I don’t remember how I got there, only the taste of salt in the air and the way the mirrors refused to agree with my face. If you find these letters, read the handwriting closely, because it will not stay mine.

It was just a game until it wasn’t, and I’m the one who watched the minutes fold back on themselves like cheap paper. If you ever inherit a letter that tells you to go to a dead school and “clear a name,” burn it and walk away.

I shouldn’t be telling you this, but beneath the mud and wire of an old war, there’s a stairwell that leads to places and faces you’re not meant to see—some of them might even be your own.