Milo's flashlight beam cut through dusty air of the lighthouse interior, revealing stone walls that seemed to watch them. Their footsteps echoed on the worn wooden floor, each creak making Cora's heart jump.
Cora hesitated at the threshold, gripping her flashlight tightly, the memory of the warning from the shed still fresh in her mind.
“You okay?” Milo asked, his voice low. He glanced over his shoulder, his dark eyes catching hers for a moment longer than necessary.
She nodded, though her heart pounded in her chest. “Let’s just get this over with.”
Their footsteps echoing eerily against the cracked tile floor. The lighthouse had been abandoned for years, but it felt far from empty.
Cora swept her flashlight beam across the room. The walls were grimy, covered in peeling paint, but as she looked closer, she began to notice faint etchings beneath the surface.
“Milo,” she whispered, gesturing for him to come over.
He moved to her side, his own flashlight trained on the wall. There, barely visible under years of grime, were strange symbols carved into the stone.
“They match the ones in Jaden’s journal,” Cora said, her voice trembling slightly. “This has to be it—the place where it all happens.”
Milo leaned closer, running his fingers over one of the symbols. “They’re not random,” he muttered. “Look at the patterns. They’re all interconnected, like a... map or a blueprint.”
As they moved deeper into the lighthouse, more symbols appeared, these ones etched into the stone walls. Some looked fresh, others were worn with age. Generations of secrets carved into rock.
"There's something under here." Milo's foot had caught on a loose floorboard near the wall.
The seam formed a rough rectangle, its edges slightly uneven, as if the boards had been pried up and replaced before.
“Help me with this,” she said, already crouching to dig her fingers into the edge of the boards.
Milo didn’t hesitate, kneeling beside her. Together, they pulled at the loose boards until one finally gave way, revealing a dark hollow beneath.
Inside, nestled in the dust and cobwebs, was a rusted metal box.
Cora reached in and pulled out a rusted metal box. The lock was broken, hanging uselessly from one side. Inside, wrapped in faded red cloth, lay a dagger. Its blade was dark with age, but intricate symbols had been carved into the handle—the same ones that surrounded them.
"This isn't just some kids' game," Milo whispered.
Beneath the dagger, they found a photograph. Though faded, the faces were clear—a group of teenagers standing in front of the lighthouse.
Cora recognized Jaden immediately, looking younger and happier. Next to him stood Emily Grayson, her arm linked with a boy who had to be Milo's brother. They were all smiling, as if they didn't know what was coming.
"We have to show someone," Cora said. "This is proof."
Milo picked up the dagger, turning it over in his hands. The blade was tarnished with age, but its edges were still sharp.
“This isn’t just ceremonial,” he said grimly. “This was used. You don’t make a weapon like this for decoration.”
The next morning, they sat across from Mayor Whitaker in his office. The dagger and photograph lay on his desk between them like a challenge.
"What exactly do you think this proves?" The mayor's smile was practiced, political.
"Teenagers have always been drawn to drama, to secret clubs and rituals. Kids playing games. Nothing more.”
"These aren't games," Cora insisted. "People are dying. We found these in the lighthouse, along with symbols that match ones in Jaden's journal. The same symbols were in the shed where The Circle met."
"The Circle?" Mayor Whitaker's laugh didn't reach his eyes. "Just silly games. Kids like their secrets."
“Games?” Cora’s voice rose, her fury spilling over. She held up the dagger, the blade catching the sunlight streaming through the office window. “This is a game to you? People are dying. Jaden is now dead too. And now you’re telling me it’s just kids playing games?”
The mayor’s calm facade cracked ever so slightly, his eyes narrowing as he leaned forward.
“Careful, Miss Langston,” he said quietly. “You’re speaking about things you don’t understand.”
“Then help me understand,” Cora shot back. “Why won’t you stop the festival? Why won’t you stop the killings?”
Whitaker’s expression darkened, and for a moment, he seemed to weigh his words carefully. Then, he leaned back in his chair, his smile cold and humorless.
“Some things,” he said slowly, “are better left buried.”
The words followed Cora home, echoing in her mind. The mayor knew something, that is for sure now. His reaction had confirmed everything—The Circle was real, the deaths were planned, and people in power were helping to hide it all.
Her phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number:
"You found the dagger. Now you'll pay the price."
Before the fear could fully register, something crashed through her bedroom window. Glass scattered across her floor, glinting in the lamplight. A rock lay among the shards, paper wrapped around it with another message:
"Stop, or your family will suffer."