The darkness pressed in around me, heavy and damp. I barely dared to breathe. My hand brushed against something near the wall — not the sharp edge of a shelf, not a mop handle. Something softer. Rough. A sack. It sat half-hidden behind a tower of cleaning supplies, almost invisible in the low light.

  It looked old — too old, like it had been shoved there years ago and forgotten, gathering dust and cobwebs. The burp was stained and torn, the seams fraying. For a long moment, I just stared at it, my heart hammering. Then I dropped to my knees, ignoring the grime that smeared my jeans, and pulled the sack toward me.

  It scraped against the floor with a sound that made my teeth ache. The knot at the top was stiff, but it gave way under my shaking fingers. Inside, tangled among yellowing rags and something that smelled faintly of mildew, was an object. I pulled it out carefully, heart thudding against my ribs. An old cassette pyer. Heavy. Scratched. The kind with big, clunky buttons and a handle cracked from age.

  My throat went dry. I turned it over in my hands. The pstic was scuffed and battered, but the cassette was still inside — a small, bck rectangle with a strip of tape peeking out. No bel. No markings. Nothing to tell me what it was or who had put it there. I sat back against the door, cradling the pyer in my p like it might dissolve if I held it too tightly. Why? Why would my sister want me to find this?

  I pressed my forehead against my knees, breathing hard. The room swam around me, thick with the smell of dust and wet stone. This wasn’t an accident. This wasn’t just some random thing left behind. She had led me here. By the time I burst out the side doors of the school, the sky had turned a dull, smudged gray, the color of a wet newspaper. I didn’t stop running until I hit the parking lot, breath burning in my throat, the cassette pyer knocking against my side inside my backpack.

  It felt heavier than it should. Like it was carrying more than just pstic and tape. Like it was carrying a secret. I fumbled for my phone with shaking fingers and called Kian. It rang once. Twice.

  “Iris?”

  His voice crackled through.

  “Hey, you okay? Where are you?”

  “Can you meet me?” I said, breathless.

  “Now. Please.”

  He didn’t even hesitate.

  “Yeah. The coffee pce?”

  I nodded even though he couldn’t see.

  “Five minutes,” I said, and hung up.

  The coffee shop was just a few blocks away — an old pce wedged between a undromat and a bookstore, its windows steamed up against the chill outside. Kian was already there when I shoved through the door, his hoodie pulled up against the rain, his hands wrapped around a paper cup. His face lit up when he saw me — but the smile faltered as he caught sight of mine.

  “Iris? What’s wrong?”

  I didn’t answer.

  Not right away.

  I slid into the booth across from him, pulling my backpack into my p like a shield.

  My heart still hadn’t settled.

  Without a word, I pulled out the cassette pyer and set it between us.

  Kian blinked.

  “Whoa. That’s... ancient,” he said, half-grinning like he thought it was a joke.

  “Where’d you find that?”

  I hesitated.

  “In the school,” I said finally.

  “In a supply closet. After...”

  I trailed off, gncing around.

  The coffee shop buzzed with low conversation, the clink of spoons against mugs.

  It felt wrong to say it out loud.

  Like I’d rip a hole in the normalcy around us.

  “After what?” Kian pressed gently.

  I swallowed.

  “I saw her again,” I whispered.

  Kian’s smile faded completely.

  He leaned closer.

  “The girl?”

  I nodded.

  Kian knew about the sightings — at least, some of them. He was the only person I had ever told, the only one who hadn’t immediately tried to write it off as stress or grief or ‘just a bad dream.’ He stared down at the cassette pyer like it might bite him.

  “And you think she... left this for you?”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted.

  “I just... She was holding a sack. And then I found this.”

  Kian frowned, wiping his palms against his jeans.

  “Have you pyed it?”

  I shook my head.

  “Not yet. It felt... wrong. I don’t know.”

  He reached out, fingers brushing the clunky buttons.

  “Maybe it’s just a recording,” he said, but his voice was too careful.

  “Maybe it’s, like... something she wanted you to hear.”

  “Or something she wanted me to remember,” I said quietly.

  We both sat there for a moment, the rain tapping at the windows, the cassette pyer sitting between us like a loaded gun.

  We sat there, staring at the thing like it might spring to life. The kind of thing you’d find buried in someone’s attic, or abandoned at a garage sale for a dolr. Kian leaned in, squinting at it.

  “You don’t even have a tape pyer for this,” he said, trying for a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

  “It’s probably just junk. Nothing to freak out about.”

  I looked down at the pyer again, heart still hammering.

  It didn’t feel like junk.

  It felt heavy, like it was waiting.

  “I don’t know,” I said quietly.

  “It doesn’t seem random.”

  Kian gave a short ugh and reached for his coffee.

  “Maybe it’s just some old school project somebody lost. A time capsule thing. I mean, it’s not like a ghost is mailing you mixtapes.”

  I managed a small smile, but it didn’t stick. Because deep down, I knew this wasn’t just some accident. This was for me. It was meant to be found. I shoved the cassette pyer back into my bag, trying to ignore the way it seemed tobuzzagainst my side, like static clinging to my skin. Kian noticed.

  “You sure you’re not just... stressed?” he said, softer now.

  “With everything... you know.”

  He didn’t say it —your sister— but he didn’t have to. I nodded quickly, more to end the conversation than because I believed it.

  “Yeah,” I lied.

  “Maybe.”

  We sat in silence for a while, the rain dragging gray smears down the windows. But just as I started to rex — just as I thought maybe Kian was right, maybe itwasn’timportant — I caught a flicker of movement in the corner of my eye. I turned toward the window. And froze. In the gss, blurred by rain and reflection, I saw a figure. Standing still.

  Watching us. Dark hair pstered to her face. Hands hanging limp at her sides. The breath caught in my chest.

  “Kian,” I whispered.

  He followed my gaze, but when he looked, there was nothing there. Just the messy coffee shop. Just the empty parking lot beyond. Just rain.

  “Iris?”

  His voice sharpened.

  “What is it?”

  I pulled my bag closer, my fingers tightening around the straps.

  “I think...” I struggled for words.

  “I think my sister’s trying to tell me something.”

  He reached across the table and squeezed my hand, grounding me.

  “Then we’ll figure it out,” he said steadily.

  “Together.”

  I wanted to believe him.

  But deep down, something cold had already settled inside me.

  Because whatever this was — whatever secret was buried in that cassette pyer —

  it wasn’t going to stay quiet for long.

  And neither was she.