The board beneath me cracked and dropped fast. I shut my eyes, bracing for impact—but just before I hit, the cuffs snapped open. I fell hard, but not far. A guard caught me, yanking my arms behind my back, his grip so tight my bones ached.
I squirmed. Then came the sting in my neck. Another injection. And everything went dark again.
That was my routine ever since I left that cursed school: wake, drown, faint, repeat. I was running out of strength—and hope. I didn't even know if anyone was looking for me. And I still had no clue what they wanted with that damn sphere.
I sacrificed everything to save lives, but it wasn't enough. Students still died—too many. It all felt pointless.
If only I had acted sooner. Maybe they'd still be alive. Maybe their families wouldn't be burning with grief. They needed justice. Closure.
They got it—for everyone but me.
Cris wasn't angry because she couldn't bury me. She was angry because she had lost someone who was more than a sister. That grief was pulling her apart.
"Why isn't anyone looking for her?" Cris paced her room, steps sharp and frantic.
"Will you please stop?" Don rubbed his brow. "We're just as worried as you are." His voice was flat, his eyes always red.
"Are you? Has anyone done *anything*?" Cris stopped. Her voice trembled with rage. "She gave herself up for us—and we're doing *nothing*."
She dropped to the floor, hugging her knees. "It's been weeks. No sign. We don't even know if she's…" Her voice broke into sobs.
Shawn knelt beside her, touching her shoulder. "Don't say that."
Don sat with them.
"I ask Mrs. Leonardo every day," Shawn said. "And I'll keep asking. We're not giving up."
While they held on to hope, I opened my eyes again, still in the same place. This time, dry. This time, facing the ceiling. But the cuffs still held my wrists and ankles.
The right wall held a smeared mirror. The left chains, straps, and blood splattered everywhere.
Two guards stood at the foot of the board. Watching. Waiting.
Before Monroe comes, I need to escape.
I tested the restraints. No give. But the board beneath me—it shifted slightly. Loose. Not useless.
I just had to think about how I could use it to my advantage.
Monroe stepped in and smiled. "Excited for a game?"
"Nah. But it's better than hanging. Not really my thing," I muttered.
She sighed. "Ugh… I'm tired."
"I get it. Those gowns must be exhausting. When I was little, I'd ditch dresses just to breathe." I kept rambling, trying to annoy her, push her into slipping up.
But it was wearing me down. The silence, the needles, the pain. It was too much.
"Enough," she hissed.
I pressed on. "This board feels loose. Is it for roasting? Terrible design—I'm not even cooking evenly. I mean my back won't get proper heat."
She laughed. "You know, I like you. If only I had time to enjoy more of your nonsense." She turned to the guards. "Show her what this board is really for."
They grabbed the board and tilted it sideways. I hung again, now facing the wall.
Monroe pulled a flask from her belt, brushing my hair behind my ear. "Do you know what this is?"
Before I could speak, she smiled. "Let me tell you a story."
A guard brought her a chair. She sat.
"Long ago, there was a girl named Nixie—the first Banshee. Born in a human village, now called the Land of Despair. Her parents died the day she was born. All she had was her sister.
She couldn't speak, but she saw death. Felt it. And she sang melodies people called the Song of Death. The villagers feared her. Hated her. She and her sister were cast out like a curse.
Only the village elder defended them. But after he died, the village turned on her.
One day, Nixie returned from the lake and found her sister surrounded. They were demanding her. She ran to protect her, but they dragged her away. Her sister tried to help. They shoved her. Her head hit a rock.
Nixie turned to see her sister collapse. Helpless. And they took her anyway.
They tied a boulder to her waist and threw her into the river. She sank, thrashing, but the weight dragged her under. As she drowned, she cursed the village—and the river.
Soon after, the villagers were struck by a slow, agonizing plague. And the river?
They say even touching it brings a sliver of her pain. Just a sliver—and it drives people mad. Anyone who enters the village hears a melody so full of grief, they collapse, sobbing."
Monroe leaned back. "So you see, Zinnia? This flask holds just a few drops from the River of Despair."
She uncorked it.
Fear rose like fire in my chest. Even if it was just a trick, it worked. She held the flask near my ear.
"Stop it!" I thrashed my head.
"Darling?" she called softly.
Two hands gripped my face. Familiar somehow.
"Who are you?" I asked, but they held my head firm. Monroe blocked the mirror—I couldn't see.
She tilted the flask.
Two drops.
They slid in—and the pain was instant. A flood of grief, too heavy to bear. I wanted to rip the cuffs off. Scream. Slam my head against the wall. Anything.
If tears were rain, I was drowning in a storm.
The pain returned, sharp and endless. I screamed, but nothing helped. Then came another injection.
It numbed me—but only on the outside. Inside, I was still sinking. I blacked out, body limp, mind still sobbing.
---
Away, Don burst into Cris's room, drawn by Shawn's voice.
"What happened?" he asked, seeing Cris on the floor, eyes glazed.
"She's having another vision," Shawn said, holding her hand. "We're here, Cris. We're here."
She finally gasped, her breath catching. "It's Zinnia. I saw her… drowning. In her own blood."
Shawn steadied her. "I'll talk to Mrs. Leonardo again. If she won't help, we will."
"Then let's go now," Cris said.
Don stood. "Exactly."
They barely reached the door when Don stumbled.
"Hey—are you okay?" Shawn caught him. "Did you eat anything?"
Don didn't answer.
"Do you want to die?" Shawn snapped.
"Yes, I want to die!" Don shouted. "What do you want me to do? Eat? We don't even know if she's eating—or if she's starving!"
Tears streamed down his face. "She looked at me… and she cried. I thought the reason she was crying was that she was finally telling me how she felt. But I was wrong. I didn't understand her at all."
He turned to the wall, pressing his hand against it to hide his face.
"We'll get her back," Shawn whispered, hugging him. Cris patted his back.
"But not like this," she said. "You need to stand. Eat something. We'll talk to Mrs. Leonardo and tell you everything she says."
Don nodded, barely. Then turned and walked toward the canteen.
Cris and Shawn made their way to the Head Office.
The halls were empty. No guards. No one.
Cris knocked. Mrs. Leonardo called them in.
They opened the door and froze.
She wasn't just drunk. She was destroyed. Her hair tangled, her eyes distant, the stench of alcohol strong.
"What happened to her?" Cris whispered.
Mrs. Leonardo looked up. "Come in. State your business. I'm very busy," she slurred, flipping open a book.
"You're not busy," Cris said, sitting down across from her.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Mrs. Leonardo snapped, tapping the book. "Can't you see I'm working on admissions?"
Cris leaned in, picked up the book, and held it up. "This isn't a book. It's a foldable photo frame. Of a landscape."
Mrs. Leonardo yanked it back. "What do you want?" she muttered, slumping in her chair.