A stray dog sat on the curb. It stared at them. Its eyes were glassy like marbles. Ryke waved a hand at it. The dog did not move. It tilted its head a little, as if it was listening to something far away.

“This place is getting weird,” Ryke said under his breath.

“It’s not the place,” Ezra said. “It’s the bell.”

Lira frowned. “How can you be sure?”

“Because I’ve read about this,” Ezra said. “When the bell rings, the town changes. It bleeds into something else. Things go wrong in small ways first. Lights. Clocks. Animals. Not just for the one it marked.”

“How do you know it marked anyone this time?” Lira asked.

Ezra hesitated. He looked at Lira and then away. “The crow wasn’t random,” he said quietly.

A car rolled past. Its tires hissed on wet pavement. The headlights cut a clean line through the fog. The light made the fog look like a wall and then the wall closed again.

Callen had been silent since the stairs. He spoke now. “Last time, the bell marked four people.”

They all stopped walking.

“What do you mean ‘last time’?” Lira asked. Her voice sounded steady. Her hands did not feel steady.

Callen seemed to realize what he had said. He did not take it back. “Fifty-two years ago,” he said. “Four names. Four deaths. All within a week.”

Ryke let out a low whistle. “And you are just now telling us this?”

“I wanted to see if it was the same pattern,” Callen said. His tone was flat. “It is.”

Lira’s stomach dropped like she had missed a step. “So we’re—”

“Yes,” Callen said. He did not add anything to that word.

They stood there for a few seconds like the sidewalk had turned to ice. The night around them kept going. A TV flickered blue in an apartment window across the street. A couple walked by with paper cups in their hands. They did not look at the kids by the bakery. They did not see the way the fog curled around their ankles like it had changed its mind about where the ground was.

Ezra checked his watch. He did not look at the time. “We should get off the street,” he said.

They started moving again. No one suggested a plan. No one had one that felt safe to say out loud. They passed the diner. Two old men sat in the front booth with coffee cups. Lira heard one say, “Remember the night all the clocks went backward?” The other shook his head and said, “Don’t start.” Lira looked away before they could see her looking.

They reached the academy gates. The iron bars were closed now. The lock hung straight and heavy. Inside the fence, the quad lay empty and pale. The tower stood like a dark tooth.

They split up just before midnight. It was not a long discussion. They were all tired in the same way. They all wanted to see their own rooms and walls and lamps and tell themselves those things were enough. They promised to text. They promised to meet at dawn. They said the word “dawn” like it had power.

Lira walked home under the low silver fog. The sound of her steps felt too loud and then too quiet. Mailboxes lined the street like small metal heads. The houses looked the same as always. Porches. Lights. A bike on a lawn. She kept expecting the street to bend in a new place. It did not. She was not sure if that was better or worse.

A crow sat on the roof of a car. It watched her pass. It made no sound. She watched it for a beat and then forced her eyes forward.

She went inside. The lights in the kitchen were soft and yellow. The sink was clean. A spoon lay on a folded towel to dry. The normal things in the room did not make her feel normal. Her mother had left a note by the kettle: Good night. You’re strong. I love you. Lira read it twice and could not hold on to it.

She went up the stairs. Family photos climbed the wall beside her. Smiles behind glass. At the landing she paused and listened. The house breathed like an old animal asleep. The air was colder than it should have been.

Her room looked the same. Bed unmade. Pile of clothes on the chair. Homework on the desk. The window was cracked open for air. She closed it. The cold stayed.

Her phone buzzed with a text.

Ezra: Home?

Lira: Yeah.

Ezra: Good. Try to sleep.

Ryke: lol sure

Callen did not text.

Lira sat by the window. The desk lamp cast a small circle of light. Moths bumped the glass once and then gave up. The fog pressed against the pane. It looked like the night was leaning in to look at her.

She looked back at the day in her head. The tower. The shape on the wall. The scrape. The gate closing by itself. The clock in the bakery window. The dog on the curb. Callen saying “Last time.” Ezra saying “The crow wasn’t random.” Ryke trying to make a joke and failing.

She could not make the pieces sit down and behave. They moved on their own.

Her phone buzzed again.

Ezra: We need rules. Tomorrow. In the morning.

Lira: Okay.

She turned the phone face down. She lay back on her bed. She did not sleep. She drifted and then rose. She counted the slow red numbers of her alarm clock. It glitched once and then corrected itself. She wanted that to be funny. It was not.

When the chime came, it was soft. It was almost kind. It came from nowhere she could point to. It came from everywhere.

Bong.

Her breath stopped and then started again wrong. The sound went through the mattress, through her spine, into her teeth. It was not loud. It did not need to be.

Bong.

The second sound folded over the first. It did not feel like two sounds. It felt like one sound that wanted company.

In the space after the second chime, Lira heard a whisper. It did not come from the hall. It did not come from the street. It did not come from her room, though it was in her room.

It said her name.