The staffroom smelled of burnt coffee and old chalk, but tonight it reeked of fear.
The teachers weren't whispering anymore. They were shouting.
"I won't step foot in that classroom again if she is there!" one teacher barked, slamming her hand against the table. Her voice cracked, but her eyes gleamed with panic.
Another snapped, "You think I'll risk my life? Students collapsing, missing—symbols scrawled in blood—don't pretend this is coincidence!"
Voices rose, overlapping in a storm of dread.
"She's cursed—"
"—Every incident, she's nearby!"
"—For God's sake, we can't keep pretending—"
At the head of the table, Principal Morgan struggled to maintain control. Her face was pale, sweat slicking her temples. She raised her hand for silence, but the chaos swallowed her whole.
"I said enough!" she roared finally, her voice thundering over the room stilled, but just barely.
Morgan's jaw trembled. "These are children you're talking about. We do not accuse a student without evidence."
"Evidence?" one of the senior teachers snapped. "How much more do you need? Another corpse? Another missing child?"
Another teacher, her voice brittle with hysteria, shouted, "Remove Gemma Moore from the school before this place turns into a graveyard!"
The words hung in the air like a death sentence.
In the corner of the room, Miss Aveline sat silently. She didn't argue. Didn't defend. Didn't intervene. She only smiled faintly, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Her eyes gleamed as if she were savoring every second of the chaos.
Principal Morgan noticed her, and her stomach dropped. Why isn't she saying anything? Why does she look like she's enjoying this?
She turned back to the staff. "Listen to yourselves," she rasped. "You're letting fear dictate your reason. Gemma Moore is innocent until proven otherwise."
"Innocent?" a teacher scoffed bitterly. "Tell that to the missing boy's mother."
The room erupted again. Chairs scraped, fists slammed against tables. Fear had become anger, and anger was turning to mutiny.
For the first time, Morgan felt it slipping out of his hands. The teachers weren't just afraid anymore—they were united against the girl.
And behind it all, in that suffocating tension, Aveline's soft voice finally slipped through.
"Perhaps," she murmured, so gently the room fell quiet just to hear her, "the silence isn't innocence. Perhaps it's… a mask."
Dozens of eyes turned toward her. She met them calmly, her smile widening by a fraction.
"After all," she continued, tilting her head, "what kind of child stays silent for eight years… and why?"
A ripple of unease coursed through the room. Even the boldest teachers faltered.
Morgan's fists clenched. She wanted to scream at her, to silence her, but the words stuck in her throat.
Because deep down, she had no answer either.