Blackthorne Academy seemed to breathe again, corridors returning to their normal proportions, shadows behaving predictably. Students cautiously returned to routines, speaking in hushed tones. Lila, Ezra, and Clara remained cautious; they knew the hand was not destroyed, only trapped.
Before leaving the academy, Lila examined her wrist. A faint hand-shaped birthmark glowed slightly in the candlelight, a reminder that her encounter was far from over.
Back home, the fog of the academy felt distant, but one night, a subtle movement on her bedroom wall caught her attention. A shadowy finger, pale and thin, crawled across the surface before vanishing.
Lila shivered, clutching the blanket. She knew the hand's hunger was patient. It was biding its time, waiting for the next opportunity. And perhaps, one day, it would return.
The darkness lingered, and Lila understood that some terrors never truly end—they only sleep, watching.