E Z R A

The bell’s sigh won’t leave my head. It’s been hours. Maybe. I don’t know. The sun isn’t up yet, and I’m alone in the council room, lights off, because darkness feels less accusatory than fluorescent bulbs. My hands won’t stop shaking.

I keep hearing it, that low exhale like the school itself picked Ryke and wanted me to witness how little control I have. I should’ve seen it coming. My chalkboard is a mess, lines, arrows, timestamps, half-formed equations sprawled like someone shook the patterns loose. Nothing connects. Every time I try to trace a cause to effect, it collapses.

I rerun the moment in my head: frost crawling toward Ryke’s shoes, the strip vibrating like it wanted him specifically. Why him? Why then? We were all the same distance from the corridor. Same temperature. Same everything.

Except Lira. The frost followed her like a compass snapping north. And Callem, he moved first. Like he felt it. Like he always feels it. I can’t stand that he knows something I don’t. I pulled up Mara’s yearbook photo. The blank silhouettes are worse now. More faces wiped clean, surgical and precise. One shape looks fresh. Wrong. My brain keeps trying to remember who was there and can’t.

The bell didn’t just choose Ryke. It’s rearranging the board. The room temperature nosedives. Before I see it, I feel it: a cold line skating down my spine like an ice-dipped fingernail. The window fogs over, first breath-fog, then thicker. Sharper. Dragging itself into shape.

I grab a marker and rush across the room. If it’s writing again, I need it. Need anything that isn’t vanishing in front of me. A line. A curve. A letter, maybe. But the harder I focus, the blurrier it gets, like the glass is refusing to resolve.

“What the hell,” I whisper. The frost shivers at my voice. A hairline cracks spiders outward. I try to copy the shape, but the marker smears. Again. Again. Like it refuses to transfer.

Chalk dust on the ledge crystallizes. The frost is trying to say something. But whatever language it’s using, I’m not built to read it. The board in front of me is chaos: years circled, names crossed out, arrows pointing nowhere. There has to be a rule. The bell’s not random. It never has been.

I drag Ryke’s name to the center: proximity, witness count, emotional charge, environmental triggers. Lira’s in half the variables. Callen’s in the rest. I opened Ryke’s student file. It loads slower than usual, like it’s deciding whether it should exist. Birthdate, grades, present. Extracurriculars.. gone.

“No, no, no…” I refresh. Nothing. Names aren’t supposed to be erased before the toll. They vanish after. Unless the strip doesn’t just predict. Unless it initiates the rewrite.

I pulled up an older article, another “sudden transfer.” The girl’s face is gone. I remember it being there. The yearbook photo pulses. Blank. Hollow. Waiting. Ryke’s outline shouldn’t be fading yet. He’s alive. Down the hall. Breathing.

So why is the ledger already acting like he’s gone? Why does it feel like something’s moving the pieces before we know the game?

By the time I leave the council room, the first bell hasn’t even rung, but the halls are buzzing. News here travels faster than physics. Every glance feels like a spotlight. Everyone waiting for me to announce when Ryke will die.. today? Tomorrow? Between Bio and gym? I shove my hands into my pockets and try to look normal. Like I didn’t just spend the morning arguing with frost.

“Did you see the video?” someone whispers.

“Apparently the frost spelled her name again.”

“No, it was RUN. Or maybe DIE. My cousin said..”

I pick up speed. History’s first period. Voss looks like he spent the night hiding in a closet. He jumps when a binder drops. Won’t look at me. Or Lira. Or the windows. When someone asks about the yearbook photos, he practically slams the textbook shut.

“No more questions about archival irregularities. Focus on today’s lecture.” 

Right. Because pretending this place isn’t eating itself is clearly the answer. Lira slides into the seat beside me late. Hair damp. Hands shaking. Callen watches her from across the room, jaw tight. The air between them feels charged. Static before a storm. I look away.

Voss dismisses us early. Everyone bolts like the room’s cursed. Maybe it is. I’m packing up when the air shifts again—heavier.

Callen.

He appears beside my desk like he teleported. “You didn’t sleep,” he says.

“Did you?” I shoot back. He looks like he hasn’t slept since the first toll last semester.

“You shouldn’t be mapping patterns without real data,” he says.

My jaw locks. “And you shouldn’t lurk like you’re auditioning for a ghost story.”

“You’re chasing the wrong variables.”

“I’m chasing all of them.”

“That’s the problem.”

I stand. “If you know something, say it. Otherwise, get out of my way.”

He steps closer. Too close. “The bell doesn’t like being studied. It hits harder when she’s anxious. Your charts won’t save Ryke.”

“You don’t get to talk about him like he’s already gone.”

“I’m talking about what’s real. You can’t logic your way out of a hunt.” He says hunt like it’s sacred. Or fatal. I’m about to shove him when Lira appears. Her hand brushes my desk, barely a touch but enough to break the spell.

“Can we not do this in a classroom?” she says. Callen doesn’t apologize. Just nods. And for a moment, something soft flickers in his eyes. My stomach twists. If he acts like this with people around, I don’t want to know what he’s like when they’re not.

Back in the council room, I drag them both with me because neither can be trusted not to stumble into frost. Lira sits, arms wrapped around herself. Callen leans against the wall, tracking every breath she takes. I flip the board. Fresh slate.

“Sit,” I say to Lira, softer than I mean to. “I need to chart proximity.”

Callen raises a brow. “She’s not a lab rat.”

“And this isn’t a barn. You want to help? Shut up for two minutes.”

I start with him.

CALLEN – proximity: 3 feet.
CALLEN – observed triggers: frost, ink shift.

The data behaves. Fine. I erase and start with Lira.

LIRA – proximity: variable.
LIRA – observed triggers: all of them.

The chalk stutters. A crack forms across the board. Literally. The chalk snaps.

“What the hell?” I grab a new piece. But as soon as I write her name, frost veins creep across the board, circling the letters like quarantine. Lira’s breath hitches.

“Okay,” I say. “That’s… new.” I wiped it clean. Try again with my name.

E Z R A.

The board blanks. Not wipes but blanks. Everything vanishes. My stomach drops.

Callen steps forward. “Told you.”

“Shut up,” I breathe. The ledger isn’t just erasing patterns. It’s erasing me. I turn away before they see my face. My throat feels scraped raw. I’ve always trusted logic. If I could measure it, I could control it. But the bell just deleted me like noise. I sink into the chair across from Lira. She’s watching me with that worried tilt to her brow.

“You okay?” she asks. No. Not even close.

But I nod. “Yeah. Just… recalibrating.” She almost reaches for my hand. Stops. It almost hits harder than if she’d done it.

“Ezra,” she whispers, “what if the board’s right? What if this is… about me?”

“It is about you,” I say, too fast. “But that doesn’t mean you’re doomed.” Callen shifts, but I don’t look at him. I look at her.

“You’re not alone in this,” I say. “I’m not letting anything happen to you. Or Ryke. I don’t care what the frost thinks it knows.” Her eyes soften. And for one second, I let myself imagine what it would feel like to hold her hand. But Callen pushes off the wall, and the spell breaks. Her gaze flicks to him. Something unspoken passes between them. And I feel jealousy punch through my ribs.

I stand. “We need more data. I’m going to check the east hallway.” And maybe breathe before I drown in losing her to someone who reads her better than I ever could.

The hallway is too quiet. The kind of silence where even sound holds its breath. Nothing on the windows. Normal temperature. Like the world’s pretending it’s not on fire. I head toward the main stairwell and freeze.

Voices. Close. Urgent. Lira. And Callen. I don’t mean to eavesdrop. But the second I hear her whisper, “Do you feel it too?” I stop breathing.

They’re near the window. Frost curls behind the glass, responding. Callen holds her wrist. His thumb brushes the inside, like he’s checking her pulse. Or sharing one.

“I can’t block all of it,” he murmurs. “But I can dampen the signal if you stay close.” She looks at him, raw and scared.

“Why you?” she asks.

His jaw flexes. “Because I hear it too.” Something in me cracks. She steps closer. Barely. But enough. The frost brightens, like it approves. My pulse hits my throat. Callen lifts his head, sensing me. Of course he does. Our eyes lock.

And Lira.. She doesn’t realize I’m there. Not until the frost behind her slashes down in a violent streak, carving a shape I can’t read. But Callen can. His face tightens. She turns. Sees me. And her expression splinters. And I don’t know if it’s because she’s scared, or because she knows I saw everything.