Stephanie could still feel the weight of the air that night. The funeral had ended hours ago, and the smell of flowers lingered in her nose like a memory that wouldn’t let go. Madi was gone. Her best friend. Her partner-in-crime since second grade.

  Stephanie sat on her bed, clutching Madi’s favorite scarf—a soft, knit thing that still smelled faintly of vanilla and peppermint. It felt surreal. They’d spent just last week laughing over bad movie marathons and debating whether pineapple belonged on pizza. And now Madi was…gone.

  A car accident, they said. Just a freak thing. Except something didn’t sit right. Madi wasn’t reckless. She didn’t text and drive. She didn’t speed.

  Her phone buzzed, snapping Stephanie out of her spiraling thoughts. It was a text from Madi’s older brother, Nate.

  "Hey, Steph. We’re packing up Madi’s room tomorrow. If there’s anything you’d want to keep, come by."

  The thought of stepping into Madi’s room made her chest ache, but Stephanie typed back:

  "Yeah, I’ll be there."

  The next day, Stephanie stood in the doorway of Madi’s room. It looked untouched, like Madi might walk in any second, complaining about something ridiculous or asking her for advice.

  "Take your time," Nate said, his voice low. He left Stephanie alone with the ghosts of their shared memories.

  Stephanie lingered by the doorway, her eyes scanning the room. Posters of indie bands they both loved were plastered on the walls, and the bed was still unmade, the duvet crumpled like Madi had just gotten out of it. Her desk was cluttered with books, pens, and scraps of paper.

  Her gaze landed on a small box on the dresser—a box she recognized immediately. It was Madi’s "treasure box," a tin that had once held cookies but was now filled with secrets. Stephanie reached for it, hesitating.

  When she opened the lid, a few familiar trinkets greeted her: a dried four-leaf clover they’d found on a camping trip, a concert ticket stub from their first show, and—strangely—a small vial of something dark and opaque.

  Stephanie frowned and picked up the vial, holding it to the light. The liquid inside shimmered unnaturally, almost alive.

  "What is this?" she muttered, placing it down. Beneath it was a notebook—Madi’s journal.

  Her throat tightened. Madi had always been a chronic journaler, scribbling down her thoughts like a therapist in ink. Stephanie hesitated before flipping it open.

  The first few entries were mundane—class notes, sketches, random lists. But as she skimmed further, her stomach twisted.

  Entry, July 14th:

  "There was something strange about the way Steph’s shadow moved today. It flickered when she laughed, like it was alive. Maybe I imagined it, but I can’t ignore the signs."

  Stephanie’s pulse quickened. Her shadow? What was Madi talking about? She flipped to another page.

  Entry, August 2nd:

  "I found an old text in the archives. 'The mark of the witch reveals itself in the mundane.' What if it’s her? What if Steph is one of them?"

  Stephanie stared at the page, her mind reeling. Memories bubbled to the surface—moments she’d brushed off as coincidences.

  There was that time in seventh grade when she got into a fight with a bully, and their locker door had slammed shut on its own, breaking their finger. Or when the flames of a bonfire had seemed to stretch toward her hand as she roasted marshmallows, casting strange, flickering shadows. And then there was the time her anger had made the lights in her room flicker violently until the bulb shattered.

  Her hands began to tremble as she flipped through the journal. The entries grew more frantic, the handwriting messier. There were notes about witches, ancient covens, rituals, and something called “The Circle of Ash.” Madi had been investigating them…no, her.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  A knot of betrayal twisted in Stephanie’s gut. Madi—her best friend, the person she trusted more than anyone—had been spying on her.

  She shook her head, tears blurring her vision. "Why didn’t you just talk to me?" she whispered.

  From the back of the journal, a small folded piece of paper slipped out. She unfolded it carefully. It was a map—hand-drawn, with a spot circled in red. The margins were scrawled with frantic notes.

  "Meet them. Midnight. Confirm the truth."

  The date written was the night of Madi’s accident.

  The drive to the marked location was a blur. Stephanie gripped the steering wheel tightly, her thoughts racing. The betrayal, the fear, the strange incidents from her past—it was all crashing down on her.

  "I’m not a witch," she told herself, her voice shaking. "That’s ridiculous."

  But deep down, a tiny voice whispered otherwise.

  The marked location was an old, abandoned church on the outskirts of town. Stephanie parked her car and stepped out, the cold night air biting at her skin. Her stomach churned as she approached the heavy wooden doors.

  Memories of Madi flooded her mind—her laughter, her determination, the way she always seemed to know when Stephanie needed a hug.

  Was any of it real? Or had Madi just been pretending, waiting to uncover some dark secret about her?

  Stephanie pushed the door open, the sound echoing in the empty space. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of wax and damp wood. Dozens of candles flickered along the walls, their glow casting eerie shadows that seemed to dance with a mind of their own.

  She stepped forward, her sneakers echoing on the stone floor. A strange warmth tickled at her palms, and she rubbed them together absently.

  At the altar, a book lay open. It was massive, its leather cover cracked with age. The pages were filled with symbols and diagrams she couldn’t begin to understand.

  "This is where she was," Stephanie whispered.

  The room grew colder, and a sudden gust of wind snuffed out half the candles, plunging the space into a dim haze. Stephanie’s heart pounded. She turned to leave—but froze when a voice echoed from the shadows.

  "You shouldn’t be here.” the voice said again, sharper this time.

  Stephanie spun around, her eyes darting through the flickering candlelight. From the shadows emerged a woman with sharp features, her dark hair tied back in a braid that seemed to blend into the gloom. Her eyes were piercing, almost glowing, and her presence carried an unsettling air of authority.

  "Who are you?" Stephanie demanded, her voice shaking. She took a step back, her heels scraping against the stone floor.

  The woman didn’t answer immediately. She moved closer, her boots silent against the ground, and stopped just outside the circle of candlelight. Her head tilted slightly as she studied Stephanie.

  "I could ask you the same," the woman said coolly. "But I already know who you are, Stephanie."

  Stephanie’s heart skipped. "You—how do you know my name? Did you know Madi? Did you—" Her voice broke. "Did you have something to do with her death?"

  The woman’s expression darkened, her gaze growing heavier. "Madi came here the night she died. She was looking for answers."

  "Answers about what?" Stephanie’s voice was rising, her fear and anger bubbling just under the surface. "Why was she here? Why does her journal—" She stopped herself, gripping the leather book tighter against her chest.

  The woman took another step forward, her face illuminated by the flickering light. "She came to confirm her suspicions. She wanted proof of what you are."

  "What I am?" Stephanie repeated, her voice cracking. "What are you even talking about? Madi was my best friend—she wouldn’t—"

  "She was afraid," the woman interrupted sharply. "Fear makes people do desperate things. She joined the Circle of Ash, a society dedicated to exposing witches like you. They’d been watching you for months. She was supposed to meet someone here that night, to give them everything she’d found."

  "No," Stephanie whispered, shaking her head. "You’re lying. Madi would never—"

  "Think, Stephanie," the woman pressed, her voice cutting through Stephanie’s denial like a blade. "Haven’t you ever noticed the strange things that happen around you? The shadows that move when they shouldn’t? The fires that burn too hot, the lights that flicker when you’re upset?"

  Stephanie’s mind raced with memories—moments she’d buried or brushed off as coincidences. The locker slamming shut, the bonfire flames reaching for her, the shattering lightbulb.

  "I didn’t—" She staggered back, clutching her head. "I didn’t do anything. I don’t know what you’re talking about!"

  The woman’s gaze softened, just slightly. "You didn’t know. But your power doesn’t care whether you understand it. And Madi knew enough to fear it."

  Stephanie’s breath came faster, her chest heaving. Anger and confusion surged within her, along with something else—something deeper, hotter, like a fire she couldn’t contain. The candles around the room flared suddenly, their flames stretching unnaturally high before sputtering.

  "Stop!" she shouted, clutching her head as the warmth in her palms intensified, searing now. "I don’t want this—I didn’t ask for this!"

  The woman took a step back, her eyes narrowing. "You need to calm yourself, or—"

  But Stephanie couldn’t hear her anymore. The heat in her hands spread through her body, overwhelming her senses. She stumbled toward the door, desperate to get out, to escape the suffocating truth pressing down on her.

  "I have to go," she mumbled, her legs barely cooperating as she stumbled into the night.

  She made it to her car, fumbling with her keys as the world around her blurred. Her vision swam, and the air felt too thick to breathe. The strange warmth surged again, this time radiating from her chest outward, and her knees buckled.

  The last thing she saw before the darkness claimed her was the faint glow of the candles from inside the church.