I didn't stop.
The doors swung shut behind me, and I kept walking. Down the hallway. Past the administrative offices. Past the classrooms. I didn't know where I was going, only that I needed to be somewhere else. Somewhere without eyes. Without witnesses. Without the weight of all those stares pressing against my skin.
I found a bench behind the science building—the same bench I'd used after Mythology class, tucked against the stone wall where nobody walked. I sat down hard, my back hitting cold brick, and the tears came.
Not delicate. Not quiet. Angry, gasping sobs that tore out of my chest like they'd been trapped there for years. I pressed my hands against my face and let them come, hating every second, hating Twilson, hating myself for giving him this.
The pressure built.
My vision blurred—not from tears. Something else. Something deeper.
No. Not now.
The world tilted.
I was standing on campus.
Same time of day. Same pale winter light slanting through the evergreens. But the noise was gone. No voices. No footsteps. No distant thrum of students moving between buildings.
I turned in a slow circle. The quad stretched out before me, empty and still. Benches sat unoccupied. Pathways curved toward buildings with dark windows. The silence didn't echo—it absorbed, swallowing sound like snow swallows footsteps.
My body started walking.
I didn't decide to move. My legs carried me forward with the certainty of someone who knew exactly where they were going, even though my mind was still catching up. Past the quad. Past the athletic complex, its climbing wall visible through floor-to-ceiling windows that reflected nothing. Down hallways I'd walked a hundred times in the past week, now stretching empty and endless.
Everything was intact. That was the strangest part. No damage. No decay. No signs of disaster or abandonment. The campus looked exactly as it always did, except for the absence of people.
Not empty, I realized. Paused. Like someone had pressed stop in the middle of a scene and walked away.
The cafeteria doors stood open.
I walked inside without meaning to. Tables were set, chairs pushed back at odd angles—recently occupied, recently abandoned. Trays sat half-finished. A glass of water near the window caught the light, condensation still beading on its surface.
Where is everyone?
The question formed and dissolved. This was a vision. Questions didn't work the same way here. You didn't investigate—you witnessed.
My feet carried me out of the cafeteria, down another hallway, toward the Mythology wing. I knew where I was going now. Could feel it pulling at me, a thread wrapped around my ribs, drawing me forward.
The classroom door was open. Lights on. Desks still arranged in their small-group clusters from the day before.
I stepped inside.
She was sitting at one of the clustered desks. Same clothes I'd put on this morning. Same posture—spine straight, hands flat on the surface in front of her. Same face.
Me.
The other Lumi didn't look up when I entered. Her eyes were fixed forward, focused on something I couldn't see. Not crying. Not reacting. Just... waiting.
I moved closer. My footsteps made no sound.
"Hey," I said. My voice came out wrong—thin, distant, like speaking through water.
She didn't respond.
I circled the desk, trying to catch her gaze, but her eyes didn't track me. They stayed locked on that invisible point ahead,patient and still. Like she'd been sitting here for a very long time. Like she was prepared to sit here forever.
This is where she stays.
