Photos can be cropped. Voices can be altered. Chats can be deleted. And now I know videos can lie, too.
I stared at the message on the screen.
I hadn't been lying on the floor that night. Because Bima was the one lying there.
I lifted my head. Bima was still holding his phone. Raka stood in front of me. Damar was on the other side of the hallway.
No one spoke.
“Play it again,” I said.
Bima frowned. “What?” “The video.” “Luna—” “Play it.”
He didn't move.
I held out my hand. “If it's real, why are you so scared?”
Bima's jaw tightened. Raka looked at him. “Give it to me.” “This isn't your business.” “Since you came to her house, it is.”
I almost told them to stop, but something else mattered more.
“Bima.”
I looked at him. “Play it.”
Finally, he handed over his phone.
The video started.
MAY 17 — 10:23 P.M.
School hallway. Raka. Damar. Bima.
Then someone was lying on the floor.
I paused it.
“Keanu.”
Everyone turned to look at me, even though Keanu wasn't there.
I called him. He picked up on the second ring.
“Luna?” “I’m sending you a video. Check it.” “What video?” “Just check it.”
I sent the file from Bima's phone to my number, then forwarded it to him.
Bima didn't look happy. “You don't have the right to spread that around.”
I let out a small laugh. “Funny. There are dozens of pictures of me on strangers' phones, and now you're talking about rights?”
He fell silent.
Keanu called me back two minutes later.
“This video is weird.”
I turned on speakerphone. “Weird how?” “The timestamp.”
Damar stepped closer. “Why?” “Look at the seconds. 10:23:14 to 10:23:16.”
I played it slowly.
He was right. There was no 10:23:15.
One second was missing.
“Was it cut?” I asked.
“Not just cut,” Keanu said. “There are frames layered over each other. The person standing near Raka was probably inserted from another part of the video.”
I looked at Bima. His expression hadn't changed.
“So this video was edited?” “I need the original file to be sure.”
I held out the phone to Bima. “The original file.” “I don't have it.” “Of course.” “I got the video from someone else.” “Who?” “I don't know.”
I laughed. “Great. Apparently the I-don't-know disease is contagious.”
Raka took the phone from my hand. “Get out.”
Bima looked at him. “You think she's still going to trust you after she finds out everything?” “Get out.” “She doesn't even know why you were beaten up that night.”
I turned sharply. “Beaten up?”
Raka said nothing.
The anonymous message had been right.
Was Bima the person on the floor? Or Raka?
“Who was lying there?” I asked.
Damar answered. “Bima.”
Bima shot him a sharp look. “Dam.” “Enough.”
Damar stood beside me. “That night, I came to the school because Raka called me.”
He took a breath. “When I got there, Bima and Raka were fighting.” “Why?” “Because of Raka's phone.”
I looked at Raka. He didn't deny it.
“Bima took it?”
Damar nodded. “Raka knew someone had accessed your chat. He suspected Bima.” “Suspected?” Bima laughed. “Don't make up a new story.” “You were there with his phone!” “Because he gave it to me!”
Raka immediately stepped forward. “I never gave you my phone.”
“Stop!”
My voice silenced everyone.
I rubbed my temples. “I just want one answer.”
I looked at Bima. “Why were you at the school on May 17?”
Bima didn't answer right away. “Damar called me.”
I turned to my brother.
Damar shook his head. “That's a lie.” “You sure?”
Bima opened an old chat. He showed us an incoming call.
Damar — 9:41 P.M.
Damar looked confused. “I never called you.” “But your number showed up.”
I felt cold.
Someone could use Raka's number. They could use Damar's, too.
Which meant that from the beginning, someone had deliberately brought all of them to the same place.
“So there's someone else,” I whispered.
Raka looked at me. “Yeah.” “Who?”
No one answered.
My phone buzzed.
Anonymous. Good. You're finally asking the right questions.
I typed quickly.
Me: Were you the one who gathered them there that night?
Read.
Anonymous: No.
Me: Were you at the school?
A long pause.
Then—
Anonymous: Yes.
My heart pounded.
Me: Who are you?
There was no answer.
Instead, a photo came in.
A photo of the school hallway. May 17. 10:08 P.M.
Bima was walking in. Behind him was someone else.
They weren't wearing a hoodie. Their face was visible.
I zoomed in.
I didn't recognize her.
A girl. Shoulder-length hair. A school uniform.
“Who is this?”
Raka immediately took my phone. His expression changed.
Damar looked, too.
“Impossible.” “What?” I asked.
Raka didn't answer.
“Who is she?”
Damar slowly sat down at the end of the stairs. “Her name is Tara.”
I furrowed my brow. “A friend of yours?”
Raka shook his head. “Your friend.”
I laughed, confused. “I don't know her.” “Not now.”
That sentence made me freeze.
“When we were kids?”
Raka nodded.
I looked at the photo again. There was no memory of her.
“Tara was there when I disappeared?”
Raka looked at me. “Yeah.” “Why isn't she in the picture?” “Because she took it.”
An uneasy feeling crept up my back.
“Then where is she now?”
No one answered.
Bima finally spoke. “She couldn't have been at the school that night.” “Why not?”
Bima looked at me. “Because Tara died six years ago.”
Silence.
I let out a small laugh. Reflexively. Because my brain refused to accept those words.
“Don't joke around.” “No one is joking,” Damar said.
I looked at the photo. The girl was clear. The date was clear. May 17. Two months ago.
My phone buzzed again.
Anonymous. They told you I was dead, right?
It felt like all the blood had stopped flowing through my veins.
A second message. They always say that so no one will come looking for me.
I typed with trembling hands.
Me: Tara?
The typing indicator appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Then the reply came.
You finally remembered my name.
I held my breath.
Me: If you're Tara, prove it.
No reply.
Ten seconds. Twenty.
Then a voice message came in.
Eleven seconds long.
I pressed play.
A girl's voice came through. Soft. Unaltered.
“Luna, if you're hearing this, try to remember the song we sang when the lights in that building went out.”
I froze.
A melody suddenly surfaced in my mind. Incomplete. Like a buried memory.
Then an image flashed by.
Me as a child. Raka holding my hand. A little girl standing in front of us. Tara.
And someone closing the door from the outside.
I staggered.
“Luna!”
Raka caught my shoulders.
I looked at him.
Now I remembered one thing. Not everything. Just one sentence.
The sentence Tara had shouted that night before the door locked.
“Don't tell Bima we're here!”
I slowly turned around.
Bima was no longer in the hallway.
The front door slammed.
He was gone.
And Raka's old phone, which had been inside my bag just moments ago—
had disappeared with him.