The morning announcements crackled through the intercom, but the usual chatter in the halls was muted. Something was off. By noon, the whispers had grown louder.
> "He didn't come home."
"That's impossible. Maybe he's sick."
"No, his mom came to school—crying. He never got back yesterday."
Gabriel froze by his locker, his hand hovering over the dial. His chest tightened. Another student, gone.
In the classroom, the tension snapped. A group of boys leaned toward each other, loud enough for everyone to hear.
Boy 1 (snickering): "Bet it's her. She never talks. Creeps around like a ghost. She probably lured him."
Boy 2 (lower, more serious): "Or maybe it's that substitute. The one with the eyes. She gives me chills."
Boy 1: "Nah. Everyone knows Gemma's cursed."
The words struck like knives. Desks creaked as students shifted, pretending not to look at Gemma. She sat at her desk, hands folded neatly, her face unreadable.
Then a voice cut through the poisonous air.
Mia (slamming her book on the desk): "Shut your mouth."
Gasps rippled. All eyes turned.
Boy 1 (smirking): "What? Afraid the curse will get you too if you don't defend her?"
Mia (standing, trembling but fierce): "You don't know her. None of you do. So stop acting like you do."
The room went silent. Even the hum of the fluorescent lights felt louder. Gabriel's pulse hammered in his ears—he wanted to thank Mia, but he couldn't move, couldn't speak.
Gemma lifted her gaze, slow and deliberate. For the first time in days, her eyes flicked toward Mia. No emotion, no warmth—just acknowledgment. Like the faintest signal in a storm.
Mia noticed, and her throat tightened. It was small, but it was enough.
The teacher, frazzled, slammed her ruler on the desk.
Teacher: "Enough! Not another word about this nonsense. Focus on your books."
But the whispers didn't stop.
By the end of the day, flyers with the missing student's face were being taped to walls. Parents crowded the gate, eyes darting, voices sharp.
> "This school isn't safe."
"Where's the principal?"
"Someone needs to answer for this."
Gabriel stood with his bag slung over one shoulder, staring at the growing crowd. He glanced at Gemma. She walked past them all—expressionless, silent—as if the chaos had nothing to do with her.
Yet in the pit of his stomach, Gabriel felt it. The way eyes followed her, the way accusations whispered in the air. The storm was building, and Gemma was at its center.