Darkness filled Room Six.
Raka stood frozen in the middle of the room while Rania's voice still echoed in his head.
“Don't look for me.”
He stared at the window.
The white curtains moved slowly, even though all the windows were shut tight.
“Rania?”
There was no answer.
Raka grabbed his phone and turned on the flashlight.
White light swept across the room.
The bed.
The table.
The wardrobe.
The door.
There was no one there.
He approached the window cautiously. When he pulled the curtain aside, all he could see was the inn's dark backyard, soaked with rain.
But there was something on the ground directly beneath the window.
Footprints.
Small ones.
Like a child's footprints.
Raka opened the window.
Cold air rushed inside.
He swept the flashlight across the yard.
The footprints continued for only a few steps before stopping beneath an old tree.
There were no returning footprints.
Raka closed the window.
Questions began flooding his mind.
How could Rania's voice have been heard in this place?
And why did the photo he'd found show Rania in Karangwening in 1996?
He went back to the table.
The old photo was still lying there.
Raka picked it up and studied his sister's face once more.
Rania looked much younger.
But that was impossible.
If the photo had really been taken in 1996, Rania hadn't even been born yet.
Raka opened his phone and called his mother.
The call wouldn't connect.
He tried again.
There was still no signal.
“Great,” he muttered irritably.
He slipped the photo into his bag, then looked at the brown envelope from earlier.
There was something he hadn't seen.
Inside the envelope was a slip of paper.
The printed handwriting on it consisted of only four words.
**ASK ABOUT THAT NAME.**
Beneath it was a name.
**RANIA ADINATA.**
Raka frowned.
That name kept appearing.
In the photo.
In the letter.
In the voice he'd just heard.
As if someone was deliberately trying to make sure Raka didn't forget the name.
Suddenly, footsteps sounded in the hallway.
Slowly.
One step.
Then another.
Raka stood up.
The footsteps stopped right in front of his door.
He didn't move.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
“Who is it?”
Silence.
Raka approached the door.
“If this is a joke, stop.”
There was no answer.
He opened the door a crack.
The hallway was still empty.
But this time, something was different.
On the wall directly across from his room hung an old photo he hadn't noticed before.
Raka stepped out.
He approached the photo.
It showed everyone staying at the inn.
Dozens of people stood in front of the same building.
The year was written in the bottom corner:
**1996.**
Raka narrowed his eyes.
A woman stood in the second row.
Her face was the same as the woman he'd met at the roadside stall earlier.
Ms. Sari.
Raka fell silent.
She didn't look like a sixty-year-old woman.
In the photo, she was still around thirty.
But what sent a chill through Raka was the little girl standing beside her.
The girl was holding Ms. Sari's hand.
Raka zoomed in on the photo with his phone's camera.
The girl was wearing a red jacket.
The same as the child he'd seen on the road.
Raka's heart pounded.
“No way…”
Suddenly, he heard a door opening behind him.
Raka turned.
The innkeeper stood in the doorway of his room.
The old man's face was pale.
His eyes were fixed on the photo Raka was holding.
“Where did you get that?”
“This photo was here.”
“No.”
The old man walked closer.
His hands were trembling.
“That photo was supposed to have been burned.”
“Why?”
He didn't answer.
Raka showed him the group photo he'd found earlier.
“I found this in my room. Rania is in it.”
The old man immediately stepped back.
“Don't.”
“You know her?”
“No.”
“You're lying.”
Raka raised his voice.
“If you don't know her, why are you afraid?”
The old man stared at him, his eyes filled with fear.
“Because in Karangwening,” he said slowly, “someone's name is never just a name.”
Raka fell silent.
“What does that mean?”
The old man looked at Rania's photo.
“Some names must never be spoken.”
“Whose names?”
He swallowed.
“The names of those who disappeared.”
Raka felt the air in the hallway growing colder.
“Is Rania one of them?”
The old man didn't answer.
He only took the photo from Raka's hand.
Then he said in a trembling voice,
“If you still want to find your sister, go to Ms. Sari's roadside stall tomorrow morning.”
“Why?”
“Because she's the only person still brave enough to remember.”
The old man left.
Raka stood alone.
Before going back into his room, he looked at the old photo on the wall one more time.
The child in the red jacket looked different now.
Her head was turned slightly.
Her eyes seemed to be staring straight at Raka.
And beneath the photo was a small inscription that hadn't been visible before.
**RANIA ADINATA — THE 17TH PERSON.**