The girl's words echoed after she left.
"You shouldn't be here."
They weren't said like a threat. Not like a warning.
More like a fact.
Elias stood in the hallway long after she was gone. The sound of distant lockers slamming, footsteps on linoleum, voices echoing down tiled walls—all of it felt far away.
His heart was beating too fast
Or maybe it wasn't his heart anymore.
He checked the clock.
Still twenty minutes until next class.
He didn't want to be around anyone.
He found a quiet place on the third floor—one of the side stairwells that students rarely used. The window was cracked, letting in a cold breeze. Dust curled in the sunlight.
Elias leaned against the wall and pulled up his sleeve.
The mark had spread.
Not much, but enough.
The black threads now reached his wrist, fine lines of smoke etched into flesh. They pulsed faintly, like embers under skin.
He flexed his fingers.
No pain.
But the world around him… wasn't still.
The wind didn't move right. The light bent oddly around his arm. He could hear faint things—whispers, scraping, like the air itself was uncomfortable with him being here.
"Containment degraded."
"Host resistance measured. 43%."
"Would you like to lower it further?"
"No," he whispered.
But something in his tone was unsure.
He didn't remember closing his eyes.
When he opened them, someone was standing at the top of the stairs.
Same girl.
She wasn't looking at him.
Just standing. Hands in her pockets. Head tilted slightly.
"How long have you been standing there?" Elias asked, voice too sharp.
She didn't flinch.
"Long enough," she said.
Elias's hand dropped to cover his arm.
Too late. She'd already seen.
"You saw it?" he asked.
She didn't nod. Didn't speak.
Just looked at him—eyes narrowed, searching.
Then she said:
"Your eyes. They're glowing again."
Elias turned away.
"It's nothing," he muttered.
"Sure," she said. "Looks like nothing."
He started to walk past her. She didn't move.
"Are you going to report me or something?" he asked, bitter.
"To who?" she replied.
That made him pause.
No one had come to question him. No staff. No police. No one had even mentioned the fire.
It was like the world had… chosen to forget.
"I don't want trouble," he said.
She finally moved—one slow step out of his way.
"You already have it," she said.
And walked down the stairs.
The air felt colder after she left.
Elias looked down at his hands.
They weren't shaking.
That scared him more than anything.