Laura didn't remember running from Annie's apartment. She only remembered the frigid night air hitting her lungs as she stood on the sidewalk outside, gasping, her phone call to James cut short when the line went dead mid-ring. The fluorescent kitchen light still burned behind her, illuminating the message that couldn't possibly be there.

  She'd tried the payphone at the corner, but it had been vandalized, the receiver dangling uselessly. With shaking hands, she'd let herself back into Annie's apartment, moving directly to the kitchen, steeling herself for what she'd find.

  But the refrigerator door was clean. No lipstick. No message. The coffee mug sat on the counter exactly where it had been before, untouched.

  The silver locket was gone.

  Laura had searched the entire kitchen—the floors, the counters, inside drawers—convinced she hadn't imagined it. But there was no trace of Annie's locket, no sign anyone else had been in the apartment. She'd eventually collapsed back onto the couch, exhausted and rattled, telling herself she'd dreamed it all.

  Dawn brought a thin, gray light filtering through Annie's curtains. Laura awoke disoriented, her neck stiff from the awkward angle against the armrest. For a moment, she couldn't remember where she was or why. Then it all came flooding back.

  Annie was still missing.

  Laura pushed herself upright, wincing at the stiffness in her muscles. The television was off, though she had no memory of turning it off. The apartment felt different in daylight—less threatening, but somehow emptier.

  She checked her watch: 7:14 AM. The others would be waking up soon, if they'd managed to sleep at all. Laura forced herself to the bathroom, hoping to wash away some of the night's unease.

  Annie's bathroom was meticulously organized, with color-coordinated towels and toiletries arranged by size. Laura turned on the water, letting it run until steam began to rise. She splashed her face, avoiding her own reflection—she knew how she'd look after the night she'd had.

  When she finally glanced up, she froze.

  On the mirror, drawn in the condensation, was a symbol—a series of concentric circles with lines radiating outward. It hadn't been there when she'd first looked. And she hadn't drawn it.

  Laura's heart hammered against her ribs. She backed away, nearly tripping over the bathroom rug. This was real. She wasn't hallucinating or dreaming. Someone had been in the apartment while she slept. Someone might still be here.

  She grabbed a hairbrush from the counter—the only potential weapon in reach—and edged back into the hallway, listening intently. The apartment was silent except for the hum of the refrigerator and the distant sound of traffic beginning to build outside.

  Laura checked every room, every closet, under the bed, behind the shower curtain. Nothing. No one. As she returned to the living room, the phone rang, making her jump.

  She approached it cautiously, half-expecting it to stop before she reached it. On the fourth ring, she lifted the receiver.

  "Hello?"

  "Laura?" It was Daniel, his voice tense with concern. "Thank God. I've been trying to reach you for twenty minutes. The line was busy."

  "It wasn't," Laura said, the certainty in her voice surprising even her. "I wasn't on the phone."

  A pause. "Well, I couldn't get through. Listen, has she come back?"

  "No. No sign of her." Laura hesitated, then decided against mentioning what she'd seen. It sounded too bizarre, too impossible to explain. "Did you talk to the others?"

  "Yes. James is going to the station to follow up on the report. Marcus is checking the radio station in case Annie went there for some reason. Vanessa's calling everyone they know from the library." He paused. "What about you? You sound... off."

  "I'm fine. Just tired." Laura rubbed her temples. "I'm going to check Annie's room again, see if there's anything we missed last night."

  "I'll come over. Give me fifteen minutes."

  "No, that's okay. I need to—" Laura stopped, her attention caught by something on the coffee table she hadn't noticed before: a small key with a library tag attached. "Actually, yes. Come over. There's something I want to check out."

  By the time Daniel arrived, Laura had showered and changed into clothes she'd borrowed from Annie's closet—jeans and a sweater that hung slightly loose on her smaller frame. She'd also made coffee, needing the normalcy of the routine as much as the caffeine.

  Daniel looked like he hadn't slept, his usually tidy hair disheveled, yesterday's clothes rumpled. The concern in his eyes deepened when he saw her.

  "You look like hell," he said, accepting the mug she offered.

  "Pot, kettle," she replied, the ghost of a smile crossing her face.

  "Any news?"

  Laura shook her head, then held up the library key she'd found. "This was on the coffee table. I don't remember it being there last night, but..." She shrugged. "Everything's a bit hazy."

  Daniel examined it. "Looks like a key to one of the archive cabinets. Annie mentioned she was cataloging the founder journals, right? Maybe there's something there that could tell us what she was researching."

  "That's what I was thinking." Laura hesitated, then added, "I saw something strange in the bathroom this morning. A symbol drawn in the condensation on the mirror."

  Daniel frowned. "What kind of symbol?"

  "Circles with lines radiating out. Like a distorted sun." She watched his face carefully. "I didn't draw it."

  "The place is old," Daniel said after a moment. "Pipes knock, wood shifts. Could've been there before and you just didn't notice."

  "It wasn't," Laura said firmly. "And last night, I thought I saw..." She trailed off, suddenly doubting herself again. The message on the refrigerator, the locket that appeared and disappeared—it all sounded crazy in the light of day.

  "What?" Daniel prompted.

  "Nothing. Probably just my imagination." She drained her coffee. "The library opens at nine. We should head over there."

  They walked in silence through streets now clear of fog. Seacliff Cove looked deceptively normal on this Saturday morning. Shops were opening, people walked dogs, a newspaper boy made his rounds. No one seemed aware that Laura's world had tilted on its axis overnight.

  The Seacliff Public Library occupied a Victorian mansion donated by one of the founding families in the 1920s. Its gothic architecture—complete with a small tower and stained glass windows—made it look more like a church than a place of learning. The reading rooms occupied the main floor, with administrative offices on the second, and archives in the basement.

  "Good morning, Laura, Daniel," Mrs. Winters, the head librarian, greeted them as they entered. She was a thin woman in her sixties with steel-gray hair and reading glasses on a chain. "If you're looking for Annie, she hasn't come in yet. It's not like her to be late, especially on a Saturday."

  Laura and Daniel exchanged glances.

  "Mrs. Winters," Laura began carefully, "Annie's missing. She disappeared from outside The Velvet Room last night."

  The older woman's expression froze. "Missing?" The word seemed to carry more weight than it should.

  "We've filed a report," Daniel added, "but the police won't really consider her missing for 24 hours. We thought we might find some clue to where she went if we check what she was working on."

  Mrs. Winters glanced over her shoulder, as if checking to see if anyone was listening, though the library was nearly empty this early. "Come with me."

  She led them to her office, closing the door behind them. "When did this happen, exactly?"

  "Around 11:30 last night," Laura said. "She stepped out for a cigarette and never came back."

  The librarian sank into her chair. "Oh dear."

  "What is it?" Laura pressed. "Do you know something?"

  "Not... exactly." Mrs. Winters removed her glasses, polishing them with a cloth from her desk drawer. "Annie has been acting strangely for the past week or so. Ever since she started cataloging the Seacliff family papers."

  "Strange how?" Daniel asked.

  "Staying late, coming in early. I'd find her in the archives at odd hours, sometimes talking to herself." She replaced her glasses. "Then two days ago, she asked me about the town records from 1959. Specifically, about missing persons cases."

  Laura leaned forward. "Did she say why?"

  "She mentioned patterns. Recurring cycles every few decades." Mrs. Winters sighed. "I dismissed it as academic curiosity. But now..."

  "Can we see what she was working on?" Daniel asked.

  "Of course." Mrs. Winters stood. "The archives are usually locked, but I can take you down."

  The basement archive was cool and dry, illuminated by fluorescent tubes that buzzed faintly overhead. Metal shelving units filled with acid-free boxes formed narrow aisles. In one corner stood a work table with Annie's project materials neatly arranged: white cotton gloves, magnifying glass, catalogue sheets, and several leather-bound journals.

  "These are Jeremiah Seacliff's personal papers," Mrs. Winters explained. "Annie was digitizing and cross-referencing them with other founding family records."

  Laura picked up the key she'd found in Annie's apartment. It fit the locked drawer in the table. Inside were more journals, these in worse condition, their covers water-stained and bindings cracked.

  "I'll leave you to it," Mrs. Winters said. "The basement door locks automatically, so just come up when you're finished."

  When she was gone, Laura and Daniel donned the cotton gloves and began examining the materials. Most were mundane accounts of colonial life—crop yields, weather patterns, births and deaths. But as they worked through the journals chronologically, a pattern emerged. Every few decades, the writing would change, becoming more cryptic, with references to "the offering," "the vessel," and "the hollow voice."

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  "Look at this," Laura said, pointing to an entry from 1771. "He writes: 'The cycle approaches once more. We have selected the six, as required. May the Voice be satisfied with our offering, that prosperity might continue.'"

  Daniel frowned. "Could be metaphorical. Religious colonists often used symbolic language."

  "Maybe." Laura turned the page. "But look here—the next entry is dated three weeks later, and it's completely different. The handwriting is still Seacliff's, but it's... I don't know, more controlled? And he never mentions 'the offering' again."

  They continued through the journals, finding similar patterns in 1798, 1825, 1852, and so on. Approximately every 27 years, the cryptic language would appear, followed by a gap in the record and then a return to normal entries.

  "1959," Laura murmured. "That would be the last cycle."

  "And 1959 plus 27 is 1986," Daniel said quietly. "This year."

  Laura shivered despite the room's controlled temperature. She turned to the final journal, dated 1826-1829. As she carefully opened it, a folded paper fell out—not aged parchment like the journal, but modern copy paper. She recognized Annie's neat handwriting immediately.

  "It's Annie's notes," she said, unfolding the paper.

  The page was covered with the same symbol Laura had seen on her bathroom mirror, drawn repeatedly in various sizes. Beside one, Annie had written: "The Voice—appears in all six journals at 27-year intervals." Beside another: "Reflective surfaces as conduits? Check parish records re: mirrors."

  And at the bottom, underlined three times: "THE PALE HOURS—between worlds—THEY AREN'T DEAD."

  "Jesus," Daniel whispered, his face pale. "What the hell was she into?"

  Laura didn't answer. Her attention had been caught by a small notebook wedged between two archive boxes on the shelf behind the work table. It wasn't part of the historical collection. The cover was modern, with a floral pattern she recognized as one Annie had purchased at the stationery store just last month.

  She pulled it out and opened it to the first page. It was a diary, beginning with an entry from two weeks ago:

  *October 1: Found something disturbing in the Seacliff journals today. References to periodic "offerings" that coincide with the town's economic upturns. Could be coincidence, but the timing lines up perfectly with the missing persons cases in the newspaper archives. Going to dig deeper.*

  Laura flipped through the pages, her unease growing as she read Annie's increasingly frantic entries:

  *October 4: Symbols keep appearing in my dreams. The same ones from the journals. Concentric circles with radiating lines. Like a voice trying to reach out.*

  *October 7: Someone's been watching me at the library. A man in a gray suit. When I approach, he disappears.*

  *October 10: Found references to "the hollowing" in church records. Descriptions of people becoming "empty vessels." Town pastor in 1852 wrote about parishioners whose "light behind the eyes had gone out" just before they disappeared.*

  *October 12: It's happening again. This year. The pattern is undeniable. Six people disappeared in 1959. Six in 1932. Always six. No bodies ever found.*

  The final entry was dated yesterday:

  *October 17: I'm almost certain we're in danger. The signs are all there. The symbols are appearing everywhere—in my dreams, in the margins of books I'm reading. I saw my own reflection move independently in the library bathroom mirror today. I have to warn the others tonight. If anything happens to me, look for the lighthouse keeper's daughter. She knows the way to the hollow places.*

  Laura closed the diary, her hands trembling. "Daniel, we need to—"

  She stopped, suddenly aware that Daniel was no longer beside her. "Daniel?"

  The archive was silent.

  "Daniel?" Laura stood, scanning the rows of shelves. "Where did you go?"

  Nothing.

  She turned in a slow circle, her apprehension rising. The basement was windowless, with only one door. She would have heard if he'd left. "This isn't funny," she called, her voice sounding thin in the cavernous room.

  A metallic scrape came from the far corner, followed by a soft thud. Laura moved cautiously toward the sound, Annie's diary clutched to her chest. "Daniel?"

  She rounded the final shelving unit and stopped short.

  Daniel stood facing a blank wall, his back to her. He wasn't moving.

  "Thank God," Laura said, relief flooding her voice. "You scared me. What are you doing over here?"

  He didn't respond. Didn't turn. Didn't acknowledge her at all.

  "Daniel?" Laura took a step closer, then another. She reached out to touch his shoulder.

  Just before her fingers made contact, he turned. Laura's hand froze in mid-air.

  It was Daniel's face, but his eyes were wrong—flat, without depth or light. His expression was completely blank, devoid of the warmth and intelligence she knew so well.

  "Daniel?" Her voice was barely a whisper now.

  His lips moved, but the voice that emerged wasn't his. It was higher, feminine, with a strange echo.

  "You shouldn't be here, Laura." It was Annie's voice coming from Daniel's mouth. "Run."

  Laura stumbled backward as Daniel took a mechanical step toward her, then another. His movements were wrong—jerky, like a marionette controlled by an unskilled puppeteer.

  "You need to leave," Annie's voice continued, the words at odds with Daniel's relentless advance. "He's not what you think. None of them are. The hollow has already begun."

  Laura backed into a shelf, metal edges digging into her spine. "Daniel, snap out of it! This isn't you!"

  Daniel's head tilted at an unnatural angle. "Daniel isn't here right now." The voice shifted, deepening, losing Annie's distinctive cadence. "But I am. I've always been here, Laura. Waiting for you."

  His hand shot out, fingers splayed, reaching for her face. Laura ducked, diving past him and sprinting for the door. She could hear him behind her, footsteps scraping against concrete, unnaturally fast.

  The exit was just ahead—if she could reach it, get upstairs where there were witnesses—

  Laura slammed into the door at full speed, twisting the handle.

  Locked.

  She pounded on it, screaming for help. "Mrs. Winters! Anyone! Please!"

  Daniel's footsteps had stopped. Laura turned slowly, pressing her back against the door.

  He stood ten feet away, perfectly still. Then his body shuddered, a violent tremor running from head to toe. He gasped, doubling over as if in pain. When he straightened, his eyes were his own again—confused, frightened.

  "Laura?" His voice was normal, if bewildered. "What's happening? Why are you looking at me like that?"

  "You don't remember?" Laura kept her distance, wary.

  "Remember what? We were looking at Annie's notes, and then..." He frowned, genuine confusion on his face. "Then nothing. Like a blackout." He looked around. "How did I get over here?"

  Laura hesitated, unsure whether to believe him. "You were... not yourself. You said things. In Annie's voice, and then something else."

  Daniel paled. "What things?"

  Before she could answer, the lock clicked, and the basement door opened. Mrs. Winters stood there, concern etched on her face.

  "I heard shouting. Is everything all right?"

  Laura exchanged a look with Daniel. "We're fine," she said finally. "Just thought we saw a rat."

  "Oh dear." Mrs. Winters looked genuinely distressed. "I'll call an exterminator right away."

  "That's probably a good idea." Laura clutched Annie's diary closer, deciding immediately not to mention it to the librarian. "We were just finishing up here."

  As they left the library, neither spoke until they were half a block away. Then Daniel grabbed Laura's arm, pulling her to a stop.

  "Tell me what happened down there," he demanded. "The truth."

  Laura studied his face—familiar, worried, completely normal. No trace of the blank-eyed stranger from moments ago. She took a deep breath and told him everything, watching his expression shift from disbelief to horror.

  "I would never hurt you," he said when she finished. "You know that."

  "I know," Laura said, though a sliver of doubt had wedged itself into her mind. "But something happened to you in there. Just like something happened to Annie."

  Daniel ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture she'd seen a thousand times. "Maybe we're both overtired. Stress and lack of sleep can cause hallucinations, disorientation—"

  "It wasn't a hallucination." Laura opened Annie's diary, showing him the entries. "This is real. Annie found something in those archives—something dangerous. And now she's gone."

  "And I apparently channeled her voice?" Daniel sounded skeptical despite his obvious unease. "Laura, listen to yourself."

  "I know how it sounds. But Annie was right about the pattern. Six people disappeared in 1959. Sheriff Riley told me himself that if she doesn't turn up by tomorrow, he'll give her case special attention because of 'past incidents.' His words."

  Daniel sighed. "Okay. Let's say for argument's sake that something strange is happening. What's our next move?"

  Laura flipped to Annie's final entry. "We find the lighthouse keeper's daughter." She looked up at Daniel, determination hardening her voice. "Whatever's happening, Annie knew more than she told us. And she left us a clue."

  As they walked toward the harbor, neither noticed the man in the gray suit watching from across the street, his face in shadow despite the bright morning sun. Nor did they see how, when they passed a storefront window, their reflections lingered a moment too long, turning to watch them walk away.