Elias felt a chill. The "subject" on the screen had a distinctive birthmark on their inner wrist—a small, violet crescent moon.
The video wasn’t a medical animation. It was grainy, handheld footage of a dimly lit basement. In the center of the frame sat a heavy oak table. On it lay a figure, draped in a white sheet that rose and fell with frantic, shallow breaths. Night School Anatomy Lesson.mp4
The video cut to a close-up of the subject’s face. The eyes were taped shut, but as the camera zoomed in, one eye fluttered open. It was Elias’s eye—the same fleck of amber in the iris, the same jagged scar on the brow from a childhood fall. Elias felt a chill
The classroom lights flickered and died. In the sudden pitch black, the hum of the projector intensified, becoming a roar. When the backup red emergency lights kicked in, the desks were empty. Sarah was gone. The other students were gone. It was grainy, handheld footage of a dimly lit basement
On the screen, Vane reached out a hand. In reality, Elias felt a cold, dry palm settle on his shoulder.