The next morning, the school was heavy with dread. The whispers from the staffroom the night before hadn't stayed there—they'd leaked into the halls, multiplying in the mouths of students. By sunrise, the air already felt cursed.
But no one was prepared for what they found.
The first scream came from a junior student on her way to class. Within minutes, half the school was pressed against the walls, staring at the corridor leading to the science wing.
Blood.
A thick smear of crimson streaked along the floor tiles, dragging across the walls as though something—or someone—had been pulled violently down the hallway. The metallic tang of it stung their noses, raw and suffocating.
Gasps and panicked murmurs rippled through the crowd.
"Oh my God—"
"Is that real blood?"
"Call the police!"
Teachers rushed to push students back, but they themselves were pale, trembling, their voices cracking.
"Back! Everyone back!"
The trail of blood grew worse the further it went—lines, arcs, then deliberate markings. Symbols scrawled in the same jagged Latin characters that had once marked the janitor's death.
At the far end of the corridor, something was written in dripping, uneven letters.
CHOICE.
The word dripped slowly down the wall, fat drops pattering against the floor.
Silence fell. No one dared move closer.
Then came the chaos.
Students screamed, some fainted, teachers panicked. A girl vomited on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. Principal Morgan's shouts barely carried over the noise as he ordered an evacuation.
"Get them out! Get them all out now!"
Police swarmed the school within the hour. Yellow tape sealed the hallways, officers with grim faces snapped pictures, muttering in clipped voices.
Gemma stood at the back of the dispersing crowd, her face unreadable as ever. But Gabriel, standing beside her, noticed her hand twitch once, almost as if to write something. Then it stilled again.
Mia clung to her backpack straps, shaking violently. "Gemma…" she whispered, staring at the word on the wall. "…what does it mean?"
Gemma didn't answer. Her gaze lingered on the dripping letters, her silence louder than any scream in that hallway.
From across the scene, Miss Aveline appeared, calm as ever. She stepped under the police tape without being stopped, her heels clicking softly against the blood-stained tiles. Officers glanced at her but didn't interfere—as if she were invisible to them, or untouchable.
She paused before the wall, head tilted. A small smile curled her lips as she whispered so low only the silence seemed to hear her:
"Finally… it begins."