Ophelia waited. Her body was paralyzed, her muscles locked in the fetal crouch position. Was it ten minutes already? An hour? The clock had shattered along with the glass.
Slowly, agonizingly, she lowered her hands from her mouth. Her movements were fluid and silent now, driven purely by the instinct to survive. She crept out of the stall and pressed her ear against the cool metal of the door. She can hear faint voices drifted down the hall.
"I have to go back! She's still out there! I have to find her!"
A man's frantic cry, laced with panic and genuine despair. Ophelia stiffened, her blood turning to ice. She knew that voice. It was the voice that had once promised her forever, it was Lucas.
"SHUT THE HELL UP, LUCAS! DO YOU WANT TO LEAD THOSE THINGS RIGHT TO US?!" Another voice roared back, harsh and devoid of sympathy.
Ophelia's fingers trembled against the cold knob, her breath hitching in her throat. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, she cracked the heavy door open, allowing just a sliver of the hallway's harsh light to slice into the darkness where she was crouching.
The air outside was thick with the sounds of a struggle, the squeal of rubber soles against ceramic floor and the heavy thud of bodies colliding with metal. Ophelia watched in horror as they dragged him forward. They had emerged from the very same door she had been frantically banging on for help just minutes ago.
"Hold him down, dammit! Grab his legs!" a deep voice bellowed, breathless and strained.
"I've got him! Just watch his teeth!"
Ophelia pressed her eye to the crack, her heart hammering against her ribs. The scene before her was a blur of violence. Two senior boys, broad-shouldered were wrestling a third figure against the lockers. The metal doors rattled violently under the impact, echoing like gunshots in the empty corridor.
He thrashed with a strength that shouldn't have been possible for his size, head whipping back and forth. His eyes were wide, the whites completely consumed by an angry, bloodshot red that seemed to glow with madness.
"GET... OFF... ME!" Lucas shrieked, the words tearing from his throat raw and distorted. He lunged, snapping his jaws at the arm of the senior on his left.
"The heck, he's hysterical!" the senior yelled, recoiling but tightening his grip on Lucas's collar.
"LANA IS OUT THERE ALONE, YOU IDIOT! DON'T YOU HAVE ANY HEART? DON'T YOU CARE ABOUT HER AT ALL, HUH?!" Lucas screamed, fighting against the grip of his friends, his voice raw with grief and guilt.
The second boy, his face tight with strained patience, shoved Lucas against the wall. "IF LANA'S STILL OUT THERE, SHE'S PROBABLY ALREADY DEAD, MAN!" He drew back a heavy fist and delivered a sickening punch to Lucas's stomach. Lucas crumpled to the floor with a choked sound, instantly silenced, his body trembling. "Get a grip! We have to move! Now!"
Ophelia watched the scene from the narrow crack, a cold knot tightening in her stomach.
Lana.
He was screaming for Lana. The girl he had left Ophelia for months ago. Not Ophelia. Never Ophelia.
Across the hallway, a girl hiding in an adjacent classroom doorway caught Ophelia's eye. The girl whispered rapidly to someone behind her, "She's alive... the girl is still alive."
Ophelia stepped back into the shadows of the restroom, the glimmer of hope that had sparked in her chest turning cold, bitter, and sharp. Alive— yes. But Johanne was gone. Dev was gone.
She tightened her grip on the frayed canvas strap of her bag. Survival wasn't about being strong or brave or loved. It was about refusing to die.
Ophelia pushed the restroom door open and stepped out into the bloodstained, echoing silence of the hallway, utterly alone, and perfectly resolved. She slipped into the silent, damaged classroom of hers, the air thick with the metallic scent of smoke and the absence of life. She was walking through a mess. Her eyes, red and swollen, scanned the scattered desks until she found her backpack, pulling it onto her shoulders.
She reached into her backpack, and inside, a soft, worn cotton. It was the oversized, charcoal-gray hoodie Dev had lent her just a week ago. As she pulled it out, the faint scent of him— cedar and old paper, a memory of a happier time with them.
Putting it on used to feel like a hug now, as she dragged the fabric over her head, it felt heavy, like arms covering her to comfort. It was a suffocating memory that was rapidly turning to ash.
She retreated to the back of the room, wedging herself into the tight, dust-caked corner where the wall met the whiteboard. The shadows there were deep, smelling of dry-erase markers and neglect. Only when she was tucked away, her knees drawn up to her chin, did the dam finally break.
The silence of the room was shattered by a low, ragged sob that tore from her throat, echoing unnervingly off the tile floor.
"Please... make it stop," she gasped, burying her face into the crook of her arm. The rough polyester blend scratched against her wet cheek, grounding her in the misery. "Why is this happening?"
She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting images she knew she would never scrub from her mind. "It should have been them who's alive now..." she whispered, the confession tasting like truth. "Why does it have to be me who survives? I don't know how to do this alone."
She curled tighter, making herself infinitely small, finding a terrible, fragile solace in the isolation. For a moment, the world was just the dark behind her eyelids and the rhythmic shaking of her own shoulders.
*Bzzt-RIIING!*
The sound was a surprise. Her phone's ringtone, once a cheerful pop song, shrieked through the silence like a fire alarm. It was violent and jarring, an assault on her tranquility that threatened to give away her position to anything lurking in the halls.
"Holy meatballs!" she hissed, her heart leaping into her throat.
Panic seized her. She scrambled upright, swiping away hot, blinding tears with the heel of her hand. Her other hand clawed frantically through the chaotic mess of her bag, fingers fumbling over pens and wrappers, desperate to silence the device before it killed her.
Ophelia's thumb slid across the screen blindly, her only thought to stop the noise before it gave her away. She pressed the cold glass against her ear, curling into a ball.
"Hello?" Her voice was barely a breath, a tight knot of forced composure threatening to unravel.
"Ophelia! Oh, thank God..." the relief in her father's voice was immediate, washing over her. It was stripped of his usual stern authority. "We've been trying... I didn't know if..." He trailed off, his voice cracking under the weight of unspoken terror. "I knew you'd be alright. I knew it."
"H-how are you holding up, Papa?" she stammered. The familiar timbre of his voice was an anchor in the storm, keeping her from drifting entirely into panic.
"We're secure, Lia. We're safe," he insisted quickly. "Your mother and Leo are right here at the residence with me. The emergency broadcast towers are still operational, it's a miracle we got through—"
The line went silent. It wasn't a dropped call but a dead space, heavy and suffocating. Ophelia's anxiety spiked instantly. She stopped breathing, straining her ears against the speaker, terrified that the line had been cut or that something had found him.
Then, she heard it, a loud, wet sniffle. A ragged inhale. Her father was crying. "Sorry," he croaked after a moment, the sound thick with mucus and emotion. "Just... give me a second."
Ophelia squeezed her eyes shut, fresh tears leaking into the fabric of Dev's hoodie.
"Listen to me," he said, his voice hardening with renewed resolve. "I am contacting your uncle for immediate extraction. He has a team. But until then... Ophelia, you have to survive this. You must be safe, alright? Promise me."
"Yes, Papa," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I promise."
"Stay where you are. Hide low, keep silent, and trust no one until they get there. I'll call you the second I have an update. We love you, my daughter. So much."
"I love you all," she choked out, the words scraping her throat. "Please stay safe... Wait for me to return home."
The call ended with a soft beep, plunging the room back into silence. But the silence felt different now. It wasn't empty anymore. Ophelia slumped against the wall, the phone clutched to her chest like a holy relic. A sudden, overwhelming gratitude crashed into her.
The silence after the phone call was no longer scary. It felt like a protective blanket. Ophelia leaned her head back against the wall, watching the dim light hit the floor. For the first time since the whole chaos started, her heart began to slow down. She felt a tiny spark of hope. They were safe. The world hadn't ended completely, and for now, this dark classroom felt like a hiding spot instead of a trap. She pulled the sleeves of her oversized hoodie over her hands and took a deep breath.
But peace was gone in a second.
The classroom door was kicked in with terrifying force. It slammed against the wall so hard the sound echoed like a gunshot through the small room. Ophelia froze. She pressed her back against the wall so hard the edges of the wall dug into her skin. A dark shadow stood in the doorway, blocking the flickering lights from the hall. The safety she had felt just moments ago was completely destroyed.