Chapter 7 The Boy who knew

Elira didn't sleep that night.

How could she?

The pendant Lia had given her pulsed faintly in her palm, as if it had a heartbeat of its own. She'd stared at it for hours, turning it over and over again. A strange symbol was etched onto its back-a swirling mark that almost seemed to move when she wasn't looking directly at it.

And one name echoed louder than the storm outside her window: *The boy.*

Someone who remembered her. Someone who might hold the key to everything.

By morning, her decision was made.

She slipped the pendant around her neck, shoved on a hoodie, and left without breakfast. School didn't matter now. Not when her entire existence was unraveling thread by thread.

She headed for the archives building-an old, nearly-forgotten place at the edge of town. Lia had left a clue scratched into the back of the pendant's chain: "A-17."

Inside, dust and silence ruled. Shelves stretched to the ceiling, filled with files no one had touched in years. It took her nearly an hour to find Section A. Her fingers shook as she pulled open drawer 17.

file lay inside. No name. Just a school photo of a boy with dark curls, soft eyes-and the look of someone who *knew* too much.

Her fingers brushed the edge of the photo-and the pendant around her neck burned.

Suddenly, her surroundings blurred.

*Flash.*

A classroom. The boy, laughing. She was sitting beside him, leaning close. They were holding hands under the desk. Her name-Elira-whispered like a secret on his lips.

*Flash.*

A rooftop at sunset. He pressed something into her hand. "If anything happens, come back here. I'll remember."

*Flash.*

A crash.

Screaming.

Blackness.

She gasped, falling backward. The file scattered across the floor.

The memory was real.

The boy-his name was *Kian*.

She had loved him.

And now he was the only one who could help her remember *who she really was*.

But before she could collect herself, a low voice rang through the archive room.

"You shouldn't be here."

She whirled.

A tall figure stood in the doorway. Not a teacher. Not a janitor.

It was the man from the dream.

The one who always stood in the shadows, whispering lies into her ear.

Except this time, he wasn't hiding.

And he was holding something-a small vial filled with swirling black liquid. "You weren't supposed to survive the switch," he said, stepping forward. "But since you did, I'm here to correct that."

Elira backed away, heart in her throat.

The pendant burned again-hotter than ever.

And from behind the shelves, a voice whispered:

"Elira, run."

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