L I R A

I don’t breathe at first. None of us do. The word THREE still sits on the tile like it’s waiting for an answer, like I owe it something. My skin prickles, frost crawling up my ankles even though the twins pushed it back. Ezra’s hand is wrapped around mine. I don’t remember him grabbing it. His thumb trembles. Callen doesn’t shake at all. He just stares at the word like it confirms whatever nightmare he already believed.

No one talks. Not even Ryke. That’s how I know we’re not overreacting. The room feels colder, like the fog left its breath behind. I’m the one who finally whispers, “We need to get out of here.” No one disagrees.

The second we step into the hallway, sound slams into me. Not screaming—whispering. Hissing threads of rumor weaving around lockers and clustering near students who definitely should be in class. Every head turns. People look at me like I’m radioactive, like frost might leak from my sleeves if they blink too slow.

Ezra moves closer, a half-step, like he wants to shield me but isn’t sure if it would help. Callen lingers near the door, hood low, scanning everything. Someone gasps, “That’s her,” and five phones lift. I want to sink into the floor, but instead I walk. Stopping feels dangerous now, like stillness is an invitation.

“Lira Vesper!” Pia Reyes practically teleports out from behind a row of lockers, ponytail swinging like she rehearsed it. She’s already filming. Of course she is.

“Tell my viewers what happened on that bus. I swear I had the footage, but it corrupted. Glitched into frost.”

Ezra steps in before I can speak, voice sharp. “Turn the camera off, Pia. Now.”

Pia blinks, startled. “Okay, but people are freaking out. Your name was on the strip, and then the frost..”

“Pia.” His voice cracks like ice. “Off.”

She lowers the camera. Wild. But her gaze stays glued to me, hungry, curious, scared. “It wrote something after you left. People saw. And now…” She shivers. “Now it’s all anyone is talking about.”

The hallway tightens around us, stares, whispers, rumor threads winding into a noose. Someone murmurs, “The bell called her.” Another: “The frost recognized her.” Then from near the lockers: “I heard the strip moved on its own.”

Callen’s head snaps toward that voice like he’s been struck. His eyes land on me next, sharp, unreadable. Protective? Angry? Scared? Ezra hears it too. He edges closer, like daring Callen to make a move.

I’m caught between them again, heat on one side, gravity on the other. My pulse is ahead of my brain. Callen’s eyes flick to my pocket, where the strip is hidden. Ezra almost touches my shoulder but pulls back, unsure if contact helps or hurts. It’s too much. Them. Me. The frost. The stares. I’m going to crack.

We’re nearly past the trophy case when the air shifts and something humming behind my ribs, a frequency sliding into place. My vision blurs, not from fear, but because the ink on the swim team banner… moves.

I freeze. “Lira?” Ezra asks instantly. Callen’s already watching me, jaw clenched. “It’s happening again.” The ink brightens beneath the glass, threads sharpening into frost-white veins, then fading. No one else sees it. Just me. And Callen. A chill rakes down my spine. The frost is following me. And now the ink is too.

Ezra steps in front of the case like he can logic it into submission. “We’re going to the council office. We need privacy. And answers. And..”

“No,” Callen cuts in. He doesn’t raise his voice, but it carries. “Taking her somewhere enclosed is the worst idea.”

Ezra spins. “You don’t get to decide what’s best for her.”

“And you do?” Callen’s gaze shifts to me like he can read something Ezra can’t or won’t.

My throat’s tight. “Can we not do this here?”

Callen doesn’t look away. “Then pick where we go.” Ezra waits for my answer like it matters more than oxygen. Before I can speak, the cold brushes the back of my neck. Every hair on my arms lifts. Drawn by instinct or something else I turn toward the window. Frost crawls from the corner, spidering upward like it’s sketching.

Someone gasps. “It’s writing again.” Ezra tries to block my view, but not fast enough. The frost doesn’t form a word. Just one trembling letter.

A crooked, slanted L. My initial. Then it melts, leaving nothing behind but its intent. Ezra herds us toward a back corridor study nook, one of the only empty spaces. Mara and Ryke trail behind, whispering, while Pia paces beside us like a news reporter embedded in a war zone.

“I’m just saying,” Pia breathes, “half the school thinks the bell picked her, the other half thinks this is some cult thing, and now people are posting theories that Callen is..”

“Pia,” Ezra warns.

She throws up her hands. “Fine! I’m shutting up. But your name is trending on Discord, and someone swears the frost spelled RUN earlier.”

My stomach flips. “Did it?”

She shrugs. “My video scrambled into static before it finished writing. But Lira…” Her voice softens. “Whatever this is, you’re the center of it.” I don’t want to be. But I am. We squeeze into the nook. Round table, mismatched chairs. Ordinary. Safe—almost. Then cold slithers beneath the table like something alive.

Callen moves first, crouching beside me. His wristband pulses once under his sleeve. Ezra sees. “What is that on your arm?”

Callen ignores him. “Stay still.”

A bulletin board flyer flutters to the floor. Harmless. But the ink stretches. Letters bend, pulled by invisible hooks.

PHOTOGRAPHY twists

Until it almost says:
PHOTOGRAPH LIRA

Then it snaps back to normal. Mara’s gripping her camera like a lifeline. “I’m not imagining that, right?” I wish she was.

Callen’s eyes meet mine. “It’s escalating. Faster every time you move.”

Ezra’s face shifts, logic cracking into fear. “It reacts to proximity. That means we need to track patterns, isolate..”

“This isn’t a science lab,” Callen snaps. “It’s hunting.”

Ezra bristles. “So what, we stand here looking mysterious?”

Callen leans in, closer than I expect. For a moment I think he’ll touch my face. He stops, just a breath away. “Tell me if you feel anything.” Ezra’s jaw clenches so hard I hear it grind. It would almost be funny, if frost wasn’t spelling out my death.

Mara speaks quietly. “Guys… something else is happening.” She flips her camera and shows us a photo from the archives, one she hadn’t shared.

The yearbook Voss opened. Except now, faces are missing. Not blurred. Erased. Blank silhouettes carved out with a scalpel of cold.

“Those weren’t gone in person,” she whispers. “They vanished after I took the photo.”

Ezra leans in, stunned. “That’s impossible.”

“It’s not,” Callen says. “It’s the ledger’s echo. When the bell shifts pieces on the list, everything connected moves with it.”

My stomach drops. “So the missing years..”

“are being rewritten,” Callen finishes. “And you’re in the crossfire.” I grip the table to stay upright.

Ryke leans back, pale. “So what do we do? Find a priest? An exorcist? A space heater?” Before anyone can answer, a metallic tink echoes from the hallway. A crow perches on a locker handle, inside the school and taps. Tink. Tink. Frost blooms outward where it taps. Letters form, slow and shaking:

LISTEN

It pulses once, then fades. The crow tilts its head at me, like it delivered the message personally.

Ezra grabs my arm. “We need to go. Now.” Callen’s already moving. Tension coils in him like he senses what’s coming. He’s right. We burst from the nook. The hallway stretches long and empty, the school holding its breath. Even the lights feel quieter.

Then. A metallic clatter. Something skids across the floor and spins before settling. Ezra stops short. Callen curses. Mara lifts her camera. I already know what it is. I shouldn’t. But I do. A thin metal strip lies on the floor, colder than anything else. Frost blooms in a halo around it.

A new name. Not mine. Stamped deep, grave-stone clear: RYKE SANTOS

Ryke chokes. “No. Nope. No, no—” Callen steps in front of the strip, like distance can protect us.

Ezra’s voice cracks. “We were right here. We were all together. Why him?” The strip vibrates once. Frost creeps toward Ryke’s shoes. And somewhere deep in the school, distant but unmistakable, the bell sighs.

Waiting.