Mary waited until the house was quiet.
Not asleep—quiet.
The kind of silence that meant people were in their rooms, doors closed, trusting walls that had never protected them.
She moved down the hallway without turning on the lights. She didn't need them. She knew this house better than anyone.
She had designed most of it herself—what showed, and what stayed hidden.
Marvello and Amanda's room was at the end of the corridor.
Mary opened the door.
The room smelled faintly of paper and soap. Two beds.
One messy, one precise. Amanda's side was chaos—clothes half-folded, notebooks stacked sideways, pens everywhere.
Marvello's side was controlled. Almost empty.
Mary went straight to Marvello's side.
She searched methodically.
Drawers first.
Books next.
Under the bed.
Nothing.
Her irritation sharpened.
Then she noticed the mirror.
Tall. Lean. Framed in dark wood. It stood against the wall near Marvello's wardrobe—slightly angled, like it had been moved recently.
Mary approached it slowly.
Her fingers brushed the frame.
She knocked once.
The sound was wrong.
Hollow.
Mary's lips curved—not in a smile, but in recognition.
"So," she murmured. "There you are."
She placed her hands on the sides of the mirror and began to pull it away from the wall—
"Don't."
Marvello's voice came from the doorway.
Mary stopped.
She turned.
Marvello stood there, still in her uniform, bag hanging from one shoulder. Her expression was calm, unreadable—but her eyes were sharp, fully awake.
Mary released the mirror slowly. "You're home early."
"I live here," Marvello replied. "You don't need a reason to be in my room. You need permission."
Mary glanced back at the mirror. "You're hiding something."
Marvello stepped inside and closed the door behind her. "You're searching because you're afraid."
Mary laughed softly. "Afraid of you?"
"No," Marvello said. "Afraid of the truth."
Before Mary could respond—
"HI."
Amanda appeared behind Marvello, leaning against the doorframe with a grin that did not reach her eyes.
"Wow," she added, looking around. "This feels like a crime scene. Should I call myself a witness or an accomplice?"
Mary turned sharply. "Leave."
Amanda shook her head. "Can't. Shared room. Shared air. Shared trauma."
Her gaze flicked to the mirror. "Also—you're touching things again."
Mary stepped closer to Marvello. "That mirror—"
"—is heavy," Amanda interrupted. "And expensive. And if it falls on you, I'll feel morally conflicted."
Marvello moved subtly—just enough to stand directly in front of the mirror.
"You won't find what you're looking for," she said quietly.
Mary searched her face. "I always do."
"Not this time."
Silence pressed in.
Then Mary smiled.
Cold. Calculated.
"You think you've won something," she said. "But documents don't protect people. Power does."
She stepped back, smoothing her sleeve. "Sleep well."
Mary left the room, closing the door behind her.
The lock clicked.
Amanda exhaled loudly. "SHE WAS ABSOLUTELY ABOUT TO MOVE THE MIRROR."
Marvello leaned back against the wall, eyes closing briefly.
Behind the mirror, taped carefully into a narrow recess in the wall, old papers lay untouched—yellowed, folded, real.
Amanda lowered her voice. "She's close."
"Yes," Marvello said softly. "But she's impatient."
Amanda smiled. "Good. Impatient people make mistakes."
Marvello opened her eyes.
"And I'm done hiding."
---
The school courtyard buzzed louder than usual.
Laughter bounced off the walls, shoes scraped against concrete, voices overlapped into noise that usually slid right past Marvello. Today, it didn't.
She felt watched.
Avra stood near the lockers—Eiren's shadow in human form. Pretty in a way that felt deliberate. Her smile was sharp, curious, already halfway intrusive.
"Marvello," Avra called, drawing out the name like it tasted unfamiliar. "You've been busy lately."
Marvello didn't stop walking. "So have you."
Avra fell into step beside her anyway. "People are talking. About the hearing. About you."
Marvello glanced at her once. Calm. Measured. "People always talk."
Avra laughed lightly. "You're… interesting. Eiren thinks so too."
That did nothing.
What did register was the empty desk.
Ji-Hyun's seat by the window was untouched. No bag. No notebook balanced wrong. No quiet presence pretending not to exist.
Marvello slowed.
Avra kept talking. "You know, Eiren doesn't like drama. He prefers people who are—"
"Excuse me," Marvello said flatly, cutting her off.
Avra blinked. "What?"
Marvello turned away.
She crossed the room and dropped into Amanda's seat instead of her own.
"Where's Ji-Hyun," she asked quietly.
Amanda looked up from her phone. The grin she'd been wearing slipped. "He's not here?"
"No."
Amanda frowned, thumbs flying. "I texted him this morning. He read it."
"Did he reply?"
Amanda shook her head slowly. "No. And that's not like him."
The bell rang.
Marvello stood.
"I'm leaving."
Amanda looked up instantly. "Now?"
"He wouldn't skip without telling me."
"That's fair," Amanda said, already grabbing her bag. "I'm coming."
"No," Marvello said. "Stay. Cover for me."
Amanda hesitated, then nodded. "Text me the moment you get there."
Marvello didn't look back.
--
Ji-Hyun knew he was already late the moment he stepped outside.
His phone buzzed in his hand.
Amanda:Where are you??
He read it while locking the gate behind him, heart already racing. His fingers hovered over the screen.
I'm coming, he tried to type.
The message didn't send.
He sighed and shoved the phone into his pocket, breaking into a hurried walk. His head still ached faintly, his body heavier than usual, but he hated the idea of Marvello looking at his empty seat again.
He turned onto the quieter street—the shortcut to school.
That was when he noticed the car.
Black. Parked too neatly. Engine off.
He slowed.
Someone stepped out.
"Ji-Hyun?"
The voice sounded normal. Too normal.
He froze. "Yes?"
"You dropped something earlier," the man said, holding up a familiar object.
Ji-Hyun's stomach tightened.
His glasses case.
"I didn't—" he began.
That was as far as he got.
A hand clamped over his mouth from behind.
His phone slipped from his grip and hit the ground with a dull sound.
The world tilted—fast, disorienting. He struggled, but he was already weak, already dizzy, already not expecting this.
"Quiet," someone hissed near his ear. "We just want to talk."
The car door opened.
Then closed.
The street went silent again.