Page 28 of Lost Echoes

The cursor blinks after the last word, daring us to hit send.

I hit send with a thumb that feels like it belongs to someone else. The post sits there on the thread, small and raw among the other anonymous ghosts.

We agree to wait. Communities like this rarely answer fast. They’re fractured, slow to trust. We’ll probably have to post several times over days before anyone pays us attention.

Then the laptop speaker pings.

A private message window pops up before I can blink. The username is a cracked, angry thing: Phoenix97.

Luke snatches the laptop and leans in. “You posted from the primary account?” he asks.

I nod.

He opens the message, his fingers trembling slightly as he scrolls.

The message reads, plain and blunt, the kind of language that doesn’t have time for small talk:

You shouldn’t be here unless you’re ready. The bear = the mascot in Rehearsal C. The green room wasn’t a dressing room—it was Observation 2. There’s a service stair behind the stage that goes down two levels. Sub-level B has six cells and a central corridor. The corridor’s walls have small square vents, not high enough for the doors but high enough to listen through. If you know the bear, you’re not a tourist. Tell me what you remember. Don’t lie. — P.

My stomach drops so fast I have to clamp both hands on the desk.

“How does someone know Rehearsal C?” I breathe. “No one’s used that phrase on any of the public stuff we found.”

I’m pretty sure I saw that on one of the doors in the old Radley theater, though now I’m doubting myself because there was so much going on when we were there. But I can’t shake the feeling.

Luke’s face goes still. He’s already checking headers, timestamps, and whether the message routed through obvious relays. “Phoenix’s account is old. Not a throwaway. Message came through an encrypted relay. He or she isn’t a bot.” He swallows. “And they used the same phrasing my scanner flagged when it matched a transcript I found in an archived file. ‘Observation 2’ and ‘sub-level B’ together. That’s not common.”

The hair on my arms prickles. Kenzi’s green room, the one-eyed bear, and images from the theater flash in my mind like someone stabbing a camera into my skull.

I type with hands that won’t steady.

How do you know this? Who are you? Then I almost delete it. How many traps are words? How many ways could that be used against us?

Phoenix’s reply is almost immediate.

I was there. We were all there. I’m not looking for fans. If you’re real, tell me where your memories start. If you’re not real, walk away. And know this—some people here aren’t survivors. They act like us to find folk who remember. Some of them are programmed to shut people up. Sleeper agents who look like friends, but they are not. Don’t tell anyone IRL you’re posting. No names. Don’t post identifiable details. Ever.

Luke exhales a sound that might be a laugh if it weren’t so thin. “Sleeper agents,” he echoes. “Like plants. Embedded, activated.”

“Why would someone program that?” My voice is a whisper. “To keep people quiet forever?”

Phoenix’s next message is shorter and colder:

Because memories leak, and witnesses collect like stains. They’d rather control the witnesses than let them tell.

Luke and I exchange a worried glance. He starts typing.

I just want answers. My actual memories back. To leave the stage behind forever.

Then Phoenix replies again.

To move deeper, you’ll need a persona that bleeds the right pain without bleeding you. If you’re real—and you sound like you might be—say one small thing only a real survivor would say. Get caught lying, and you’ll be outed. If you’re honest, I’ll tell you how to get to Lost Echoes without leaving tracks. But be careful who answers you next. Not all hands that wave are hands that help.

Luke’s thumb hovers over the touchpad. His jaw works hard.

My throat is raw, and my stomach heaves. My mind roves over everything I learned about Radley from both Kenzi and Billa. Things I saw with my own eyes. Whispers my mom cried in her sleep. It’s all so disjointed, I don’t see how any of it can be connected.

But that’s what we’re here to find out.