6

By Thursday morning, the whispers had spread.
Someone said another note had been found — this time, not mine. This one was taped to a locker near the gym, written in the same uneven handwriting.
"She didn’t die in the fire."

People were freaking out. Teachers tried to keep everyone calm, but you could feel it — the fear crawling under the surface, the way eyes darted from one face to another.
No one knew who was writing them. Or worse, why.

When I opened my locker, my heart nearly stopped.
Inside, between my books, there was another folded note. No name. No mark. Just two words.
“Don’t trust.”

I looked around. The hallway was packed, everyone moving, talking, laughing — normal life pretending to exist.
But somewhere among all those faces, someone was watching me. I could feel it.
And for the first time, I wondered if the whispers weren’t just about the past…
Maybe they were a warning.