The room was different this time — larger, colder. Not just Principal Morgan's office, but the sealed conference room on the upper floor of the district education building. Security officers guarded the hall, their radios crackling, while men and women in suits filled the chamber.
Around the oval table sat names of weight.
Director Hale — the steel-haired official from before, chairing the meeting.
Deputy Minister Clarke — sharp-eyed, his words always calculated.
Investigator Rourke — the younger man who had nervously taken notes in the last session.
Colonel Raphael — head of local security enforcement, his presence heavy with authority.
George Moore and Lucy Moore sat opposite them, their posture commanding despite the pressure.
The air buzzed with restrained energy, tension layered over silence.
Director Hale: "Six cases in as many weeks. Collapses. Disappearances. Hysteria among the students. And all while the press is circling like vultures. This… cannot continue."
Deputy Minister Clarke leaned forward.
Clarke: "If this reaches the wrong ears, we won't be talking about a school scandal. We'll be talking about a national security incident."
Colonel Adebayo struck the table lightly with his hand.
Adebayo: "We've deployed officers. It hasn't stopped the incidents. Some of my men report hearing voices in the corridors, whispering their names. One refuses to step foot in the school again. I don't command cowards, gentlemen — whatever is happening in that building is not natural."
The silence that followed was suffocating. Investigator Rourke shifted nervously in his seat, flipping a page.
Rourke: "With respect, the students' testimonies remain… consistent. Shadows. Whispers. The substitute teacher, Aveline. And—" he hesitated, his pen tapping — "the Moore girl."
George's jaw tightened. His voice, when it came, was calm but razor-edged.
George Moore: "Say her name properly, Rourke. Gemma. You're circling her like a predator without claws. Either present your proof, or don't waste my time."
Director Hale cleared his throat.
Hale: "George… you must understand. It's not just about your daughter. It's about perception. The girl has been at the center of every incident. Silence, isolation — she is an easy symbol for fear. And symbols spread faster than facts."
Lucy finally spoke, her voice smooth but firm, cutting into the air like glass.
Lucy Moore: "Symbols are dangerous, yes. But so are reckless officials eager to pin their failures on a child. You want order? Find the truth. Don't make a scapegoat."
Her words carried weight — not emotional, not hysterical, but precise. Several officials averted their eyes.
Clarke exhaled slowly, as if weighing his next words.
Clarke: "And what if the truth is worse than a scapegoat? What if the teacher and the girl are connected? What if this silence of hers isn't a condition, but… a weapon?"
The words settled like a stain across the table.
George leaned back slightly, a shadow of a smirk pulling at his mouth.
George Moore: "Be careful, Clarke. You're walking a line between inquiry and accusation. If you cross it, I'll make sure you regret it."
Colonel Raphael slammed his palm again.
Rapheal: "Enough! This is not a place for personal sparring. We need solutions. Either remove the teacher, contain the girl, or shut down the school before we bury another student."
The temperature in the room dropped. Lucy's fingers, folded neatly, tightened ever so slightly — the only outward sign of her restraint.
Director Hale leaned forward, voice low, dangerous.
Hale: "George… Lucy… you know as well as we do, if she's what some of us fear she is… the choice won't be yours to make. It will be the country's."
The words hung heavy.
George's stare didn't waver.
George Moore: "And yet, Hale, the country always forgets who holds its secrets in place."
A deadly silence followed.
The meeting broke not with agreement but with suspicion, the air thick with unspoken threats. And as the Moores left the room, it was clear — the walls were closing in tighter, and the line between family and country was beginning to blur.