The classroom felt colder that morning. The windows were closed, yet a draft seemed to linger in the air, crawling down the students' spines.
Miss Aveline stood at the blackboard, chalk in hand. Every scrape sounded louder than it should, like nails dragging across glass. Slowly, she wrote:
"Who keeps the silence holds the key."
A murmur ran through the room. Desks creaked, shoes scuffed against the floor. Students leaned toward one another, whispering frantically.
"What the hell does that mean?" one boy muttered.
"She's always writing creepy stuff," a girl whispered back.
"It's about Gemma, isn't it? It's always her—"
"Shut up, she'll hear you."
Miss Aveline didn't turn around. Her voice, calm yet sharp, sliced through the whispers.
"Silence," she said, "is a weapon. A shield. The one who does not speak… cannot betray. The one who does not answer… cannot be caught in lies."
She turned then, her pale eyes sweeping across the rows. They landed on Gemma and lingered.
"Some of you mistake silence for weakness," she continued softly, almost a whisper herself. "But it is the strongest thing of all. Because silence remembers."
The students shifted uncomfortably. A few glanced at Gemma, stiff in her seat, face unreadable.
"What's she talking about?" a boy asked under his breath.
"I told you," another hissed, "Gemma's cursed. Weird stuff happens whenever—"
Before he could finish, Gabriel slammed his palm onto his desk with a sharp crack.
"Shut your mouth!" His voice was louder than he intended, raw with anger.
Every head snapped toward him. The whispers stopped cold. Even Gemma turned her eyes slightly toward him, her face as blank as ever.
Miss Aveline's lips curled into a slow smile. "Defending silence, Gabriel Moore?"
He clenched his fists. "You don't get to stand there and—" he cut himself short, his throat tightening. "You don't get to use her like this."
Aveline's shoes clicked softly against the floor as she crossed the room. She stopped only a few feet from Gabriel's desk, her presence heavy, suffocating.
"Use her?" she repeated, voice lilting, almost mocking. "No. I am reminding all of you of the truth." Her eyes flicked toward Gemma again, unblinking. "And truth, Gabriel, cannot be hidden forever. It waits… until the silence breaks."
A girl raised her hand timidly from the back row. "Miss… what do you mean by… 'debt'?"
For the first time, Aveline laughed. It was low, short, like the sound of glass cracking.
"Every silence," she said, "has a price. Someone always pays it."
The students stirred uneasily.
"What the hell—"
"She's insane—"
"No, she knows something—"
Aveline ignored them all. She returned to the board, chalk scraping again as she wrote another sentence beneath the first:
"The silence will end… when the debt is paid."
Her hand stilled. She dropped the chalk onto the ledge, the sound echoing unnaturally loud in the quiet room.
No one spoke. No one moved.
The clock ticked slowly above them, yet every second felt stretched, distorted.
Aveline turned back, her gaze sweeping the room one last time before settling again on Gemma.
"Until then," she whispered, "let us wait together."
The bell rang—shrill, jarring, almost making the students jump from their seats. Desks scraped loudly as everyone rushed out, muttering in panic.
Only Gabriel lingered. He stared at Gemma, his chest tight. Her face was calm, but beneath the desk, her fingers twitched again. The smallest crack in her stillness.
And Gabriel knew Miss Aveline had seen it too.