The corridors of Eastbridge High were quieter than I expected for a Monday morning.
I stepped through the glass-front entrance, the scent of old books, floor polish, and something vaguely citrus greeting me like a memory I hadn’t lived.
The front desk clerk looked up with a polite smile.
"You must be Miss Valeska. Principal Deren is expecting you."
I nodded, murmuring a thanks, and followed the indicated hallway. My boots echoed lightly—sharp, measured. Just enough to sound normal.
The principal’s door was already cracked open. A tall man in a navy shirt looked up from behind his desk, expression neutral but assessing.
"Miss Valeska," he said, standing to shake my hand.
"Welcome to Eastbridge."
His grip was firm. Professional.
"Thank you Mr. Deren." I replied, voice steady.
"We’re glad to have you. Your credentials are impressive," he said, gesturing to the chair across from his.
"Biology, right?"
"Yes," I said.
"Senior level."
He nodded, tapping the top sheet.
"You’ll be in Room 2F. Labs are already stocked, but if you need specialized equipment, let us know. We keep most things in the science wing storage."
He slid a keycard across the desk.
"This gets you into the lab rooms, lounge, and staff lot. Schedule’s digital, but there’s a hard copy in your mailbox."
"Got it," I said, pocketing the card.
"And Miss Valeska?" he added before I turned.
I met his eyes.
"Eastbridge is quiet. We like it that way."
I gave a tight, professional smile.
"So do I."
The staffroom door creaked open under my hand. I stepped inside, keeping my gaze low but my senses wide open.
Muted chatter. The smell of burnt coffee. A microwave humming somewhere in the corner.
A cluster of teachers laughed softly near the windows, papers tucked under their arms. Names I didn’t know, faces I wouldn’t remember unless I had to.
"Did you see what Cara wore yesterday? She’s sixteen, not twenty-six," one of them whispered.
"…another budget cut. Third this month," someone muttered over their coffee cup.
"…heard a student fainted in chem lab last week. No details, though."
I didn’t react. Just moved to the far table, placed my bag down.
Conversation paused—just for a beat. A few heads turned. Assessing. Curious.
"Hi there," said a woman near the coffee machine. Mid-forties, lanyard twisted in her fingers.
"You must be the new hire."
I gave a small nod.
"Sera Valeska. Biology."
"Ah! Right—Mr. Deren mentioned you'd be starting today." She smiled.
"I’m Mrs. Elwin. English."
I offered a polite nod in return.
"Nice to meet you."
A man nearby added,
"You’re taking over Mr. Kinley’s classes, yeah? Poor guy—retired mid-year."
"Something like that," I said, keeping my tone neutral.
"Welcome to Eastbridge," another offered.
I murmured a thanks, then stepped toward the schedule board, scanning for my name. Room 2F. Second period.
They returned to their chatter, but I could still hear them. The things they didn’t say directly.
"She seems... serious."
"Quiet type."
"She’s probably just nervous."
I wasn’t. Never.
Just careful. Always careful.
The hallway buzzed with early chatter. Students shuffled in loose groups, lockers clanging shut, laughter bouncing off the walls. I walked through it all unnoticed, which was how I preferred it.
Room 2F sat at the far end—second floor, east wing. I moved briskly, heels soft against the tiled floor.
"Morning," a passing teacher said.
I gave a nod, noncommittal.
I reached the classroom just before the bell. Slid the door open. Empty for now.
Good.
I stepped inside, flicked on the lights. The scent of old wood and printer ink clung to the air. I took in the lab tables, posters of DNA strands and cell diagrams, the cabinet full of beakers.
My fingers grazed the teacher’s desk. Familiar setup. Different city.
Different life.
The door behind me creaked. A student peeked in.
"Are you the new bio teacher?"
"Yes."
He nodded and slid into a seat.
More followed. Backpacks dropping. Chairs scraping. Voices rising and falling.
I stood at the front as the final bell rang.
"Good morning," I said, tone even.
"I'm Sera Valeska. I’ll be taking over this class from now on."
No warmth. No smile.
Just control.
The corridors had emptied hours ago. The building hummed with quiet efficiency—motion sensors dimmed the lights, polished floors reflected ceiling glow panels, and the smell of new textbooks still lingered in the prep room.
Eastbridge High was nothing like the places I’d taught before. It was cleaner. Sharper. Better funded. And yet it still felt foreign.
I stayed behind, finalizing lesson plans for the advanced biology section. Everything was digitized, seamless. But I didn’t trust systems I hadn’t built myself. So I worked through it manually—charting, cross-referencing, annotating like it gave me control over something.
It didn’t.
By the time I left, the sky had bled into a dark blue. The campus parking lot was nearly empty, just a few scattered vehicles under pale lamplight.
I got into my car and pulled out onto the quiet roads.
I didn’t drive home right away.
The city buzzed behind me, but I took the longer road—the one that curved past the lake on the east edge of Eastbridge.
The world thinned out here. No students. No voices. Just open space and the kind of silence you couldn’t buy inside city limits.
The lake shimmered under a half-moon, glass-still and silver-edged. I parked off the main path, stepped out, and let the night air cool the fire still smoldering under my skin.
A light breeze moved through the trees, lifting strands of my hair. I closed my eyes and listened.
Breathing slowed.
Shoulders eased.
The heat that usually curled under my palms faded down to a whisper.
I sat on a flat rock near the edge, arms wrapped around my knees, watching the water ripple in the dark. I didn’t think. I didn’t need to. Just let the quiet stretch.
For once, nothing chased me.
But peace never lasted long.
Headlights curved around the bend behind me, a car passing on the road above.
I stood.
Enough of this.
Back in the car, engine humming soft beneath me, I turned toward home. The streets were darker now. Thinner traffic. The hum of my tires filled the cabin—constant, familiar. The city lights glowed faintly in the distance.
Then came the jolt.
A sharp slam from behind jerked me forward in my seat. My fingers gripped the wheel, heart hammering once, hard.
I slammed the brake before I slowly exhaled.
Seriously?
I stepped out of the car, eyes already narrowing as I turned to inspect the damage. A modest dent in the rear bumper. Not terrible. But that wasn’t the point.
I stared down the clunky hatchback behind me like it had insulted my bloodline.
The driver door opened. A lanky guy stumbled out—mid-twenties, oversized hoodie, panicked face.
"Oh shit! It’s an Audi."
I didn’t blink.
"Yeah, that rear panel alone costs more than your monthly rent."
He blinked.
"Look, I–I didn’t see you stop–"
"Of course you didn’t," I snapped.
"Now how exactly do you plan on paying for that?"
Two more doors opened.
A girl emerged from the passenger side.
Then the rear door opened.
And the universe officially decided to mock me.
Zane.
I stared at him, ice trickling down my spine.
Of course.
Of course, it had to be him.
He froze when he saw me, like he wasn’t sure if I was real or if his mind conjured me out of guilt or obsession or… whatever else burned in his eyes.
"Jin!"
The girl looked mildly murderous.
"Seriously? Again?"
"Oh my god," she groaned.
"I told you not to freaking drive!"
"It was a tap Mira!" Jin hissed.
"She stopped too fast–"
"She was supposed to stop, genius! It’s called a red light!"
Zane stepped closer.
"Sera,"
Mira narrowed her eyes, looking between me and Zane.
"Do you know her?"
Jin rubbed the back of his neck.
"You know this woman?"
Zane’s gaze flicked to me, then back to them.
"She’s a neighbor."
"Neighbor?" Mira repeated, surprised.
I shot Zane a cold glare.
"You’ve noticed."
"You okay?" Zane asked.
"I’m fine," I said sharply.
"And I’d like my bumper back the way it was. Now."
"I can cover it," Zane offered, pulling out his wallet.
I stared at him.
Of course he would. Ready to play savior.
"I wasn’t talking to you," I muttered.
Mira was still lecturing Jin.
"First, you broke the beaker. Then you spill coffee on my laptop, and now you rear-end a stranger who's clearly not in the mood–"
"I said I was sorry!"
"I don’t want your apology," I snapped.
"I want my car fixed."
I pointed at the back of the vehicle.
"That’s a 2023 Audi RS 7. Rear sensors. Custom body. You think bumping into it’s just going to cost a hundred bucks and an apology?"
Silence dropped.
Zane’s gaze hadn’t left me once.
He stepped forward again.
"Sera, seriously, let me help–"
I turned, eyes sharp.
"How? You planning to fix it with your abandoned carrot, or were you going to sprint back to the scene like last time?"
His mouth opened. Closed.
Mira choked.
"I–okay, fair," Zane muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.
I shot him a glare sharp enough to draw blood.
"Save it. It's not your car. I’ll send the repair invoice to your friend here. Hope he likes commas."
Jin made a strangled noise.
"I really just wanted to try the new music system..."
"Yeah?" I snapped.
"Next time try it without launching into a luxury sedan."
Mira smacked his arm.
"You’re paying, dumbass."
Zane looked like he wanted to say more—but thought better of it.
Wise choice.
I looked straight at the hoodie guy.
"Your number."
Jin blinked.
"Uh–"
I raised a brow.
"Relax. I’m not asking you out. I'm making sure you don’t vanish into thin air."
Jin’s eyes widened.
"Uh… yeah, sure."
I held out my phone and he typed it in.
I turned without another word, slipped back into the Audi, and slammed the door.
Through the glass, their voices still carried faintly.
"She looks like a dangerous creature," Jin muttered.
"I swear to god I almost cried."
"She should’ve killed you," the girl—Mira snapped.
"That bumper looked like it cost more than your entire existence."
"She’s always like that," Zane said quietly. Almost… not surprised.
Then the voices faded—muffled by the engine, the distance, the rising hum in my head.
I slid the my car into the parking spot outside the apartment building. The night was quiet, thick with stillness. Inside, the apartment felt cold—too empty, too silent.
Carefully, I lined up my boots by the door, heels together, toes pointed out. No detail overlooked. The familiar ache along my spine flickered briefly as I moved.
Dropping my bag, I pulled out my phone. My fingers tapped out the message I’d been holding back all day.
To: EK
>“They found me at the grave. How the hell did they know?”
I hit send.
Almost immediately, the reply came.
EK:
>“Tomorrow night. 9 PM. The usual place.”
The usual place. The words carried a weight—a history, a promise of answers.
I set the phone face down on the table and lowered myself into the chair, the screen’s faint glow still pulsing beneath the glass—like the message hadn’t finished echoing yet.
Outside, the wind curled past the glass, rustling the edges of the curtain like fingers searching for entry. The room was dim—lit only by the faint spill of streetlight seeping through the blinds, carving silver lines across the floor.
I didn’t move.
My back stayed straight against the chair, hands resting calmly on my knees. Every breath was measured, every thought sharp and deliberate.
The clock on the wall ticked forward.
Tomorrow night. 9 PM.
The words hung in my mind, cold and metallic, like a key turning in a door long shut.
I wasn’t afraid.
Just… still.
Coiled.
Waiting.
And the night stretched—the darkness wasn't done with me.
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