The first thing Lira knew was cold.

Not the kind that makes you shiver, but the kind that sinks into your bones and makes them forget they were ever warm. Her fingers twitched against damp sheets, her throat raw like she’d been screaming underwater.

She opened her eyes to a ceiling she didn’t recognize.

Faded crown molding. A single light bulb swaying overhead. A scent of lavender—and something metallic underneath.

She sat up too fast.

Pain bloomed behind her eyes. The room spun. A clock ticked somewhere—too loud. Her heartbeat stumbled to match it.

“Miss Vale?”

A soft voice.

Lira turned. A woman in pale blue stood by the door, a clipboard pressed to her chest, eyes unreadable behind square-framed glasses. Her hair was the color of steel, pulled into a bun tight enough to hurt.

“You’re awake,” the woman said, not surprised. “That’s... good.”

Lira opened her mouth. “Where am I?”

“Valemont Academy.” The woman stepped forward. “Infirmary wing. I’m Nurse Kaede. You’ve been unconscious for three days.”

Three days?

“What happened?”

“You fell,” the nurse said, too smoothly. “A cliff edge behind the East Wing. Slipped. Hit your head.”

That didn’t sound right. She tried to remember falling—rocks, water, pain—but all she saw was—

—a white mask

—a hand around her wrist

—cold fingers letting go

Lira shook her head. “I don’t remember that.”

The nurse wrote something on the clipboard. “Memory loss is not uncommon in head trauma cases.”

“But—”

“You’re safe now.” The woman smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Your belongings were recovered. Uniform’s in the closet. Your roommate’s been informed.”

“Roommate?”

“Cassia Thorn. You’ve been living with her for six months.” She paused. “Surely you remember your best friend?”

Lira’s skin prickled.

She didn’t know a Cassia. She didn’t remember anything.

But that wasn’t the worst part.

The worst part was the look on the nurse’s face—not surprise, not concern.

Pity.

---

Lira stood in front of the mirror in the corner, dressed in a navy blazer and pleated skirt that felt both familiar and wrong.

She touched her reflection.

Same dark eyes. Same sharp cheekbones. Same pale scar on the right collarbone.

She knew this face.

She just didn’t know whose it was.

---

The dorm hall stretched long and cold. Oil paintings lined the walls—headmasters with watchful eyes, students in charcoal-gray uniforms frozen in time.

As she walked, whispers bloomed behind her.

“That’s her…”

“Didn’t she—?”

“She’s not supposed to be—”

Lira kept walking. She turned a corner too quickly and collided with someone.

A hand caught her.

She looked up—and froze.

A boy with ink-black hair, eyes like overcast skies, and a quiet intensity that made her want to step back and forward at once.

“Careful,” he said, voice low. “You still look half-dead.”

Lira blinked. “Do I know you?”

Something passed over his face.

“No,” he said. “Not anymore.”

Lira couldn’t stop staring at the boy’s eyes.

They weren’t just familiar—they were hauntingly familiar. Like a word you can almost remember, stuck on the edge of your tongue.

He let go of her wrist.

"You should get to your room before curfew,” he said. “Thorn’s not the forgiving type."

“Wait—”

But he was already walking away.

She stood there a second longer, her heart stumbling.

D16.

Her name was printed neatly on the door: Lira Vale.

It still felt like a stranger’s name.

She pushed it open.

The dorm was immaculate. A candle flickered on the desk, lavender-scented. A silver comb lay parallel to a row of color-coded books. The bed near the window was perfectly made. The other bed—hers—looked untouched.

A girl sat at the desk, writing something in tight, elegant script. She didn’t turn.

Lira cleared her throat. “Cassia?”

The pen stopped.

“So you do remember something,” Cassia said softly.

“I… no. Just your name. Someone told me.”

Cassia rose.

She was beautiful in a statuesque way—precise, unshaken, like she'd been carved from ice. Her eyes scanned Lira's face as if trying to solve a riddle.

“You were gone for three days,” she said. “Or a year. Depends who you ask.”

“I don’t remember anything,” Lira said. “Not just what happened. Everything.”

Cassia’s face didn’t change. But her voice did.

“Good,” she said. “It’s easier that way.”

Lira blinked. “Why?”

Cassia moved toward her, each step measured.

“Because the girl you used to be—” she said, almost kindly, “—ruined more than just herself.”

---

Lira couldn’t sleep.

The air in the dorm felt wrong. Like the walls were listening.

Cassia was already asleep, turned toward the wall, her breath slow and controlled. The candle was still burning, almost out.

Lira slipped from bed and into her uniform jacket.

She didn’t know where she was going.

Only that she had to go.

---

The path behind the East Wing twisted like a scar through the garden. Ivy curled over rusted gates and half-buried stones. Fog coiled at her ankles, soft as breath.

Then she saw it.

A small clearing—

and in the middle, a crooked gravestone.

She moved closer, heart knocking against her ribs.

LIRA VALE

2008–2024

“She followed the silence. May she never return.”

Her breath caught. Her knees threatened to give way.

This was real.

She backed away—and stepped on something soft.

A bundle of dried roses. Blackened, as if burned. Tied with a velvet ribbon. There was a note tucked inside, parchment yellowed with age.

She opened it with shaking fingers.

> “You should have stayed dead, Lira.

Some doors don’t open twice.”

Her hands trembled. A sound rose in her throat but never made it out.

Then she heard it—

the crunch of leaves. A breath behind her.

She spun around.

Nothing.

The garden was empty. Silent.

But as she looked back at her grave, she noticed something new—

etched faintly into the moss beneath her name.

A second line. A second name.

EREN CAI

2008–2024

But that couldn’t be right.

The boy from earlier—he was very much alive.

Wasn’t he?

Lira barely slept.

The words on the note pulsed behind her eyelids like a bruise:

You should have stayed dead.

Some doors don’t open twice.

She couldn’t stop thinking about that second name carved beneath hers.

Eren Cai.

He was alive. She’d spoken to him. So why was he listed on her grave like they’d both been buried together?

The moment the clock struck five, she rose, dressed in silence, and slipped out of the room.

---

The Academy before dawn felt like a secret world.

The frost-laced courtyard was deserted, shadows still clinging to the stone like they hadn’t been told to leave yet.

She didn’t know exactly where to go, but instinct tugged her east, toward the old music wing—once a chapel, now a half-forgotten place where echoes went to sleep.

She circled to the side entrance.

Locked.

But a window near the back stood cracked open.

She hesitated only a second before climbing up.

---

The music room smelled of dust and faint varnish.

Pale morning light filtered through stained glass, washing the floor in reds and golds. An old grand piano sat in the center like a relic, its cover pulled halfway back.

Lira stepped quietly.

Eren stood by the piano, his back to her. His fingers hovered just above the keys—close, but not touching. Like he wasn’t playing music, but remembering it.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he said without turning.

“How did you know it was me?”

“Because no one else would come looking.”

He turned then, eyes unreadable.

“Did you sleep?”

“No,” she said. “I found something.”

She held out the folded note.

Eren took it without a word. His eyes scanned the writing once, twice. His jaw tightened just barely.

“Where did you find it?”

“Behind East Wing,” she said. “Next to the grave.”

“Your grave,” he said.

She nodded. “It’s not just mine.”

Eren’s expression didn’t change—but something behind it did.

“There’s a second name,” she said. “Yours.”

He didn’t speak. Just folded the paper carefully, like it was dangerous.

“I don’t understand,” Lira whispered. “You’re alive.”

“For now,” Eren said.

Her stomach dropped.

“What does that mean?”

“It means the Society doesn't like loose ends,” he said, voice quiet. “They gave you that grave before you died. Same with me.”

“Why?”

He looked at her like he wanted to say more. Like he almost trusted her. But something held him back.

“Because we were part of something,” he said finally. “Something that wasn’t supposed to survive.”

Lira’s throat tightened. “Then what happened?”

“You died,” he said, not cruelly. Just fact. “And I was supposed to disappear. But you came back.”

His gaze locked with hers. “You weren’t meant to.”

She took a shaky breath. “Then why am I here?”

“I don’t know,” Eren said. “But if they find out you remember anything—”

“I don’t.”

“Yet.”

Silence stretched between them.

Then he said, almost too softly to hear:

“Some people don’t want you to remember. Some need you to.”

---

Outside, the light was beginning to rise.

And Lira knew two things with a terrible kind of certainty:

Someone planned her death.

And the only person who could help her unravel the truth…

was already marked to die next.