The morning after receiving Key Two, Leah didn't go to school.
She didn't eat.
She didn't answer her phone, even when it rang over a dozen times with her mom's name.
All she did was stare at the new envelope on her desk.
KEY TWO
It looked like the first: old paper, red ink, sealed with that familiar eye weeping seven tears.
But this time, she was afraid to open it.
Because the Archivist's words still echoed in her skull:
> "Return to the day your brother drowned."
But he didn't drown.
Jay was alive.
She had his texts. His jacket. His voice messages.
She could still hear his awful singing from the shower.
And yet… the more she tried to remember last summer, the more her memory splintered.
No vacation photos.
No birthdays.
No sound of his laugh from July through August.
Just… water.
Cold.
Black.
Silent.
---
She opened the envelope.
Inside:
> "Water forgets.
But ink remembers.
The second key lies beneath the surface.
Return to the lake.
Return alone."
Leah's hands trembled.
She remembered the lake vaguely. A field trip when she was twelve. But they hadn't been back since.
She whispered to herself, "This is insane…"
Then she looked at her phone.
One new text from Jay.
> Jay: "Hey, did you tell Mom I was at practice?"
> Jay: "Also, weird dream last night. You were drowning. And I couldn't move."
---
4:13 p.m.
She stood at the edge of the lake.
The water was still. Mirror-like. No birds. No wind.
Even the bugs were quiet.
She walked to the dock and sat at the edge.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the water rippled—just once.
Something floated to the surface.
A plastic bag.
Inside was:
A water-logged photo of her and Jay, both younger—standing beside a canoe.
A bracelet with her initials and his woven into the beads.
And a folded scrap of wet paper.
She opened it carefully.
It read:
> "This is the memory you gave away.
Jay died in the lake.
You were the only one who survived.
But you made a trade.
One life returned.
One story taken."
> "He's not your brother anymore.
He's the Archivist's echo."
---
Leah stood up fast.
"No. No, that's not true."
She pulled out her phone. Opened Jay's last text.
And suddenly, the messages were gone.
Her camera roll—empty of photos with Jay.
Her voicemail? All deleted.
She called his number.
The voice on the other end wasn't Jay.
It was something else.
Slow. Dry. Paper-thin.
> "He remembers drowning.
But not why."
> "Do you?"
---
Leah screamed and threw her phone into the lake.
But before it hit the water, it froze mid-air.
Held by an unseen force.
It hovered… then slowly sank into the water without a splash.
A shadow appeared beneath the surface.
Long fingers. A face like a paper mask.
The Archivist.
He rose slowly from the water, clothes dry despite the lake's depth.
And he spoke in Jay's voice:
> "You promised.
You gave me his name.
Now take your key."
He held out his hand.
In it, was a thin metal key, rusted and wrapped in black thread.
Leah didn't take it.
She ran.
---
By the time she reached the road, the world felt wrong.
Colors too pale. Cars too slow. The sun unmoving.
Reality was… rewriting.
Piece by piece.
Her phone was gone.
Her contact list erased.
And when she got home, the worst thing happened:
Her mother didn't recognize her.
"Can I help you?" her mom asked from behind the door.
"Mom… it's me. Leah."
"I don't… I don't have a daughter," she said, confused. "I'm sorry, I think you have the wrong house."
---
Leah sat in the park all night.
Alone.
Cold.
Afraid.
Until someone sat beside her.
A boy with tired eyes, brown hair, and ink-stained fingers.
"Don't scream," he said gently. "My name's Elior."
She stared. "Do I know you?"
He shook his head. "But I know what you're going through."
He pulled out a small notebook.
On the cover:
The Letter from the Dead – Volume I.
"I went through the letters. All seven," he said. "You're the next reader. But it's different this time."
"Different how?" Leah whispered.
Elior looked toward the horizon.
And for a moment, Leah saw a tear in the sky—like paper ripped at the seams.
He said:
> "This time, the Archivist wants to stay.
And he's using your brother's body to finish his story."
---
Leah opened her backpack.
The second key was still there, wet and rusted.
Elior nodded.
"One more, and the story changes."
She looked at him. "You said you went through all seven. What happened to your friends?"
He didn't answer right away.
Then:
> "They didn't make it."
---
That night, Leah dreamed again.
This time, she wasn't drowning.
She was in a library made of bones and ash.
Thousands of letters floated through the air.
And at the end of the long corridor, she saw Jay.
He turned to her, eyes empty, voice shaking.
> "Leah… help me.
He's writing through me.
He's trying to end the world… with our story."