Chapter 2 - THE NAME CELESTE NEVER SPOKEFor several seconds, Lila could not move.
The archive room seemed to shrink around her.
The walls.
The shelves.
The old photographs.
Everything suddenly felt too close.
“What did you say?”
Elise did not answer.
Lila took a step toward her.
“What did you say about my mother?”
Elise looked at the letter lying on the floor.
Then at the photograph in Lila’s hand.
Then back at Lila.
“I said your mother was never supposed to survive that night.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“I know.”
“Then explain it.”
Elise shook her head.
“Not here.”
Lila let out a sharp laugh.
“Not here?”
She held up the letter.
“My mother left me a message saying the person who betrayed her is still alive. Then I find a photograph with your name on it. And now you’re telling me she was never supposed to survive?”
“Elise—”
“You need to leave the archive.”
“No.”
“Lila.”
“No!”
Her voice echoed through the room.
The old photographs on the walls seemed to stare back at her.
“You knew something.”
Elise remained silent.
“You knew something about my mother.”
“I knew many things.”
“Then why did you lie to me?”
“I was trying to protect you.”
“Everyone says that when they are hiding something.”
Elise flinched.
Lila immediately regretted the words.
But only for a second.
She was too angry.
Too confused.
For three years, she had believed the story was over.
Victor Hale had stolen Celeste's choreography.
He had destroyed her reputation.
He had manipulated the theater.
And eventually, the truth had come out.
Lila had thought that was the end.
Now she realized it had only been the part of the truth people had allowed her to see.
“What happened that night?” she demanded.
Elise turned away.
“The night your mother lost the finale?”
“The night you just said she was supposed to die.”
Elise’s face became rigid.
“Your mother did not simply lose a dance.”
“I know.”
“She discovered something.”
“What?”
Elise looked at the closed door.
“Someone is listening.”
Lila stared at her.
“What?”
Elise moved quickly.
She crossed the room and shut the door.
Then she locked it.
Lila watched her.
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the truth.”
Elise lowered her voice.
“Three years ago, when you exposed Victor, I believed the danger had ended.”
“You believed?”
“I was wrong.”
Lila felt a cold sensation move through her body.
“Who is dangerous?”
Elise did not answer.
Instead, she walked to the old desk.
She opened a drawer and pulled out a small key.
Then she removed a black notebook.
The cover was worn.
The corners were damaged.
Lila recognized it immediately.
“That belonged to my mother.”
Elise nodded.
“Your mother wrote in it during the final year before the lost finale.”
“Why have I never seen it?”
“Because she told me never to show it to you.”
“Why?”
Elise looked at her.
“Because she knew you would try to find the truth.”
“And that was bad?”
“Sometimes the truth is not a door.”
Elise placed the notebook on the desk.
“Sometimes it is a trap.”
Lila stepped closer.
“Open it.”
“Elise.”
“I said open it.”
Elise slowly pushed the notebook toward her.
Lila touched the cover.
For a moment, she was afraid to open it.
Not because she did not want to know.
Because she suddenly realized that she did.
She opened the first page.
The handwriting was unmistakable.
Celeste's.
The first pages contained ordinary notes.
Rehearsal schedules.
Names of dancers.
Corrections to choreography.
Then, halfway through the notebook, the writing changed.
The words became larger.
The lines more uneven.
Some sentences were crossed out.
Others had been written over and over.
Lila read the first entry.
March 14
Victor says the finale belongs to the company.
He is lying.
She turned the page.
March 21
Elise saw him leave the studio.
Lila stopped.
She looked up.
Elise was staring at the floor.
“Keep reading,” she whispered.
Lila turned the page.
April 2
The girl came back.
Lila frowned.
What girl?
She continued.
April 3
She knows the choreography.
She knows the final movement.
She should not know it.
Lila felt her heart beating harder.
The next pages had been torn out.
Only small pieces remained near the spine.
She turned several pages.
Then she found another entry.
April 19
He says she is dead.
I do not believe him.
Lila looked up.
“Who?”
Elise remained silent.
“Who is dead?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re lying.”
“I don’t know who she was.”
“Then why does my mother write, ‘He says she is dead’?”
Elise looked at the notebook.
“Because Victor told her someone was dead.”
“Who?”
“I never knew.”
Lila slammed the notebook shut.
“Then what did you know?”
Elise closed her eyes.
“When your mother disappeared after the performance, everyone thought she had run away.”
“I know.”
“That was the official story.”
“I know.”
“But it wasn’t true.”
Lila's anger disappeared.
“What happened?”
Elise took a long breath.
“Your mother was injured.”
“How badly?”
“Badly enough that we thought she would die.”
Lila froze.
“Who injured her?”
Elise looked toward the wall.
“The person who betrayed her.”
“Victor?”
“No.”
Lila stared at her.
“Then who?”
Elise said nothing.
The silence became unbearable.
Finally, Lila whispered:
“Was it you?”
Elise looked at her.
“No.”
“Then why is your name on the photograph?”
“Because I was there.”
“Where?”
“Behind the stage.”
“On the night she was attacked?”
Elise nodded.
Lila stepped backward.
The room seemed to spin.
“What did you see?”
Elise looked down at her hands.
“I saw your mother fall.”
Lila’s breathing stopped.
“Who pushed her?”
“I didn’t see.”
“You were there.”
“I said I didn’t see.”
“You saw her fall!”
“I saw her after she fell!”
Elise’s voice cracked.
For the first time, Lila saw something break inside her.
Elise had spent three years appearing strong.
But now she looked exhausted.
As if she had been carrying something too heavy for too long.
“Where was Victor?” Lila asked.
“On stage.”
“And my mother?”
“Behind the curtain.”
“Then who was with her?”
Elise closed her eyes.
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“There was a blackout.”
“How long?”
“Forty-seven seconds.”
Lila stared at her.
“Forty-seven seconds?”
“That is how long the stage lights were out.”
“And during those forty-seven seconds, someone attacked my mother.”
“Yes.”
“Then why did nobody say this?”
“Because your mother told us not to.”
Lila froze.
“What?”
“Your mother was conscious when we found her.”
“She was conscious?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
Elise looked at Lila.
“She said one thing.”
“What?”
Elise's voice became barely audible.
“She said, ‘Do not let Lila find her.’”
Lila felt the room become silent.
“Find who?”
“That was all she said.”
“And you never asked?”
“She lost consciousness.”
“Then why did you hide this from me?”
“Because I promised her.”
Lila laughed bitterly.
“She was my mother.”
“I know.”
“You had no right.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
Elise finally looked directly at her.
“Because she was afraid.”
Lila's anger faltered.
Her mother had never been afraid.
Not in Lila’s memories.
Celeste had been strict.
Sometimes cold.
Sometimes distant.
But never afraid.
“What was she afraid of?”
Elise shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
Lila looked down at the photograph.
The three people standing together.
Celeste.
Victor.
Elise.
But now she knew there had been someone else.
Someone not in the photograph.
Someone her mother had never named.
The girl.
The girl who knew the choreography.
The girl who was supposedly dead.
Lila suddenly noticed something on the back of the photograph.
A faint mark.
She tilted it toward the lamp.
There was another line beneath the three names.
Almost completely faded.
She rubbed the surface with her finger.
Letters emerged.
THE FOURTH WAS NEVER INVITED.
Lila's face went pale.
“What does this mean?”
Elise moved toward her.
“Give me that.”
Lila pulled the photograph away.
“No.”
“Lila.”
“Who was the fourth?”
Elise stared at the words.
“I don’t know.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because I don’t know!”
“Then who is the girl?”
Elise's face changed.
Lila saw it.
A flicker.
Recognition.
Not of the answer.
Of the question.
“You know something.”
Elise remained silent.
“Who is she?”
“I don’t know her name.”
“But you know she existed.”
Elise looked away.
“Your mother called her something.”
“What?”
Elise hesitated.
Then she whispered:
“Anya.”
Lila felt a strange sensation.
The name sounded familiar.
Not from the notebook.
Not from the photograph.
From somewhere deeper.
A memory.
A sound.
A voice.
She was six years old again.
Standing in Studio Seven.
Her mother was kneeling in front of her.
The door was locked.
Someone was crying outside.
Lila remembered looking toward the sound.
“Who is that?” little Lila had asked.
Celeste had grabbed her shoulders.
“Do not look.”
“Why?”
“Because she will see you.”
“Who?”
Celeste had pressed a finger to her lips.
Then whispered:
“Anya.”
The memory struck Lila so suddenly that she nearly dropped the photograph.
Elise noticed.
“What is it?”
Lila looked at her.
“I’ve heard that name before.”
Elise went completely still.
“When?”
“When I was little.”
“What did your mother say?”
“She told me not to look.”
Elise's expression collapsed.
“No.”
“What?”
“No, that’s impossible.”
“Why?”
“Because Anya was dead.”
Lila stared at her.
“You said you didn’t know who she was.”
“I said I didn’t know her name.”
“You knew she was dead?”
Elise didn't answer.
Lila stepped closer.
“How did you know?”
Elise's lips trembled.
“Because I saw her body.”
The words seemed to freeze the room.
“When?”
“Before the lost finale.”
“Where?”
Elise looked toward the floor.
“Under the theater.”
Lila stared at her.
“There is no place under the theater.”
“There is.”
“Where?”
Elise looked at the old wooden floor.
“Below Studio Seven.”
Lila suddenly remembered the hidden compartment.
The letter.
The key.
The secret room.
She reached into the box and pulled out the small silver key.
“What does this open?”
Elise’s face turned white.
“Nothing.”
“Then why was it in the box?”
“Your mother put it there.”
“Exactly.”
“Lila, listen to me.”
“No. You listen to me.”
Lila walked toward the door.
Elise grabbed her wrist.
“Do not go to Studio Seven.”
Lila looked down at Elise’s hand.
Then slowly looked back at her.
“Why?”
Elise released her.
For several seconds, she said nothing.
Then she whispered:
“Because the last person who went down there never came back.”
Lila's blood ran cold.
“Who?”
Elise stared at her.
“The girl your mother called Anya.”
At that exact moment, a loud crash came from the corridor.
Both women turned.
The archive door shook.
Someone had slammed into it from the other side.
Lila stepped backward.
Elise moved in front of her.
“Who’s there?”
No answer.
Then came a sound.
Three slow knocks.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Lila's eyes widened.
The same rhythm.
The same three knocks she had heard in her childhood memory.
Elise whispered:
“Don’t open the door.”
Another three knocks.
Lila stared at the handle.
Something moved beneath the gap.
A shadow.
Someone was standing outside.
Then a piece of paper slowly slid under the door.
Lila bent down.
Elise grabbed her arm.
“Don’t.”
But it was too late.
Lila picked up the paper.
There were only four words written on it.
SHE WAS NEVER DEAD, LILA.
Lila looked up.
Elise was staring at the message.
Then the lights went out.
May you like
And in the darkness—
a woman began humming the final melody Celeste Arden had supposedly never finished.
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