Chapter 3 · free to read
The north wing had not stopped playing since four o'clock. Twelve doors had unlocked themselves. Nobody in that dormitory would say it out loud, so they went looking for the one thing a ghost cannot argue with — a name.
N, dash, M-F-O-N. Four letters short of Mai's own name, and one of those four had been swallowed by rain.
The photograph on the reader had not moved. The photograph inside her phone had.
Nine metres she crossed between one blink and the next. The last two, with the drain between, she did not.
Artwork and narration generated with AI.