Miss Brodie hummed to herself as she walked the hall alone, her arms heavy with papers. The droning of voices drifted from each of the closed makeshift classrooms, the last classes of the day still in session. The last rays of the sun, a rare but welcome sight, filled the manor with golden light, making the whole house seem much more inviting.

The teacher rounded the corner into the main hall, and a folder slipped out of her stack, spilling its contents all over the floor of the hallway. Miss Brodie stooped down to scoop them up, muttering a curse under her breath. They had all been in order, and now...

A shadow loomed over her, blocking the golden light. Miss Brodie paused, her hands frozen over the mess of papers.

Had a cloud passed over the sun, or...?

Someone grabbed her by the shoulder—

Miss Brodie let the rest of her papers fall from her arms and leapt up, spinning to face whoever had snuck up on her.

"Mildred!" Miss Brodie gasped. "You startled me."

"Sorry," Millie said, her expression solemn. "I didn't mean to."

Miss Brodie took a deep breath, and put her hand on her chest, trying to calm her rapid heartbeat. "What... What are you doing out of class?"

"I need to speak with you," Millie said. "You said 'anytime' didn't you?"

"I... I did, didn't I?" Miss Brodie said, hastily scooping up the papers in one big pile. She'd have to sort through them later. "Well, if you need me, let's talk."

Millie let Miss Brodie guide her down a side hall, to a small study the students used as a sitting room. It wasn't much, having only an old sagging couch and a pair of tattered armchairs, but the room was empty, and at least a fire had been lit, so it was warm. Miss Brodie dumped her mess of papers on one of the side tables, then swept her arm out for Millie to sit.

Millie took her spot in the chair closest to the fire. A chill still clung to her, though it had been days since she'd escaped to the churchyard. The feeling hadn't quite returned to the tips of her fingers. She rubbed her hands together, hoping the friction would help.

Miss Brodie took the other seat, smoothing her grey skirt behind her as she sat down. "So, Mildred, what did you want to speak to me about?"

Millie stopped her fidgeting and took a deep breath. She didn't know if this was going to work, but she had to try....

"I want to know what happened on the night Petra died."

Miss Brodie went rigid. Her eyes went wide, twice the size under her magnifying glasses. "But Mildred, you know what happened—"

"That's the thing, though. I don't."

"The Mother told you everything, and you were... you were there."

Millie shook her head, dropping her gaze. She began to tug at a loose thread on the chair's arm. "Honestly, I don't remember much of what I saw or what I was told. It was all such a blur. I have bits and pieces, so I'm trying to piece it together and make sense of it all."

Miss Brodie paused, studying Millie as if she was weighing her options. She was not so mousey anymore. She was suddenly shrewd, her large eyes narrowing.

"Well, it was all tragically simple," Miss Brodie said at last. "As I'm sure the Mother told you, it was all a horrible accident. Petra hit her head and that was that. Sometimes that's all it takes."

Millie frowned. She yanked harder on the thread, causing a rip to spread through the threadbare fabric.

So it was going to be like that, then.

She wanted to shout at Miss Brodie, to make her tell the truth, but she held her tongue. She still had questions that needed answers.

"It was a tragic loss," Miss Brodie finished.

"I think I remember the Mother saying something like that," Millie said, her voice low and slow. "But you see, there's something from that night, this image I can't get out of my head..."

Miss Brodie went still. "There is?"

"I keep seeing a... a..." Millie sputtered, struggling to get the actual words out. She squeezed her eyes shut as the same scene played out in her head for the millionth time. "A wound on Petra's throat. A cut. Almost as though someone hurt her. Deliberately."

Millie flashed her eyes to meet Miss Brodie's, searching her narrow face for a twitch or falter that would expose her.

Miss Brodie managed to keep her features straight, though Millie thought she saw her cheeks go pale. Though, in the next instant, Miss Brodie's face softened, erasing all traces of uncertainty.

"Oh, Mildred, dear. It wasn't like that at all."

Heat scaled Millie's spine. 

"Then why do I remember it so well?" she demanded.

"It must be a kind of... shell shock," Miss Brodie said, tapping at her lip as her gaze turned towards the ceiling. She said it so clinically as if reading it from a book, as if it could be all so simple. "Like soldiers coming back from the front. Sometimes, if you see something so terrible, your mind will invent false memories in an attempt to make sense of it all."

It was as though all the air was sucked from Millie's lungs in one fell swoop. She sank back into the chair.

Could that be true?

Back in London, she had known many boys that had left for the front, often friends of her sister. They headed out, chests puffed out, joking and full of life. But when something brought them home early, they came back as shadows of themselves, paranoid and frightened.

Had this same thing happened to her?

Such a thing made sense when Miss Brodie put it like that.

Had her mind been ruined?

Had she gotten it all wrong?

"Are you sure?" Millie demanded. "Are you sure that Petra died in an accident?"

Milli hoped desperately that Miss Brodie would show her tell.

But she didn't even flinch.

"Of course, I am sure." The smile she gave Millie was cloying. She looked the girl over, and something in her features drew her concern. "You seem unwell, Millie. I have noticed you've looked a little drawn as of late. Maybe we should call for the doctor from the village..."

"No," Millie said, a little too quickly. "I'm fine. I'm sure you must be right... I just wish I could shake the image."

"You will in time," Miss Brodie said, giving her a gentle look. "Now, was there anything else you wanted to talk about?"

Millie shook her head.

"Well then," Miss Brodie said, getting up from the seat. "I must go. I have some marking to do before the end of the day."

Millie turned her gaze to the fireplace as Miss Brodie returned to her papers, making a weak attempt to reorder them before giving up and loading them back into her arms.

"I'm glad you came to me, Mildred," Miss Brodie said as she headed for the door. "Again, you need anything, anything at all, please find me."

Millie looked up. "I will."

Miss Brodie gave Millie one last smile before she disappeared into the hall.

Millie lingered in the chair. It seemed the school was sticking to its original story, so different from what she remembered. She winced back from the horrible memory of Petra's slashed throat. 

Had she really seen it after all?

A voice at the back of her mind piped up. But what about Matthew saw?

The muscles throughout her body went rigid.

The school may be sticking to their story, but Millie was starting to believe more and more that their story was wrong.