Chapter 6: The Teacher Who Didn’t Die

I yanked off my locket, hooking it in my palm, ready to use it as a weapon.

But before I could move, Lila dashed out, chair in hand, screaming and bashing the woman with it.

"Wah, sis, I’m scared!" She ran back and hugged my arm, clinging tight.

How could someone be so cute in this tense moment? I almost forgot we were in danger.

I scooped her up, sprinted like I was running for my life. The woman, stunned by Lila’s attack, was slow to react. I slammed my palm into her chest, knocking her down with a burst of adrenaline.

But something felt off. Usually, ghosts burned or faded when hit by the locket. This woman just sat there, looking hurt and confused, like she’d been sideswiped by a truck.

Uh… Sorry, maybe I hit too hard.

I put Lila down and reached to help the woman up, accidentally pulling off her ‘skin’—revealing her real face underneath.

[Isn’t that the assistant director, Charlotte Greene?]

[Damn, it’s her! I was so scared!]

[Thank God it’s fake—I almost called the cops.]

Embarrassed, I helped her put the mask back on. Marcus, realizing the act was over, got up, ruler wobbling in his stomach like a prop gone wrong.

I complained to the assistant director, "Come on—crew plants weren’t enough? Did you really need a double agent too?"

She forced a smile. Grayson and Riley snapped out of it. I signaled them, and for once, the four of us teamed up to give Marcus a playful pile-on. What else could we do—couldn’t hit the assistant director, after all.

She quickly handed over the key and the next clue—a yellowed disciplinary notice: "Ms. Harper, suspended for six months for violating professional boundaries."

Ms. Harper was the teacher who jumped. The key opened her office.

Looking at the notice, my chest clenched, a sharp ache running through me.

Lila helped me sit, patting my back until I could breathe again, her touch gentle and grounding.

Before leaving, Riley examined the door frame. "Director, how’d you do this? I really couldn’t find the door earlier."

The assistant director gulped, mumbling, "Props are good."

The main director outside shouted, "Give the props team a raise!" but the prop crew just looked around, confused.

Leaving Room 212, I checked my phone. Yvette had messaged me, and cold sweat broke out on my back.

She said: "Hold onto your locket. Don’t look back."

The message was from ten minutes ago—when I’d been standing at the podium, the assistant director behind me. Or maybe… not just her.