"A clue doesn't always lead to answers. Sometimes it leads to more questions."
The library's atmosphere shifted as the night deepened, its once-cozy silence morphing into an oppressive stillness. Shadows from the tall bookshelves stretched across the floor, jagged and foreboding under the dim overhead lights. Jieun's fingers hovered over her notebook, unable to focus as her thoughts churned. Something felt off—a subtle shift in the air, like the library itself was holding its breath.
She glanced up, her eyes darting to the far corner of the room. Two figures stood partially obscured by the shelves, their postures tense and their voices hushed. She couldn't make out their words, but the clipped tones carried a sense of urgency—or danger. The pit of unease in her stomach deepened.
Jieun hesitated, her instincts warring with her curiosity. She'd learned the hard way that some truths weren't meant to be uncovered, but the weight of unanswered questions about her new school pressed down on her. Her fingers brushed against her phone, the cold metal grounding her resolve. Gathering her courage, she quietly moved closer, staying low and keeping to the shadows.
Her heart pounded as she strained to catch their conversation.
"We're running out of time," the first voice whispered sharply, the words clipped and precise. "If the ledger falls into the wrong hands, we're finished."
"You think I don't know that?" the second voice shot back, lower but no less tense. "We've covered our tracks, but… people are starting to ask questions. About the terrace, about the disappearances. It's getting too close."
The terrace. The word sent a jolt through Jieun, her breath hitching as memories of whispered rumors and tense glances surfaced. She'd heard students speak in hushed tones about the terrace—a place tied to tragedy, to fear. One student had even…
Jieun shook the thought away, focusing on the conversation. She pressed herself further against the shelves, willing her body to melt into the shadows.
The first figure shifted, and a flash of light glinted off something in their hand—a slim, unmarked envelope. The second figure glanced around nervously, their gaze sweeping perilously close to where Jieun crouched. She froze, her pulse roaring in her ears.
"We'll meet him tomorrow," the first figure said. "But if there's even a hint of betrayal…"
The threat hung heavy in the air, unspoken but unmistakable. The second figure gave a curt nod, and the two began to move, their footsteps muffled against the library's carpeted floor.
Jieun's mind raced. She needed to act—to capture some proof of what she'd just heard. But as she fumbled to activate the recording app on her phone, her foot pressed against a loose floorboard. The creak that followed seemed deafening in the silence.
The figures stopped. One turned sharply, their gaze piercing through the dim light. Jieun's breath caught, and she pressed herself flat against the shelf, praying the shadows would keep her hidden.
"Did you hear that?" the second voice asked, their tone edging toward panic.
The first figure's eyes scanned the room, their expression dark. "Probably just the old building settling," they said, though their voice lacked conviction. "Let's go. We can't risk staying here any longer."
Jieun stayed perfectly still as the figures walked away, their footsteps fading into the distance. Only when she was certain they were gone did she exhale, her body sagging against the shelf. Her hands shook as she clutched her phone, cursing herself for missing the chance to record them.
"What the hell was that?" a voice whispered behind her.
Jieun spun around, her heart leaping into her throat. Nari Seo stood there, her arms crossed and her expression unreadable. The soft glow of a nearby lamp caught the green in her eyes, making them appear almost luminous.
"Were you spying on them?" Nari asked, her tone low but accusatory.
Jieun bristled. "I could ask you the same thing. What are you doing here?"
Nari's gaze didn't waver. "Following a lead." She stepped closer, her voice dropping further. "You heard what they said, didn't you?"
Jieun hesitated, torn between trust and caution. Finally, she nodded. "The terrace, the disappearances… what do you know about it?"
Nari's jaw tightened, and for a moment, she looked as if she was deciding how much to reveal. "Enough to know that this school is hiding more than just a few dirty secrets," she said. "And if you keep poking around like that, you're going to get yourself killed."
"Maybe," Jieun replied, meeting Nari's gaze with steel in her own. "But I'm not going to stop."
Nari studied her for a long moment before a faint smile tugged at her lips. "Good. Then I'm not the only reckless one here."
The two stood in silence, the weight of unspoken understanding settling between them. The library's oppressive stillness seemed to ease, replaced by the faint hum of a new alliance—fragile but undeniably present. Whatever secrets the school held, Jieun and Nari were now bound by a shared determination to uncover them.
The two girls exchanged a glance, a silent agreement passing between them. Nari's usually composed demeanor now carried an edge of apprehension, but Jieun noted the flicker of determination in her eyes. This wasn't a mere whim for either of them—it was something deeper, something personal.
"Where do we start?" Jieun asked, her voice steady despite the turmoil within her.
Nari hesitated, her gaze flicking to the bookshelves as though searching for answers hidden among the dusty spines. "The terrace," she said finally. "If there's any place tied to the whispers, it's there. People avoid it for a reason."
Jieun nodded, her heartbeat quickening at the thought. She had heard the terrace mentioned before, in hushed tones accompanied by furtive glances. It was a place of secrets, shrouded in a silence that seemed more than coincidental.
As they slipped out of the library, the oppressive stillness of the room clung to them like a shadow. The corridor stretched ahead, dimly lit and eerily silent, as if the school itself held its breath, waiting. The once-familiar walls seemed to loom taller, the old wood-paneled surfaces almost alive with the weight of untold stories.
Jieun couldn't help but glance over her shoulder, the sensation of being watched prickling at her skin. "Does it... feel different to you?" she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
Nari didn't turn, her steps purposeful. "It always feels different at night. Like the school isn't just a building anymore—it's something else. Something alive."
The words sent a shiver down Jieun's spine. Her grip on her flashlight tightened as they approached the staircase leading to the terrace. The door at the top loomed like a sentinel, its peeling paint and rusted handle hinting at years of neglect—or perhaps deliberate avoidance.
Nari paused at the bottom step, her hand resting lightly on the railing. "Are you sure you want to do this?" she asked, her voice softer now.
Jieun hesitated, the weight of the question pressing against her chest. The whispers she had heard over the past weeks echoed in her mind—the fragmented sentences, the warnings, the inexplicable feeling that she was meant to be here, in this moment.
"I'm sure," she said finally. "We need to know the truth."
Nari nodded, her expression unreadable, and started up the stairs. Jieun followed, each step feeling heavier than the last.
When they reached the top, the door creaked open under Nari's push, revealing the terrace bathed in silvery moonlight. The city's faint glow flickered in the distance, but here, the world felt isolated, suspended in an eerie stillness. The air was cooler, carrying the faint scent of damp stone and something metallic.
At first glance, the terrace appeared unremarkable—just an open space with weathered tiles and a rusted railing. But the longer Jieun looked, the more she noticed. The cracks in the tiles seemed deliberate, forming patterns she couldn't quite decipher. Shadows pooled unnaturally in the corners, as if refusing to be chased away by the light.
"What is this place?" Jieun asked, her voice barely audible.
Nari didn't answer immediately. Instead, she walked toward the edge of the terrace, where the railing was bent and corroded. "This is where it happened," she said finally.
Jieun frowned. "What happened?"
Nari turned to face her, the moonlight catching the sharp angles of her face. "The first disappearance. Two years ago. A girl named Soojin. They said she was troubled, that she ran away, but..." She trailed off, her gaze fixed on the ground.
"But what?"
"But her friends said she was terrified of something. Something she couldn't talk about." Nari's voice dropped; her words heavy with implication.
Jieun felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cold night air. She knelt by the edge, where an old, rusted plaque was embedded in the ground. Brushing away the grime, she read the words etched into the metal:
"To those who sought truth and paid the price."
Her stomach clenched. "What does it mean?"
"It's a warning," Nari said, her voice flat. "But I don't think it's meant to scare people off. I think it's a reminder—of what happens when you dig too deep."
Before Jieun could respond, a sound shattered the stillness—a faint creak, as though someone had shifted their weight on the tiles. Both girls froze, their eyes darting toward the source.
The shadows at the far end of the terrace rippled, and Jieun's breath caught in her throat. For a moment, she thought she saw movement—a figure stepping out of the darkness.
"Someone's here," Nari whispered, her voice taut with urgency.
Jieun's pulse thundered in her ears. "What do we do?"
"Hide," Nari hissed, grabbing Jieun's arm and pulling her toward a cluster of benches. They crouched low, their breaths shallow as the sound grew louder—footsteps, deliberate and unhurried, approaching from the shadows.
A figure emerged, tall and imposing, their features obscured by the dim light. The person moved with a calm authority, their head turning slightly as if scanning the area. In their hand was a small device that glinted faintly in the moonlight.
Jieun strained to see more, her heart hammering in her chest. "Who is that?" she whispered.
Nari's gaze was fixed on the figure. "He's one of them," she said, her voice barely audible. "I've seen him with the principal before."
The man stopped near the railing, his back to them. He seemed to study the terrace for a moment before slipping the device into his coat pocket. Then he turned, his eyes sweeping over the area. For a heart-stopping moment, his gaze lingered near their hiding spot.
Jieun held her breath, willing herself to remain still. Her mind raced with questions—who was he, and what was he doing here?
After what felt like an eternity, the man turned and walked toward the door, his footsteps echoing in the silence.
They waited until the sound of his steps faded completely before Nari exhaled sharply. "We need to leave. Now."
Jieun nodded, but her eyes were drawn back to the plaque, the words etched into the metal seared into her memory. Whoever had written them had known something—something that had cost them dearly.
As they descended the stairs, Jieun couldn't shake the feeling that their actions had set something in motion. The school's secrets were no longer content to remain hidden, and she and Nari were now deeply entwined in a web far more intricate—and far more dangerous—than either of them had anticipated.
The air inside the school felt heavier as Jieun and Nari descended the staircase. Each step echoed ominously, as if the building itself were aware of their presence. The hallways, bathed in faint moonlight seeping through cracked windows, seemed endless, their silence pressing down on them like a tangible weight.
"Do you think he saw us?" Jieun asked, her voice trembling slightly.
Nari shook her head, but the tension in her jaw told a different story. "I don't know. But if he did, we'll know soon enough."
The cryptic response sent a chill down Jieun's spine. "What do you mean?"
Nari hesitated, her steps slowing. She turned to face Jieun, her expression unusually grave. "People who ask too many questions—people like us—they don't just get answers. They get attention. And in this place, attention isn't safe."
Jieun swallowed hard, her mind flashing back to the man on the terrace, his cold, methodical movements, the way his gaze had lingered near their hiding spot.
"Then why are we doing this?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Nari's eyes softened, the usual sharpness giving way to something more vulnerable. "Because the alternative is worse. Pretending nothing's wrong—pretending we don't feel the cracks in this place—that's how it wins."
Jieun wasn't sure what "it" was, but she didn't press. Nari's words resonated with something deep within her, a quiet but insistent truth she couldn't ignore.
They reached the library again, the grand doors looming before them like the entrance to a forbidden realm. Nari hesitated for a moment, then pushed them open. The room greeted them with its usual oppressive stillness, the faint scent of aged paper hanging in the air.
"Why are we back here?" Jieun asked, following Nari inside.
"Because we need leverage," Nari replied, heading straight for the restricted section. "If we're going to keep digging, we need something to protect us—something they don't want us to have."
The "restricted section" was little more than a single, locked cabinet tucked into the farthest corner of the library. Its glass doors were grimy, the lock rusted but sturdy.
"Do you know how to open it?" Jieun asked, her skepticism clear.
Nari smirked, pulling a hairpin from her pocket. "I've had practice."
Jieun watched as Nari knelt before the cabinet, her hands steady as she worked the pin into the lock. The soft clicks echoed in the silence, each one ratcheting up Jieun's anxiety.
After a tense minute, there was a satisfying clunk, and the cabinet doors creaked open.
Inside was an assortment of items that seemed unremarkable at first glance—old journals, faded photographs, rolled-up blueprints. But as Nari began pulling them out, it became clear that these weren't ordinary school archives.
"What is all this?" Jieun asked, peering over Nari's shoulder.
"Evidence," Nari said, her tone clipped. She handed Jieun a stack of photographs.
Jieun held them up to the dim light. The images were grainy and discolored, but the scenes they captured were unmistakably tied to the school. A group of students standing in the same courtyard she passed every day, their expressions grim. A shadowy figure lurking in the background, its face obscured. The terrace, bathed in unnatural light, with something—or someone—barely visible at its edge.
"These aren't... normal," Jieun said, her voice trembling.
Nari nodded, flipping through a journal she had pulled from the cabinet. "They're not meant to be. Look at this."
She held the journal out to Jieun, pointing to a passage written in jagged, hurried handwriting:
"The whispers are louder at night. They know I'm listening. I tried to tell the others, but they laughed—said it was just my imagination. But it's not. It's real. And if I don't stop, they'll come for me too."
Jieun's heart pounded as she read the words. "Who wrote this?"
Nari shook her head. "There's no name. But whoever it was, they knew something. And they were scared enough to document it."
The faint sound of footsteps interrupted their conversation.
Both girls froze, their eyes darting toward the library entrance.
"Did you lock the door?" Jieun whispered.
Nari's face paled. "I thought I did."
The footsteps grew louder, deliberate and unhurried, much like the ones they had heard on the terrace.
Jieun's grip tightened on the photographs, her breath coming in shallow gasps. "What do we do?"
Nari didn't answer. Instead, she grabbed Jieun's arm and pulled her toward the back of the library, where a narrow, hidden door led to the archives.
They slipped inside, closing the door just as the library's main doors creaked open.
Through the thin wood, Jieun could hear the faint rustle of movement, the sound of someone searching.
Her pulse raced as she turned to Nari, who was crouched beside her, clutching the journal tightly.
"Who is it?" Jieun mouthed.
Nari shook her head, her expression grim.
The footsteps moved closer, pausing near the cabinet they had just emptied. There was a moment of silence, followed by the sound of glass shattering.
Jieun flinched, her heart pounding in her chest. Whoever was out there wasn't just searching—they were sending a message.
After what felt like an eternity, the footsteps receded, the sound growing fainter until it disappeared altogether.
Jieun let out a shaky breath, her hands trembling. "What was that?"
Nari didn't answer immediately. She stood, her movements deliberate, and opened the hidden door just enough to peer outside.
"They know we were here," she said finally, her voice tight. "And now they're warning us to stop."
Jieun swallowed hard, the weight of their actions pressing down on her. They had uncovered something they weren't meant to see, and now the consequences were closing in.
"We can't stop," she said, surprising herself with the conviction in her voice.
Nari turned to her, eyebrows raised.
"If we stop now," Jieun continued, "then whatever they're hiding—whatever they've done—it'll stay buried. And more people will get hurt."
For a moment, Nari didn't respond. Then, with a small, almost imperceptible nod, she said, "Then we'll keep going. But we have to be careful. No more mistakes."
Jieun nodded, clutching the photographs to her chest. Whatever secrets the school held, they were now part of something much bigger than either of them had anticipated.
And there was no turning back.