The classroom is filled with anticipation as Professor Lupïn gestures toward the rattling wardrobe at the front of the room. The lesson is simple—face your biggest fear, make it ridiculous, and laugh it away. One by one, students step forward, wands raised, transforming their worst nightmares into something funny. Spiders in roller skates, drowning shadows turned into splashes of confetti, eerie whispers reduced to duck quacks.

Then, it’s your turn.

The room is still as you step forward, wand tight in your grip, staring at the wardrobe as it shakes violently. You take a steadying breath, preparing for whatever will emerge. The latch clicks. The door swings open.

Nothing.

Silence fills the room. No creature, no horror, no grotesque manifestation of fear—just an empty, endless void spilling out before you, vast and suffocating.

The void stretches, deep and endless, swallowing all sound, all warmth, all presence. The world around you fades. No voices, no faces, just nothing. The longer you stare into it, the more the emptiness consumes you, pressing into your chest, curling its fingers around your throat. Your breath hitches, and for the first time in years, tears prick your eyes.

Behind you, Theo leans toward Mattheo, impressed. “Damn, she’s really not scared of anything.”

Mattheo doesn’t respond. His eyes stay locked on you, watching the way your fingers tremble, the way your breathing turns shallow, how your normally sharp eyes glaze over as if you’re already lost in that abyss.

Then, it dawns on him.

His voice is low, almost to himself, but Theo hears it.

"Being abandoned." Mattheo’s grip tightens on the edge of his desk. "She’s terrified of being abandoned. Alone. Forgotten."

The words settle heavily between them, the weight of understanding sinking into Mattheo’s chest like a stone.

Because for the first time, he realizes—your greatest fear isn’t something lurking in the dark.

It’s losing the people you love.