Nyxia, 22 November, Few Years Later

I just got a call from Cece's number. Must be some kind of a procedure going on.

I just got a voice note from Cece's number. Must be some kind of a procedure going on, again.

This is not happening I got a text from her. Worse, she says "I'm alive, Tatty ! Help ME !!".

I'm totally freaked out, because literally nobody knows my middle name which is Tatiana and the alive Cece was the only one who calls me Tatty.

Man, this is the worst day of my life.

My fingers fly over the screen, trembling as I type:
"How can I be sure? You were confirmed to be dead. Stop haunting me."

I hit send and stare at the message, my breathing ragged. The air in my apartment feels wrong—dense, like it’s pressing in from all sides. My phone vibrates again in my hand, and Cece’s name flashes across the screen.

Another text: "I’m outside your door. Please, Nyx, let me in."

I freeze. My body is rooted to the spot, heart pounding in my chest.

Then comes the sound. BANG. BANG. BANG.

It’s not just a knock—it’s loud, deliberate, and bone-shaking. My head whips toward the door, and I swear the shadows in the corners of my apartment stretch and curl like living things.

“Nyx! It’s me!” The voice on the other side is muffled but unmistakably hers.

My throat tightens. It can’t be. It’s not possible.

“No,” I croak, barely loud enough to hear myself.

“Please!” the voice cries again, desperate now. “Open the door. I’m not dead!”

My pulse roars in my ears. My hand tightens around the phone, the cold metal grounding me as I take a shaky step backward. This is a trick. It has to be.

“Stop it!” I shout, my voice cracking. “This isn’t funny, Cece!”

“Nyx,” the voice says again, softer this time, trembling. “It’s me. I swear. Just open the door.”

My stomach churns. I glance down at my phone, still clutched tightly in my hand. Three dots appear beneath my last message—she’s typing.

“Impossible,” I whisper.

The dots disappear, and another text appears: "Please. I’m scared."

My breath hitches. How can she be texting me and standing outside my door at the same time?

The banging stops. The silence that follows is worse, suffocating in its weight. I stare at the door, my feet rooted to the floor.

“Nyx...” Her voice again, trembling and broken. “Please don’t leave me out here.”

Something about the way she says it—so raw, so vulnerable—pulls at me. Against all reason, I inch closer to the door, my bare feet silent on the cold floor. My hand hovers over the lock.

“Cece?” I whisper.

“Yes!” she cries, and I can hear her relief, her desperation. “It’s me. Just let me in. I can explain everything. Please, Nyx.”

My heart thunders in my chest. My fingers tremble as I unlock the door, sliding the chain out of its slot. Slowly, cautiously, I crack it open.

And there she is.

Cece.

She’s standing in the dim light of the hallway, her face pale and drawn, her eyes wild with fear. Her clothes are filthy and torn, her hair matted with leaves and dirt. She looks like she’s been dragged through hell.

“Cece?” My voice is barely a whisper.

She nods, her lips quivering. “It’s me.”

I fling the door open, and she stumbles inside, collapsing onto the floor. Her breath comes in short, sharp gasps as she clutches at her chest.

“Lock it!” she gasps, her voice barely audible. “Lock the door!”

I slam the door shut and throw the locks back into place. My hands are shaking so badly I almost miss the chain. When I turn back to her, she’s curled up on the floor, hugging her knees to her chest.

“What the hell is going on?” I demand, my voice cracking with panic. “You’re supposed to be dead, Cece. You died.”

She looks up at me, her face streaked with dirt and tears. “I thought I was too,” she whispers. “But... I wasn’t. I survived. Somehow.”