The darkness didn't last long.
Somewhere overhead, a strip light buzzed back to life, flickering like it was struggling to stay awake. It cast a dim blue haze over the wreckage of Room 2B.
Mira stood frozen just inside the door, her heart pounding so loudly she could hear it in her ears. Every muscle screamed at her to run, but she couldn't move. Couldn't blink. Could barely breathe.
The thing was gone.
Gone, but not forgotten, its presence still clung to the air like smoke, curling into her lungs and weighing down her thoughts.
She dared a step forward.
Her foot crunched something on the floor. Broken glass. The air still shimmered faintly, like a heatwave, though the room felt freezing cold. Desks were tossed and crumpled like paper, books torn, chairs shattered.
But there was no body. No blood. No sign of a teacher or a student. Only that spiraled scorch mark on the wall, coiling up toward the ceiling like a warning.
What had she seen?
Her mind replayed the eyes, too many, gleaming like silver coins. And that mouth. Or... whatever that black void had been.
Her fingers tingled again.
She looked down. The faint shimmer on her palms was back. Electric, warm, alive. As soon as she focused on it, it vanished.
Her mouth went dry.
Suddenly, a voice called from the hallway, sharp, human.
"Mira?"
She spun, her heart leaping, body tense.
A boy stood in the hall, shoulders squared, expression worried. He was tall, wearing the dark green jacket of Ravenshade's senior class and a slightly crooked smile that usually meant he was about to say something dumb to make her laugh.
It was Zeke.
Her best friend.
Relief flooded her chest so quickly it made her knees shake. "Oh thank god," she breathed.
He ran to her, stopping just outside the doorway. "What the hell are you doing in here?"
"I—I saw something," she said, glancing behind her. "Something was in here, Zeke. It wasn't human. It—" Her voice cracked.
Zeke looked past her, eyes narrowing. "Are you sure it wasn't smoke? Or one of the fire alarms going haywire again?"
"No. I know what I saw."
He didn't laugh. Didn't joke. His brow furrowed, and his tone shifted into something heavier. "Are you okay?"
She nodded, but her hands were shaking. She tucked them into her sleeves before he could notice. "Where is everyone? There's no one in the halls."
"Power outage," he said. "And... something happened in the east wing. A few people were hurt. They evacuated part of the school, I was looking for you when everything went dark."
Everything in Mira froze. "People were hurt?"
He hesitated. "They're okay. I think. But... Mira, you shouldn't be here."
The hairs on her arms stood straight.
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Something's wrong with the school today."
She stared at him. "You feel it too?"
Zeke nodded slowly. "I've been feeling it for a while. But today? It's like the whole place is... sick."
That word echoed in her head: sick.
Because yes, the school did feel sick. Like the building itself was breathing—gasping through cracks in the walls and groaning in its bones.
Zeke turned, gesturing. "Come on. We've got to get out of here before they lock it down. They're bringing in emergency crews."
She hesitated, glancing back into Room 2B one last time. "Zeke... there was something in here. It looked at me."
He touched her shoulder, steady and warm. "I believe you."
Three words. Gentle. Honest. Comforting.
And somehow, in that moment, they unsettled her more than they soothed.
—
The rest of the school looked no better.
Lockers torn open. Windows cracked. Scorch marks streaked across the floor like something had been dragged. Emergency lights blinked red as they made their way down the side hall and through the back stairwell.
"Where's your phone?" Zeke asked.
"Dead," she replied. "And the power in my house was off when I left. It was like... the world didn't want me to leave this morning."
He raised an eyebrow. "Creepy."
"You're telling me."
They exited through the rear doors, stepping into the back field behind the science labs. Fog blanketed the grass, thick and wet. A line of students huddled in the distance, surrounded by teachers and what looked like first responders.
Zeke stopped before they could get too close.
"Let's not go there yet," he said, tugging her toward the bleachers. "They'll just ask a million questions and say it's a gas leak or a prank or some other excuse that doesn't make sense."
She let him guide her. The bleachers were cold and damp, but they sat anyway, Mira curling her arms around her knees.
"I'm not crazy, right?" she said softly.
Zeke exhaled. "I don't think you're crazy. I think... something bigger is happening."
She turned to him. "How do you know?"
He paused. "Because I saw it too."
Mira blinked.
"What?"
"In the art room. Before the lights went out." His voice was low, controlled. "There was a shadow. It moved like it had bones but... no shape. Then it vanished."
He didn't elaborate.
Mira's fingers clenched tighter in her sleeves. "Zeke... something's happening to me."
She told him about the static, the glow on her hands, the buzzing in her head. Her voice wavered only once, but Zeke didn't interrupt. He just listened.
When she finished, he looked thoughtful.
"You're changing," he said simply.
She flinched. "Like... mutating?"
"No." His eyes met hers. "Like waking up."
The way he said it sent a chill across her shoulders.
"I think you're like the school," he added. "Whatever's broken in this place... it's echoing in you."
That wasn't comforting.
But it felt true.
—
By the time she got home, the fog hadn't lifted.
Her mom wasn't home. The power was still out. And the strange, humming silence returned the moment she stepped into the house.
Mira walked into her room.
On her nightstand sat a scrap of paper she didn't remember writing. A sketch, rough and frantic. A symbol spiraling inward, just like the scorch mark on the classroom wall.
Her heart slammed.
The pen marks were still fresh.
She hadn't drawn it.
She was sure of that.
But the ink was on her sketchpad. In her handwriting.