The school felt wrong.
Not in the usual way, not in the way of Gemma's silence, but in a heavier way that seemed to cling to the walls like damp air.
Rows of desks stood half-empty, scattered gaps where students once sat. Some chairs still had bags on them, left behind as if their owners had been called away mid-class and never returned. The sound of chalk on the blackboard rang hollow in the quiet, every scrape dragging against nerves.
"Three more missing," someone whispered from the back. No one corrected them. No one dared to.
By now, everyone knew: Zoë Whitlock was not the only one.
The disappearances spread like rot. A boy who left for lunch and never came back. A girl who vanished on her way home, her shoes found neatly placed at the roadside. Another, gone in the night, the bedsheets cold and twisted.
The police made statements, parents shouted at gates, and Principal Morgan repeated words like "under control" and "investigation ongoing," but each morning the halls grew thinner, quieter. Fear had become the new uniform.
And still, Gemma sat there, in her usual place, eyes lowered, her silence louder than the empty seats around her.
Gabriel watched her from across the room. She didn't flinch, not even when whispers slithered past her like snakes.
It's her fault. She knows.
They started disappearing after Zoë.
She's the reason Aveline stares like that…
The teachers tried to keep order, but even they carried shadows under their eyes. Mr. Mike hands shook when he held the chalk. Mrs. Hailey kept losing her train of thought mid-lesson, glancing at the door as if expecting someone to walk in — or out.
One afternoon, as the bell rang, Gabriel caught them in the staffroom. He hadn't meant to listen, but the door was cracked open, their voices spilling into the hall.
"…same as before," Mrs. Hailey whispered. "The same pattern. Don't you remember?"
Mr. Mike reply came sharp: "Stop. You shouldn't even say it. Not after last time."
"But she was there—"
"Enough."
The silence that followed was heavier than their words. Gabriel's pulse thudded. He stepped away before they could see him, but the chill stayed in his bones.
---
At home, the storm raged louder.
Lucy paced the living room like a caged animal. "Do you hear them? Do you hear what they're saying about us? About her?" She jabbed a trembling finger toward Gemma, who sat by the window, unmoving. "They think she's cursed. They think she's—"
George slammed his fist on the table, the sound like a gunshot. "Enough, Lucy." His voice cut through her panic, low and dangerous. "You let them talk. You let them whisper. They will not touch my family."
Lucy flinched but didn't stop. "George, you don't understand. It's happening again. The same way—"
His glare froze her words in her throat. He leaned close, voice dropping to a growl. "Say it once more and you'll regret it."
Ryan, standing in the doorway, clenched his fists. His eyes burned toward Gemma. "You're all blind. She's at the center of this. She always has been. And you—" His voice cracked as he turned to Gabriel. "—you just keep defending her. Why? Why do you protect her?"
Gabriel couldn't answer. His throat was tight, his mind filled with fragments of overheard whispers, Latin scrawls, and Gemma's face — unreadable, untouchable.
Gemma never moved, never spoke, but the air around her was suffocating.
---
That night, someone painted on the school gates in dripping red letters:
"SHE REMEMBERS."
And for the first time, even Aveline hesitated when she passed Gemma in the hall.