Book 1 - The Boy in the Yearbook: The Photograph - Chapter 1: The Yearbook

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Rain had a way of making Blackwood Academy look older than it really was.

It slid down the tall Gothic windows, gathered along the stone ledges, and turned the courtyard into a mirror of gray clouds and crooked trees. Ivy crawled up the walls as if the school itself had been trying to escape for decades and had never quite managed it.

Clara Blackwood stood beneath the covered entrance, staring at the building.

She had attended Blackwood Academy for almost three years.

She knew its corridors.

She knew which staircase creaked on the third step.

She knew the library smelled faintly of dust and cedar.

She knew the west hallway was always cold, even in summer.

But that afternoon, the school felt different.

Almost watchful.

Noah: "You're doing it again."

Clara looked over her shoulder.

Clara: "Doing what?"

Noah Bennett stood a few feet away, holding two books against his chest. His dark jacket was damp from the rain, and a few drops of water clung to his hair.

Noah: "Staring at the building like it's about to confess a murder."

Clara rolled her eyes.

Clara: "Maybe it has."

Noah: "Great. Five minutes into detention and you've already decided the school is a suspect."

Clara smiled despite herself.

They weren't actually supposed to be in the entrance hall anymore. Their history professor had assigned them a research project, and Clara had volunteered to find old school records.

That had been her first mistake.

Her second was mentioning it to Noah.

Because Noah had decided that if Clara was going to search through old records, he was coming with her.

Noah: "Come on. Professor Ashcroft said the archive room is downstairs."

Clara glanced toward the long corridor.

At the far end stood Professor Evelyn Ashcroft.

She was holding a folder against her chest, dressed in a dark academic blazer, her expression calm and unreadable.

For some reason, Clara had always found Professor Ashcroft intimidating.

Not because she was cruel.

Quite the opposite.

She was always polite.

Always composed.

Always seemed to know what someone was about to say before they said it.

Professor Ashcroft looked toward Clara.

Their eyes met.

For a brief second, the professor's expression changed.

Not much.

Just enough.

Her gaze moved toward the old wooden door beside Clara.

Then back to Clara.

Evelyn: "Miss Blackwood."

Clara straightened.

Clara: "Professor?"

Evelyn: "The archive room is downstairs. The key is already in the lock."

She paused.

Evelyn: "Don't open anything that isn't part of your assignment."

Noah raised an eyebrow.

Noah: "That's strangely specific."

Professor Ashcroft looked at him.

Evelyn: "Then consider it good advice."

She walked away.

Clara watched her disappear around the corner.

Noah: "Okay."

Clara: "What?"

Noah: "That was terrifying."

Clara laughed quietly.

Clara: "She's always like that."

Noah: "No. That was different."

Clara didn't answer.

Because he was right.

Something about Professor Ashcroft's warning had stayed with her.

Don't open anything that isn't part of your assignment.

She pushed the thought away and followed Noah downstairs.

The archive room was colder than the rest of the school.

Shelves covered every wall, packed with old newspapers, school records, photographs, sports programs, student directories, and boxes labeled with dates.

A single yellow lamp hung above a large wooden table.

Maya Torres was already there.

She looked up from a stack of folders.

Maya: "Finally."

Noah dropped his books onto the table.

Noah: "You're early."

Maya: "I'm efficient."

Elena Vale sat on the opposite side of the table, quietly turning the pages of an old school magazine.

Adrian Blackwood stood near one of the shelves.

He wasn't looking at any of the records.

He was staring at the wall.

More specifically, at a framed photograph hanging there.

Clara followed his gaze.

It was a photograph of Blackwood Academy from nearly fifty years ago.

Students stood outside the school in neat uniforms.

Teachers stood behind them.

Everyone smiled.

Everyone except one boy.

He was standing toward the back.

Half-hidden.

Looking away from the camera.

Clara stared at him.

Something about the photograph made her uncomfortable.

Clara: "Who's that?"

Adrian looked at her.

Adrian: "Who?"

She pointed.

Clara: "The boy."

Adrian turned back toward the photograph.

His expression changed.

Only slightly.

Adrian: "I don't know."

Maya looked up.

Maya: "What boy?"

Clara walked closer.

She studied the photograph.

The boy couldn't have been more than seventeen.

Dark hair.

Pale face.

Old-fashioned school uniform.

He stood apart from everyone else.

As if he hadn't wanted to be there.

Clara felt a strange pressure in her chest.

She couldn't explain it.

She had never seen him before.

And yet—

He looked familiar.

Noah: "Clara?"

She blinked.

Clara: "Nothing."

She turned away.

Clara: "Let's find the records."

For the next forty minutes, they searched through boxes.

Maya found enrollment lists.

Noah found old newspaper clippings.

Elena found a disciplinary report from 1987.

Adrian barely spoke.

Clara kept thinking about the photograph.

Eventually, Maya pulled a dusty box from the bottom shelf.

Maya: "This might be it."

She placed it on the table.

The label read:

BLACKWOOD ACADEMY — YEARBOOKS — 1984–1990

Clara's eyes immediately went to the word yearbooks.

Noah: "That's not exactly our assignment."

Maya: "Our assignment is researching the history of the school."

Noah: "And?"

Maya: "Yearbooks are history."

She opened the box.

Inside were six large books.

Their covers were faded and cracked.

Clara reached for the first one.

1984.

She opened it.

Students smiled from the pages.

Clubs.

Sports teams.

Graduation photographs.

Teachers.

Nothing unusual.

She moved to 1985.

Then 1986.

Then 1987.

Elena suddenly stopped turning pages.

Elena: "Wait."

Everyone looked at her.

She pointed to the page.

A class photograph.

At the bottom were several names.

Clara leaned closer.

There were twenty-three students.

But only twenty-two names.

Maya: "That's weird."

Noah counted them.

Noah: "Twenty-three."

Clara looked at the photograph.

There he was.

The boy from the framed picture.

Except this photograph was clearer.

He was sitting in the second row.

Looking directly at the camera.

Clara felt the same strange sensation in her chest.

Her fingers touched the edge of the page.

Clara: "Who is he?"

Nobody answered.

Adrian stepped closer.

His face had gone pale.

Clara: "Adrian?"

He stared at the photograph.

Adrian: "Close the book."

Clara looked at him.

Clara: "Why?"

Adrian: "Just close it."

His voice wasn't joking anymore.

Clara slowly lowered the cover.

But before it closed completely, something slipped from between the pages.

A photograph.

It landed face-down on the wooden table.

Nobody moved.

Maya picked it up.

Maya: "There's writing on the back."

She turned it over.

Clara leaned forward.

The photograph showed the same boy.

This time, he was standing alone in front of Blackwood Academy.

On the back, written in faded black ink, were five words:

HE WAS NEVER HERE.

Clara stared at the sentence.

Then she noticed something underneath it.

Another line.

Her breath caught.

Because this handwriting was darker.

Newer.

And it contained a name.

CLARA BLACKWOOD.

She stopped breathing.

Noah: "Clara?"

She couldn't answer.

Adrian took the photograph from Maya.

He stared at Clara.

Adrian: "Where did you get this?"

Clara: "It was inside the yearbook."

The archive room suddenly felt colder.

Then—

The door slammed shut.

Everyone jumped.

Clara turned toward it.

No one was standing there.

The key was still in the lock.

And from the other side of the door came the sound of footsteps.

Slow.

Measured.

Coming closer.

Professor Evelyn Ashcroft appeared in the doorway.

Her eyes immediately went to the photograph in Adrian's hand.

For the first time since Clara had known her, the professor looked genuinely afraid.

Evelyn: "Where did you find that?"

Nobody answered.

Professor Ashcroft stepped into the room.

Her gaze settled on Clara.

Evelyn: "You were never supposed to see him."

Clara looked down at the photograph.

At the boy's face.

And for reasons she couldn't explain, she suddenly felt as though he had been waiting for her to find him.

Not for years.

Not for decades.

But specifically—

for her.

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