The room is silent except for the slow, rhythmic drip of water from somewhere above. Miles watches them - seven students, sprawled across the cold stone floor, their breaths uneven, their fingers twitching like marionettes cut loose from their strings. The candlelight flickers against their skin, casting their shadows unnaturally long.
Miles has seen this before. He’s lived this before.
The first one stirs… then another… another. Their eyes flutter open, wide and unfocused, pupils too wide. Their minds are still trying to bridge the gap between where they were and where they are now. Miles waits. One of them sits up too fast, gasps. Another flinches as if expecting pain. They don’t remember yet. Not all of it. Not until the school decides what to let them keep.
The last one wakes. Now it begins. “You’re awake.” He exhales, almost relieved… almost. Then he leans back against the wall, arms crossed. “Welcome back.” His voice cuts through the quiet like a knife through paper. All of them seem to be staring at him. He doesn’t look at them with pity. There’s no point to it, really. Instead, he folds his arms across his chest, standing near the only door in the room. “Don’t look so confused… You must’ve known this was coming.” He tilts his head.
Each of them remembers something different.
Some remember a cold, dark room lined with mirrors. But the reflections weren’t theirs. They were older. Younger. Twisted.
Some remember the voice behind the door, whispering riddles they could almost understand. Some remember an endless hallway of locked doors. Each with a name carved into it. One of those doors had their own name on it… But was it really a door?
Some remember a teacher’s voice. Not Miles. Someone they know. Someone who let this happen.
Some remember nothing at all. And that should terrify them more than anything.
One of them speaks first. *“What is this?” Their voice was raw from disuse but a hint of anger could be heard. Miles exhales sharply, gaze flickering to the walls. “That depends on you.” He steps closer, lowering his voice. “You were chosen. Taken. Tested… And you passed.” Something that resembled a smile crossed his features. “You don’t have to understand it. Not now… Maybe not ever. I’m not sure I do.” Those last words he added almost as a whisper. Thinking aloud, for a second his mind drifting. “But listen to me - forget what you think you know about this school… This isn’t about classes, grades, or who can recite the most theories.” His voice was low now and as he paused the candlelight flickered - almost as a warning for him not to speak. So Mile’s simply gestures to the door. “It’s open now. You can go back.” For a short second no one moves.
“What, were you expecting answers?” He smirks, but there’s no humor in it. “The school gave you what it wanted you to have… Take my advice - walk out that door, go back to your dorm and pretend you never woke up here.” A pause. “If you get too curious the school might decide it made a mistake letting you go.” That he added as a whisper once again. A thought he knew he shouldn’t let slip out. And instead of bringing his gaze back to them and give them some real answers he kept looking at the door waiting for them to leave.
Students leave the mysterious room.
They are in a hallway unknown to them.
There are no doors except the one at the very end. A door that will lead them outside.
Back to the courtyard.
From under the oldest tree.
Underground.
For students did not know they were in the chamber of whispers and they wouldn’t be able to open that hidden door again.
Unless they figure out how to.
The door clicks shut.
The air in the chamber shifts - lighter now, like it exhaled with relief. But Miles feels the weight settle back onto his shoulders. He shouldn’t have said that last part. His fingers tighten around his sleeves as he slowly exhales, letting his head thud against the cold stone wall behind him. The candlelight is lower now, the room itself feels smaller. Like it’s watching him.
There’s a whisper…aint. Almost like it’s coming from the walls but Miles doesn’t turn around. He’s learned not to. Instead, Miles runs a hand down his face and steps toward the door. But before he can leave - “That was quite the performance.”
The voice is smooth, familiar in a way that makes his stomach twist. Miles freezes. For a second, he hopes he’s imagining it. That the room is playing tricks on him like it always does. But when he turns, he sees Adrian Dear, standing in the doorway with that same unreadable expression, always looking so amused.
Miles forces himself to straighten. “I was just following protocol,” he says, keeping his voice even. Adrian steps into the room and the door closes behind him, but Miles swears he doesn’t touch it. “Oh, of course. I’m sure you didn’t say anything… extra.” All Miles could do is swallow hard and keep his cool. “You spoke too much.” Adrian’s words are gentle… too gentle. Like he’s not mad. Like he’s just… noticing. For a moment, neither of them speak. The air in the room hums with something unsaid… Then Adrian smiles.
It’s slight, barely there, but something about it makes Miles’ skin crawl. “Well,” Adrian finally sighs, rolling his shoulders back as if losing interest, “I suppose we’ll see what they remember, won’t we?”
He steps past Miles, reaching for the door. But before he leaves, he pauses - just long enough to glance at Miles over his shoulder. “The day is waiting for us, North.”