Chapter 13 · Traceless - Chapter 13: A Name in the Ash

The dress is still swinging when I push through the burned doorframe.

Evan's right behind me. I hear him cough once, then his hand closes around my wrist. "Layla, we need to go. This place—"

"Someone's been here." I yank free and step over a charred beam. The floorboards creak but they hold. Eighteen years of rain and rot, and the porch didn't collapse. Someone reinforced it. Someone hung that dress.

The air inside smells like wet char and something sharper. Cleaning solution maybe. I pull my sleeve over my hand and touch the doorframe. The wood's black but it's solid. Not crumbling. I move deeper into what used to be a living room. There's no furniture left, just the skeleton of a couch and a melted TV stand against the far wall.

The writing's everywhere.

Black marker. Fresh enough that I can still smell the ink under the ash. The letters cover the walls in neat rows, floor to ceiling. Names. Dates. Numbers I don't recognize. I step closer and the floorboard under my foot cracks. Evan grabs my shoulder this time.

"Layla."

"Look at this." I point at the wall. The first row starts at eye level.