Eventually, not everything could be kept secret.
The mirror was gone. The silver light had vanished. But the wreckage remained—fractured glass, cracked walls, and dozens of unconscious people strewn across the school floor.
By the time the police and ambulances arrived, Noah and the others were long gone.
---
The early morning news buzzed across Grayeridge.
"Dozens hospitalized after a mysterious event at Grayeridge School. Reports remain unclear."
"Victims found unconscious, no confirmed cause of incident."
"Local authorities investigating possible gas leak or mass hysteria."
But none of the victims could explain what had happened.
Their memories were fragmented, foggy at best. No one remembered silver eyes, silver hands, or mirrors. Only flashes of light. Screams. Then darkness.
The truth—remained buried.
---
Back home, Ruth barged through the front door in a panic.
She'd left work early at the hospital after seeing the news reports. Her mind raced with worst-case scenarios as she rushed into the living room—
Only to find a mountain of tangled limbs on the couch.
Noah, Leah, Paige, Jamie, Quinn, and Ezra—all snoring peacefully. Some on the couch, others on the floor, a blanket barely covering them. Bags of chips and juice boxes scattered around them like they'd had a sleepover and lost the war.
Ruth blinked.
And smiled.
---
They slept through the entire day.
Even Jamie, who called it the best sleep of his life—until he started having nightmares of his history teacher handing him a thousand-page homework packet.
"I survived a monster and I still get history assignments in my dreams," he complained.
---
School was shut down for a week.
Officially, it was for "clean-up and safety inspection."
Unofficially, no one had any idea what to say.
And just like that—life moved on. Summer break approached. The town of Grayeridge returned to its quiet rhythm.
But something was different now.
Something had shifted.
---
The group made an unspoken promise:
No more reckless investigating. No more mirror hunting. No more danger.
But Noah… couldn't rest easy.
He poured over the journal day and night, flipping through its cryptic pages. Every diagram. Every margin note. Every mention of "reflections" and "preparation."
Who wrote this? Why did they know so much? What else is out there?
He wanted answers. Not just for himself—but in case it happened again.
Because something told him… this wasn't over.