The hallway lights buzz overhead.

Vanessa is mid-sentence when the power stutters.

Darkness.

A single heartbeat.

The lights snap back on.

Vanessa straightens.

Her posture shifts. Her smile sharpens—too quick, too sure.

“Well,” she says, voice smoother, colder. “You’re still here.”

Your stomach twists. “Vanessa?” you ask carefully.

She tilts her head. “Is that what I’m called tonight?”

The lights flicker again.

She blinks.

Her expression collapses into confusion.

“…Why are you looking at me like that?” she whispers. “What just happened?”

She grips her flashlight with shaking hands. “Did I—” She swallows. “Did I do it again?”