I didn't sleep.
I kept thinking about what my mother had said.
Lena is dead.
But I had seen her.
I was certain of it.
The following morning, I found Ethan waiting outside my room.
“We need to talk,” he said.
I folded my arms.
“About what?”
“About Lena.”
My heart tightened.
“How do you know I spoke to her?”
His face went still.
“I didn't say you spoke to her.”
I stared at him.
“You just did.”
For the first time, Ethan looked nervous.
Then he sighed.
“You're asking questions you shouldn't be asking.”
“Then give me a reason to stop.”
He looked towards Room 17.
“Because Lena wasn't the person you think she was.”
I laughed bitterly.
“You've said that twice now. What did she do?”
“She found something.”
“What?”
“I don't know.”
“You're lying.”
His jaw tightened.
“You need to leave this house, Maya.”
Before I could respond, he walked away.
I followed him.
“Ethan!”
He didn't stop.
I grabbed his arm.
“You knew Lena.”
He turned around.
“Yes.”
“How well?”
He looked at me.
“Better than you think.”
Then he left.
I returned to Room 17.
The diary was still where I'd left it.
I searched through the remaining pages again.
One sentence caught my attention.
Mrs. Cole knows.
I froze.
The landlady.
I immediately went downstairs.
She was sitting behind the reception desk.
“Who was Lena?”
She looked up.
“I told you. Nobody lives in Room 17.”
“I'm not asking who lives there.”
Her expression changed.
“I'm asking who Lena was.”
She stood up.
“You need to leave.”
“Why?”
“Because some things are buried for a reason.”
“Did she disappear?”
Mrs. Cole stared at me.
Then she whispered,
“She didn't disappear.”
My heart stopped.
“What happened to her?”
Before she could answer, something crashed upstairs.
We both looked towards the staircase.
I ran.
Room 17 was open.
Inside, the old wardrobe had been moved.
Behind it was a small hole in the wall.
And inside the hole was a metal box.
I pulled it out.
There were photographs inside.
Old receipts.
Newspaper clippings.
And one photograph that made my knees weak.
It showed me.
I was standing beside Lena.
But there was something else in the picture.
A man stood behind us.
His face had been scratched out.
On the back of the photograph was a sentence:
We knew too much.
I heard footsteps behind me.
I turned.
Ethan stood in the doorway.
His eyes went straight to the photograph.
“You found it.”
“What is this?”
He didn't answer.
“What happened seven years ago?”
He stepped into the room.
“You really don't remember?”
“No.”
He stared at me.
Then he said quietly,
“You were there that night.”
A sharp pain suddenly shot through my head.
A flash.
A locked door.
Smoke.
Someone screaming.
And Lena shouting my name.
I dropped the photograph.
Ethan rushed towards me.
“Maya!”
I pushed him away.
“You knew.”
“I was trying to protect you.”
“From what?”
He looked towards the doorway.
His voice dropped to a whisper.
“From the person who started the fire.”
I stared at him.
“Who?”
Ethan opened his mouth.
Then stopped.
His eyes moved past me.
I turned.
Mrs. Cole was standing in the doorway.
And she was holding a box of matches.
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