The room was warm, golden sunlight spilling across Elena’s desk, but beneath the gentle glow, a chill prickled at her skin—a haunted edge to the air that clung to every shadow. She sat alone, the thick file open before her, its pages heavy with secrets. Outside, birds sang and laughter drifted through the courtyard, but here, within these four walls, the past pressed in on her like a silent, watching presence. Her eyes narrowed as she read aloud, voice steady yet edged with unease, each word stirring the dust of old tragedies:

  “Thomas Harry... expelled four years ago for misusing magic. Dangerous. Unpredictable. Current address—Pine Willow.” She turned the page, her fingertips brushing faded ink where stories lingered like ghosts. For a moment, a shadow seemed to pass across her face, deepening the lines of worry around her eyes. “Louise... the most gifted witch in school. Her charm spells could sway even the strictest professors. But she was murdered—no witnesses, no evidence. Home address... also Pine Willow.” Elena pressed her lips into a thin, pale line. She flipped to the final entry, her pulse quickening, breath catching in her throat as she read:

  “Richard Fiesta... the powerless one. Mocked. Isolated. They say he took his own life, but before that... he struck back. Cleverly. Cruelly. Every tormentor—gone. Address—unknown.” Leaning back in her chair, Elena let the sunlight glint off her eyes, now wide with realization. The weight of the stories pressed down on her chest.

  “Three names. Three tragedies.”

  She sat unmoving, gaze locked on the file. Every page whispered secrets, fragments of lives long buried beneath Riverstrom’s surface. Her brow furrowed, lips parted in silent thought. “These threads… they seem separate, yet they echo each other. Different stories, bound together by something unseen.” Her words were barely more than a breath, lost in the hush of the room. She traced the inked lines with trembling fingers, flipping back to the address section. Her eyes narrowed, searching, hunting, until she found it again: “Address: Pine Willow, Brookfulse... Thomas Harry.” A flicker of insight flashed in her gaze. She reached for the battered old map, hidden beneath her books, and unfolded it with care. Her finger hovered, scanning for the name—Brookfulse. And there, hidden in its depths, lay Pine Willow. The name seemed to whisper to her, tugging at her thoughts with the weight of a secret calling out from the dark.

  Elsewhere, in the library’s cavernous silence, Jayson moved quietly between the looming shelves. Dust motes swirled in the golden light, and the hush was broken only by his soft footfalls. Clutched in his hand was a small pouch of food.

  “Cubi... Cubi... Cubiiiii... are you alright? I brought you something to eat.” He knelt beside a shadowed alcove, setting the food down gently. From the darkness came a dangerous rustle—a sound that made the hair on his arms stand on end. Jayson managed a nervous smile, relief flickering across his face.

  “There you are. I was starting to worry.”

  After feeding Cubi, curiosity tugged at him. He wandered deeper into the labyrinth, past stacks of abandoned tomes and forgotten secrets. There he saw it—and froze. The crow statue was back. It perched exactly where it had stood before its mysterious disappearance, wings folded, beak parted as if about to speak. Jayson’s heart hammered in his chest.

  “That... wasn’t here before.” Meanwhile, Elena followed the winding streets of Brookfulse, her boots crunching on gravel as she slipped into the deepening shadows of Pine Willow forest. The city’s distant lights faded behind her, replaced by the hush of ancient trees and the sweet, almost cloying scent of wildflowers carpeting the ground. Light trickled through the dense canopy in shifting patterns, and every step felt like a descent from the world of the living into a realm where secrets waited beneath every leaf.

  She knocked at the old wooden door, her sound swallowed by the hush. “Is anyone here?” Elena’s call barely disturbed the stillness; only the wind and distant birds replied. Drawing a steady breath, she pressed on. “I’m coming in,” she announced, voice unwavering, hand resting on the door. It swung open slowly, hinges groaning, as if the house itself had been waiting for her. Inside, the world was suspended—clean, silent, untouched by time. Her gaze landed on a study table, where a DVD labelled Bella Cruise and two books—The Invisible Man and The Strike Riverstrom—sat side by side. Between them was an old photograph: Thomas Harry, Jane Hopper, and Louise, frozen in another life. Elena brushed away the dust, searching the faces for hidden truths.

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  A soft, spectral voice echoed behind her. “Who are you?” Heart pounding, Elena slipped the photo into her pocket and turned. Thomas Harry stood in the doorway, his eyes sunken, haunted by a pain that seemed to span centuries. Elena steadied herself, stepping forward. “Mister Thomas, is that you?”

  “Yes, I am Thomas Harry,” he replied, his voice a cold wind. “But who are you, to have found my hiding place?”

  “I’m Elena... from Riverstrom.” At the name, an odd smile flickered across Thomas’s lips, a scar reopening. “So, you’re from Riverstrom. Don’t just stand there. Sit...” He gestured to a battered old chair. Elena sat. Thomas closed his eyes, drawing a ragged breath that trembled with old memories. “I know,” he said softly. “Riverstrom is always with me. Some memories are good, but the bad ones never let go. Would you like anything? Coffee? Tea?” His question was simple, but history churned beneath it. Elena met his gaze, steady. “You must have had good times there, but what do you mean by ‘bad memories’? And I have a few more questions.”

  “Why do you want to know all this?” Thomas asked, voice sharpening as if testing her resolve. “I’m searching for my brother’s killer,” Elena answered, her words unyielding. “To find him, I must stop the man trying to open the ‘gates of hell’ at Riverstrom. I need your help.” Thomas’s face fell. He raised a hand, halting her. “I’m sorry... for your brother.” His eyes closed, his face twisted with pain. When he opened them again, his gaze was sharp. “But to open the gates of hell... whoever is behind this must first open four magical gates. Each one is guarded by its own story and demands a different sacrifice. Only then can the final threshold be crossed.”

  “How do you know about the four magical gateways?” Elena’s curiosity was sharp as a knife. Thomas let out a sigh that seemed to pull at the shadows. “Every child at Riverstrom knew, four years ago. That’s why Louise died. That’s why I was expelled.”

  “How did you know Louise? And why were you expelled?” Elena pressed, her eyes unblinking. Thomas’s voice trembled. “Five years ago, I was at Riverstrom. I was alone. I had no magic. The other students tormented me. Their laughter felt like knives. One night, I ran away. But when I returned home, my mother was gone—she had sold the house. I came back to Riverstrom. The days blurred together, each one a punishment. Then Louise arrived. She was different. She saw me. I liked her at once. She liked me, too.” Elena interrupted, her question sharp. “How do you know Jane Hopper?”

  “Jane Hopper was a monster,” Thomas said, voice darkening. “He arrived the same year as Louise. Everything changed after that.” Elena held up the photograph. “In this picture, it’s you, Louise, and Jane Hopper, together.” Thomas studied the photo, confusion flickering in his eyes. “You’re mistaken. That’s Jane Slayer. My best friend. We studied together at Riverstrom. I don’t know where he is now.”

  “Jane Slayer?” Elena echoed, disbelief and suspicion mingling in her voice. “Because of Jane Hopper, the secret of the gateway to hell spread. That’s why Louise died. He tormented Richard Fiesta. Later, we learned Richard killed him.” “But why were you expelled from Riverstrom?” Elena’s question was relentless. Thomas looked down, his voice trembling with regret. “I gradually learned to control my magic. I became skilled, maybe too skilled. But one night... something happened. My powers surged out of control, as if possessed by another. Riverstrom and its students suffered. That’s why I was expelled.”

  “Can I keep this picture?” Elena asked, her voice soft but insistent. “Yes. I have others,” Thomas replied, a hint of sorrow in his voice. Elena left, her mind a maelstrom of questions. “I’m standing at a crossroads—a place with no clear path, no certainty. I’m drowning in riddles. Every answer breeds more questions. Who was Louise, really? Why did Jane Slayer call himself Jane Hopper? What truly happened that year? Are these mysteries all pieces of the same puzzle?

  They say you cannot build a palace with sand unless you bind it together. So it is with questions: only by linking them can I find the answer. And for that, I must trust myself to see it through.”

  March 21st!.

  March 21st!.