The gray morning light, filtered through translucent curtains, bathed the classroom in a dull glow. Outside, the sky was a blank canvas. Inside, the air stagnated — thick, heavy — as if time itself were holding its breath.

  Evangeline sat near the windows, body hunched, chin resting on clasped fingers. It wasn’t fatigue. It was defense.

  Being there — being seen — was unbearable exposure.

  Behind her, the scraping of desks and backpacks echoed softly. A whisper, like nails on a chalkboard, broke the almost imperceptible silence — a series of hushed murmurs, like the rustling of dry leaves.

  Evangeline didn’t need to turn around. The half-hidden smiles, the sideways glances — they said it all. Among nearly thirty students, she was invisible.

  She wanted to disappear, yet felt completely exposed. Needed to hide, but was fully visible.

  At the front of the room, the teacher had already left, the notes on the board a reminder of a routine she hated.

  A short, sharp beep cut through the air.

  Ashley, two rows ahead, swiped her phone screen. Her eyes narrowed. Shoulders tensed. Lips pressed tight. She pocketed the phone and stood up with a muffled sigh.

  Evangeline heard her steps before she saw her.

  Ashley stopped beside her desk, hesitant. She glanced at the floor, the hallway, then Evangeline — repeating a lie even she didn’t believe. Fear and guilt weighed on her shoulders; what she was about to impose on Evangeline was heavy.

  — Eve... — her voice was more polite than sincere. — I need you. There’s a problem in the hallway... with some students. They said only the class president can handle it.

  Silence stretched — thick and tense, as if the air might implode.

  Evangeline slowly raised her eyes, stomach tightening. She didn’t respond right away. She didn’t trust Ashley, or the others. But the weight of the word “president” — trap, responsibility — crushed any alternative.

  — Okay — she murmured, voice low, barely audible.

  She stood. The chair’s screech cut sharply through the murmurs in the room.

  Faces turned. Others smirked quietly.

  Ashley had already turned toward the door. Evangeline followed — each step a tremor. The classroom faded behind her. Sounds dimmed. Only the echo of shoes and the heavy dread of what was coming remained. With each step, the fear grew. The anxiety deepened.

  Without looking back, they crossed the threshold and disappeared into the hallway.

  The hallway was narrow. Isolated.

  The faded walls absorbed the cold light from overhead bulbs. Sounds from the rest of the school echoed faintly and died quickly. The constant hum of a flickering lamp created an irritating frequency. A particle of dust floated through a beam of light — like a small intruder drifting between worlds.

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  Oppressive isolation. A cage. The walls closing in.

  At the top of the stairwell leading to the rooftop, Theo stood motionless, hidden in shadow. Hands in his pockets, gaze fixed on the scene below.

  Unnoticed. Uninvited. Irrelevant.

  Below, the group was already in place. Madison and Chloe shared muffled laughter, dirty secrets. Mason and Tyler play-fought, loud and hollow. Ryan leaned against the wall, arms crossed, bored expression.

  Ashley arrived out of breath, eyes darting. She led Evangeline with a forced smile, empty promises. As the others gathered, phone in hand, the camera recording. Her hands trembled, though she tried to hide it.

  — The video’s shaky again, Ashley — Chloe muttered, rolling her eyes.

  Evangeline stepped into view. She stopped. Her eyes scanned each face in quiet recognition.

  Something was wrong. She felt it before she saw it. She inhaled deeply.

  She tried to back away, but the girls blocked her — a subtle step, a cold hand on her shoulder, icy smiles forming a wall. Her body locked, as if pushed back by an invisible force. The touch on her shoulder twisted her stomach. Sudden entrapment. Rising panic.

  The comments began casually.

  Laughter too prolonged.

  The humiliation escalated with every word, every gesture, every glance. Sarcasm and scorn — like an insect beneath a microscope.

  Evangeline said nothing.

  Eyes steady. Body rigid.

  Madison stepped forward.

  Chloe pushed her gently against the wall near the stairwell. The others closed in, forming an uneven circle.

  Tyler pulled out his phone, filming.

  — This is gonna blow up again. “Ghost Girl in the Hallway,” part two — he laughed.

  Ryan remained silent, observing without expression. No judgment — just emptiness.

  Mason snatched Evangeline’s notebook and tossed it to the ground. As she bent to retrieve it, Madison grabbed her glasses.

  — Fragile without these, huh? — Madison mocked, handing them to Mason, who spun them like a trophy.

  Evangeline stayed silent. Eyes down. Fingers trembling. Breath shallow.

  A tear threatened to fall. Her skirt was lifted, revealing part of her legs.

  Chloe laughed, stepping in closer.

  — Let’s see if there’s anything of value here...

  Because being a faded shadow doesn’t count as a personality, right?

  She unfastened the top button of Evangeline’s blouse, eyes gleaming with mockery. Tyler tugged the skirt’s hem. Madison gripped her shoulders, pulling at the collar. Chloe fumbled with the remaining buttons.

  Hands — greedy to strip, expose, degrade. The aggression intensified. Each touch, an act of violation.

  Ashley’s camera trembled. She pretended to adjust the lens, but kept filming.

  Fear. Guilt. A desperate urge to stop it.

  She hesitated, fingers tightening around the phone. But the unspoken threat pushed her to continue.

  Evangeline closed her eyes. A tear escaped. A breath left her lips — heavy with despair and resignation. Her expression didn’t change.

  But her lips moved in a whisper, barely audible:

  — I just wanted someone by my side... anything, whatever it is. I don’t care about the cost.

  And though she didn’t know, something — someone — had heard.

  From beyond an unseen boundary, a presence waited. And now, it would answer.

  And in that moment, the world shifted.

  Theo had already felt something. From the second he saw Evangeline turn down that hallway, something was wrong.

  His muscles tensed. Jaw clenched. Rigid posture radiated pressure.

  His fist clenched in his pocket. His legs stiffened. But the whisper...

  That was the breaking point.

  Sound vanished. The air grew dense, heavy. Time stretched, distorting reality.

  Theo’s perception sharpened. His senses surged.

  Evangeline’s voice echoed with a faint reverberation — as if whispered to time itself, slipping through a membrane long forgotten.

  Theo heard it.

  Something within him cracked.

  His eyes narrowed.

  His chest expanded, like inhaling from another world.

  A surge of heat coursed through his body — electric, alive.

  His breath changed — heavy, awake.

  His eyes lit up — incandescent gold. Not reflected light. Emitted.

  And in the same instant, Evangeline’s eyes lit up too.

  An involuntary reflection.

  A call answered.

  The air pulsed — subtly.

  A pact sealed.

  Not in words. Not in ritual.

  But in the mutual recognition of two voids.

  Silence settled.

  But his presence, once muted, now weighed on the room.

  Evangeline was no longer alone.

  She didn’t yet understand the cost.

  But Theo was there.

  And he had already let go of control.