The next morning, Harper walked into the library like she wasn't breaking every unspoken rule.
Technically, it wasn't even open yet. The bell hadn't rung, and Ms. Dalca was still sipping her lukewarm tea behind the desk, not ready to pretend she didn't see students sneaking between shelves before homeroom. But Harper didn't care. The letter from Jamie still sat in her pocket, creased from how many times she'd unfolded it during the night, trying to memorize every word.
Find the book we read together. The one with the stars in the margins.
That was all she had. No title. No author. Just a memory that refused to come fully into focus. She'd nearly torn her dorm apart last night looking for clues, flipping through every book she owned. But none had stars. None even smelled like Jamie.
So now she was here.
She darted between the rows until she reached the Classics section—because if Jamie had liked anything, it was old stories. Sci-fi epics and magical realism, anything with a theory that bent time.
She brushed her fingers along the spines.
The Time Traveler's Diary.
The Memory Archive.
Pages of Orion.
Her fingers paused.
That one.
Pages of Orion.
Her gut told her it was right. Not logic. Not memory. Just instinct. And sometimes, that was all she had left.
She pulled the book out and flipped it open.
And there they were.
Tiny stars, drawn in pen, scattered like constellations in the margins.
Some were full constellations—Orion, Cassiopeia. Others were just single dots, random or purposeful, she couldn't tell.
But they were definitely Jamie's. She could tell by the slightly messy ink lines. His stars always had too many points.
Her heart thudded.
The middle of the book was heavier than it should've been. She thumbed through quickly and found it—another letter, tucked between pages 112 and 113. It was smaller than the first one. Just a torn corner of notebook paper.
You're close. If you found this, it means your mind is fighting back.
Room 13A can't hold your memories forever.
But it can make you question them.
Go back to the dorms.
The mirror above your bed—scratch the surface.
I left something there.
If they moved it, look behind the paint.
You'll know what to do.
Harper closed the book slowly.
Someone passed the end of the aisle and she flinched.
Just a student. Blonde ponytail. Oblivious.
But it didn't matter—her skin was prickling again.
Every time she got closer to Jamie, something inside the school shifted, like it could feel her circling in on the truth. Like it didn't want her to find him.
She glanced over her shoulder, then walked calmly to the desk and checked the book out, pretending everything was fine. Ms. Dalca didn't even look up. Harper's fingers trembled as she slipped the book into her bag and made her way to her first period.
But she didn't go.
Not really.
She just waited until the teacher wasn't looking, then slipped out and darted back toward the dorms.
Her room looked normal. Blank walls. Bed made. Desk stacked with books she hadn't read in weeks.
But the mirror—hung just above her bed—caught the light differently now.
Like it was breathing.
Harper climbed onto the mattress and reached up. Her nail scraped the corner.
It flaked.
Paint.
She hesitated for just a second, then used the edge of her dorm key to scratch deeper. Chips fluttered to the floor. And then—metal.
The mirror's edge clinked.
There was a seam there. So faint it was almost invisible.
She pressed the panel.
Click.
The mirror shifted slightly, then popped open like a cabinet door.
Inside was a compartment.
And in it—was a photo.
Harper held her breath.
It was black and white, grainy like it had been taken with an old school camera. A group of students standing in front of Bellridge's clocktower. She recognized the uniform. The background. Even a few faces.
But what made her throat go dry was herself.
She was in the photo or maybe Katherine.
Standing next to Jamie.
Laughing.
Her head spinning as she stare the photo
No-..no no if it's Katherine then jamie is not jamie in this photo
And no one else was looking at them.
In fact… the other students had shadows around their eyes. Like someone had tried to blur them out. Or they didn't belong in the same reality.
Harper turned the photo over.
On the back was one line in Jamie's handwriting.
"We were here. Even if they forget it."
Her chest tightened.
She sat down on the edge of the bed, staring at the photo, her reflection warped in the broken mirror behind her.
She wasn't crazy.
She wasn't imagining it.
But if Room 13A had done this—wiped her out of memory, twisted time—what else had it changed?
And how far would it go to keep her from remembering the rest?
She looked down at the book again, then to the photo.
Jamie was leaving her a map.
And she was finally ready to follow it.