By the next morning, Ravenwood High was a hive of whispers.
"She didn't eat anything," one boy said in the locker room, pulling on his jacket. "Not a single bite."
"My sister swears she saw the cafeteria window herself," another insisted. "The words were there—'She has returned.' That's not normal."
The rumors grew with each telling. In classrooms, in hallways, in bathrooms, Elara's name passed from mouth to mouth like a forbidden spell.
"She doesn't blink."
"She doesn't sleep."
"She doesn't even breathe."
Teachers tried to calm them, but their voices carried no weight. Fear had already rooted itself in Ravenwood.
By lunch, no one dared sit near her. The farthest corner of the cafeteria was hers alone, a place untouched by the chaos of normal teenage life. And still she sat, motionless, her silver eyes flicking from face to face with an unreadable calm.
It should have stayed that way.
But Ethan Crowe refused to let fear rule him.
The son of Ravenwood's mayor, Ethan was used to whispers—his family's name carried both power and resentment. Tall, broad-shouldered, with storm-gray eyes, he walked like someone who never bowed to anyone. While the rest of the cafeteria kept their distance, Ethan strode across the room, his boots striking the floor in steady rhythm.
Every head turned.
He stopped at Elara's table and pulled out a chair, sitting across from her as if the air wasn't thick with terror.
"Who are you really?" he asked, his voice low but steady.
For the first time, Elara's gaze shifted directly, locking onto his.
The cafeteria seemed to hold its breath.
For a long moment, Elara did not answer.
Her silver eyes fixed on Ethan as if measuring him, as if peeling away the layers of skin and bone to see what lay buried inside.
Around them, whispers swelled. Students leaned forward on their benches, straining to catch her reply, though none dared get closer.
At last, she spoke.
"You wouldn't believe me."
Her voice was soft, almost a whisper, but it cut through the air like a blade.
Ethan leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "Try me."
Elara tilted her head slightly, studying him. A faint curve touched her lips, not quite a smile. More like the echo of one.
"You ask who I am," she said, her words slow, deliberate. "But the better question is—who are you when the truth comes?"
The cafeteria shuddered. Not from sound, but from something else, something invisible—an unseen weight pressing down on everyone's chest. The lights flickered again, shadows stretching unnaturally across the walls.
Several students bolted for the doors. A tray clattered to the floor. Someone muttered a prayer under their breath.
But Ethan didn't move. His storm-gray eyes stayed locked on hers, unflinching.
"You think you're the first to scare me?" he said.
Elara's silver gaze narrowed slightly, as if intrigued. Then she leaned forward, lowering her voice so only he could hear.
"They were right, you know," she whispered. "She has returned."
Ethan's blood ran cold.
Before he could respond, the bell rang, jolting the room back into motion. Students scrambled from the cafeteria, desperate to escape the oppressive air. When Ethan looked back—Elara was gone.
Vanished.
As though she had never been there at all.