CHAPTER SIX: THE DORMS THAT REMEMBER (Part two)
Kaelen shifted, sitting forward now.
The light from the glyph charts along the wall flickered faintly, like it was listening.
He reached beneath his bunk and pulled out an old, half-burned notebook—
the kind no one was supposed to keep after a scan cycle.
He opened it without looking down.
The page had only one thing on it.
A sentence carved in with pressure, not ink.
"We were never gone."
His hand hovered over the words.
He didn't write them.
He didn't know who did.
But the moment he saw it,
his pulse slowed.
Like the message wasn't for his eyes.
Like it was left for his return.
On the far side of the room, Yolti had gone quiet.
Her drawer was still open, but she wasn't searching anymore.
Instead, she was sitting cross-legged on the floor,
hands folded in her lap,
staring at the door.
Not out of fear.
Not even out of caution.
Out of habit.
She'd done it every night since he disappeared.
Waiting for the sound of his return.
Pretending she wasn't.
Tonight, the door had opened.
But the part of her that kept watch hadn't caught up.
Selka moved without sound,
tracing a path from her corner to the small shelf where her mother's journal used to sit.
It was gone now.
But the space still pulsed like it had weight.
She hummed something—
soft, broken,
like she didn't even mean to.
Zephryn turned to her.
Stopped.
Because the melody on her lips—
It wasn't hers.
It was Solara's.
His breath caught in his chest.
"You… where did you hear that?"
Selka blinked.
Then shrugged.
"I don't remember."
But her voice cracked just slightly—
and the lullaby lingered like it wasn't done yet.
And above them,
in the beams of the old ceiling,
a small line of glyph dust shimmered faintly.
Not glowing.
Just there.
Waiting.