Darkness swallowed the hall so completely that Amara felt it close around her like a fist.
One second she was blinking under bright fluorescent lights, the next she was standing in a heavy, airless blackness that hummed with panic. Screams rose in thin, sharp threads. Chairs scraped the floor. Someone shouted for calm, but their voice trembled too much to be convincing.
Amara's pulse pounded so loudly she could almost taste it.
Then—
A breath.
Not hers.
Close. Too close.
"Amara…"
The whisper slid over her spine like cold fingers.
Her body locked. That voice wasn't fear or imagination—it was familiar. Heavy. Low. A voice that didn't belong anywhere near her… not anymore.
Her throat tightened.
No… it can't be him.
She forced herself to step back, but the darkness made everything disorienting. Her shoulder hit someone rushing past, and she staggered. Her hand reached blindly for the nearest desk.
Another whisper.
Closer this time.
"Amara… nwa m…"
Her breath hitched violently. That endearment. She hadn't heard it since—
No. No. This is not happening.
Behind her, a phone flashlight flicked on from a distant corner, trembling in someone's hand. The beam was weak, barely slicing through the thick dark, but it was enough to give shape to panicking silhouettes.
Not enough to show him, though.
Someone grabbed her wrist suddenly.
Amara jerked, twisting hard.
"Let me go!"
"It's me—Amara, it's me!" a familiar voice rushed.
She froze.
"Onyedika?"
He let out a shaky breath. His palm slid up her arm so she could anchor herself. Even in the darkness, she could tell he was tense—breathing too fast, shoulders stiff.
"I heard you shouting," he said. "Are you hurt?"
"No," she whispered, though her heart was racing with a fear she wasn't ready to name. "Did you… did you hear someone calling me?"
"What?" His grip tightened ever so slightly. "Calling you?"
"Yes." Her voice thinned. "From behind. Someone whispered my name."
"Maybe it was the students rushing. Everybody's scared."
"No," she said, shaking her head even though he couldn't see it.
"This one was… too close."
Before he could answer, the weak phone light across the hall flickered wildly—then died.
The entire room dropped back into thick, suffocating black.
A wave of murmurs rose.
Amara's breathing quickened.
Onyedika shifted closer, his chest lightly brushing her shoulder.
"It's okay." His voice was steady, but only because he was forcing it.
"I'm right here. Just hold on."
A bang echoed somewhere near the door—metal hitting concrete. People gasped. Someone cursed.
Onyedika's hand slid lower until their fingers intertwined.
Then—
A low hum.
A crackling sound.
A faint spark.
The emergency light above the blackboard sputtered to life, glowing a sickly, dim red. The kind of light that made faces look hollow, shadows longer, and every uncovered emotion too visible.
Amara blinked, pupils constricting.
That was when she saw it.
A shape at the far end of the hall.
Standing still.
Facing her.
Unmoving, even as everyone else scrambled for the exit.
Her stomach dropped.
It wasn't close enough to identify—but close enough to feel.
Onyedika followed her gaze.
"What are you looking at?"
The figure stepped back deliberately, letting the red light fall off their shoulders… then disappeared behind a row of desks.
Amara felt her legs weaken.
"I… I think someone was staring at me."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
Before he could reply, a teacher burst through the side door, voice raised over the fearful noise.
"Everybody move out—now! One line! No running!"
Students began shuffling toward the exit. Some crying. Some angry. Some confused.
Onyedika pulled Amara gently.
"Come on, let's go with them."
But she resisted.
"Wait."
"Amara—"
"That person… they were too still. Too intentional."
Her voice shook.
"And the whisper… Onyedika, I know what I heard."
He exhaled, brushing his thumb over her knuckles.
"Okay. Then we'll figure it out. But not here."
She finally let him guide her out.
But halfway to the door—
A hand brushed her elbow.
Not Onyedika's.
Not a student's.
A touch too slow.
Too familiar.
She spun instantly—but the dim red emergency light flickered… and went out entirely.
Darkness again.
And a cold voice breathed against her ear, closer than before:
"Amara… I told you I'd find you."
Her scream caught in her throat.