Chapter Three: After the Bell
(Samarra p.o.v)
By the end of the day, I'm running on fumes and spite.
My head feels like it's been stuffed with cotton and static. Every sound lingers too long. Chairs scraping, lockers slamming, voices overlapping until they blur into something sharp and useless. I keep my shoulders tight, jaw clenched, breathing slow and measured the way Catherine taught me.
Don't draw attention.
Don't react.
Don't tip over.
I manage all of that.
Barely.
When the final bell rings, it cuts through the noise like an answered prayer.
I don't stop to talk. I don't look for Casey. I let the current of bodies carry me out of the building, my feet dragging slightly with every step like gravity has doubled since morning.
The doors open and the air hits me, cold, wet, clean.
Relief floods my chest so fast it almost hurts.
And then I see him.
Derrick is leaning against the truck at the edge of the parking lot, arms crossed, expression unreadable. He looks exactly like he doesn't belong here, too still, too solid, too beautiful. Like someone dropped a statue into a sea of teenagers and pretended it was normal.
I don't slow down.
I walk straight to him, step into his space, bow my head, and press the crown of it into his chest.
He stiffens for half a second, then his arms come around me, firm and immediate. It lasts only a moment before he pulls back, hands settling on my shoulders.
He lifts my chin gently with his fingers, forcing me to look up at him.
"Long day?" he asks.
I nod once.
"Did you survive?"
"Technically."
The corner of his mouth twitches. "High praise."
I exhale, the last of the tension draining out of me now that I'm close enough to feel his steady heartbeat. The world quiets a notch, like someone finally turned the volume down.
"I didn't melt," I add. "Or cry. Or punch anyone."
"I'm impressed," he says solemnly.
I tilt my head slightly, eyes half-lidded. "There was one moment where I considered it."
"Anyone deserve it?"
"Yes."
"Good," he says easily. "We'll work on discretion."
I huff a tired laugh and lean into him again, just a little this time. He doesn't stop me.
The rain starts up again, soft and steady. The parking lot empties around us, engines starting, voices fading, the day releasing its grip.
Derrick opens the passenger door for me like always.
I don't comment.
Some battles aren't worth fighting.
As I climb in, my body finally surrenders to the exhaustion I've been holding at bay all day. My hands shake faintly. Derrick notices. He always does.
"You did good today," he says quietly, like it's something private. "I'm proud of you."
Something warm and dangerous tightens behind my eyes.
"Don't," I murmur. "You'll make me emotional."
He smiles, shuts the door, and circles around to the driver's seat.
As we pull away from Carter High, I let my forehead rest against the window, watching the school disappear behind sheets of rain.
I survived, yet I couldn't help but wonder if "normal" was worth this amount of stress.
The hardware store smells like oil, sawdust, and something faintly metallic underneath it all.
The bell over the door jingles when we walk in, sharp and too loud in the small space. I flinch before I can stop myself. Derrick notices. Of course he does.
"we'll be quick," he murmurs, like a promise.
The place looks older than it should be, with narrow aisles and shelves stacked too high. Two men stand behind the counter. Both of them stop talking the second Derrick steps inside.
They look at him like he's some otherworldly being, completely out of place.
I drift a step closer to Derrick without meaning to.
The taller one squints. "Don't reckon I know you."
"You don't," Derrick says calmly. "We just moved in."
There's no challenge in his voice. No apology either. Just fact.
The shorter man with missing teeth and weathered skin, leans forward on the counter. "Whereabouts?"
"Up on Mills Road." Derrick says placing a pack of nails in the basket.
The taller man's eyebrows shoot up. "That old house still standing?"
Something tightens low in my stomach.
"Barely," Derrick says dryly.
The short man lets out a rough laugh. "That place is haunted."
I freeze.
"Back in '86," he continues, scratching at his jaw, "a whole family went missing out there. Sheriff said the place was covered in blood. Looked like they'd been dragged straight into the forest."
My fingers move on their own. I catch the sleeve of Derrick's jacket.
He doesn't look down, but I feel his attention shift to me immediately. His fingers wrapping around mine. Steady and grounding.
"It's alright," he says quietly, meant only for me.
The men behind the counter watch us closely now.
Derrick turns back to them, expression unchanged. "Thank you for the heads up," he says politely. "I'm sure we'll be just fine."
The taller man snorts. "Well. You've been warned."
Derrick nods once. Grabs a few other things and heads to the counter.
He pays in cash, doesn't hesitate, doesn't fumble. Then gathers the bag of supplies like this is just another errand. Another town. Another house with a past people pretends doesn't matter.
We don't speak until we're back outside, rain misting the pavement, the forest looming across the road like it's listening.
I climb into the truck and stare straight ahead.
"Dragged into the forest," I mutter.
Derrick shuts my door gently before circling to the driver's side. "People like stories," he says once he's inside. "It keeps townies entertained."
"Do you think it really happened?" I ask.
He starts the engine. The truck hums to life.
"I doubt it," he says.
I close my eyes, but my nerves don't settle. As we pull away, I glance back at the store. The two men are still watching us through the window.
I get the distinct, unsettling feeling that Mill Hollow isn't deciding if we belong here,
It's deciding how long we'll last.
----------------------------------------------------------
Catherine p.o.v
The house resists me.
Not openly. Not violently. Just enough to be infuriating.
I spend the day reinforcing what remains of the wards. Re-etching old sigils into doorframes, scrubbing floors where the boundaries are thinnest, unpacking boxes that smell like old paper and newer lies. Every movement is deliberate.
Measured and habitual.
This is penance.
Water sloshes in the bucket as I scrub the kitchen floor. The wood creaks beneath my weight, settling in a way I don't trust. The wards hum faintly beneath my hands, tired but still intact.
Drawing energy I don't yet know how to replenish.
And yet, something in the air feels… off.
Not a breach. Not an attack.
More like pressure before a storm that hasn't decided where to break.
I pause, listening with senses most of this world no longer recognizes.
Nothing.
Which unsettles me more.
The truck pulls into the drive just after dusk.
I straighten instinctively, drying my hands as the front door opens. Sam enters first, shoulders slumped, exhaustion etched into every line of her body. Derrick follows, quietly watchful.
"How was it?" I ask.
Sam doesn't meet my eyes. "It was fine."
She passes me and heads straight for her room.
The door closes softly.
I exchange a look with Derrick.
Fine never means fine.
Dinner is prepared without conversation.
We move around each other in practiced unison. Knife, pan, plate, like soldiers who no longer need commands. The food is simple. Nourishing. Adequate.
Sam eats silently, pushing food around more than consuming it.
She goes to bed early and I don't stop her.
Later, Derrick and I sit on the front steps, the night damp and still. The forest watches from the edges of the property, patient and old.
"You know," I say quietly, staring out into the dark, "I would follow your command to my dying breath."
He doesn't respond immediately.
"I just don't know how many breaths I have left," I continue. "And I'm worried about you."
He turns his head slightly, but his eyes stay on the trees.
"The more wards you power," I say, voice steady despite the weight of it, "the more diminished your strength becomes. You can feel it. I know you can."
"I can manage," he says.
"You always say that."
"Yet you always doubt me."
I allow myself a thin smile. "Someone has to look out for you."
Silence settles between us, not uncomfortable. Familiar.
"She was seen today," I add after a moment.
His jaw tightens.
"Yes," he says.
"The wards didn't fail," I continue. "But they… shifted. Like something recognized her."
Derrick exhales slowly. "Then we have less time than I hoped."
I nod once.
The house creaks behind us. The forest answers with a low, distant rustle.
I fold my hands in my lap.
"Whatever comes," I say quietly, "I will not fail her."
He finally looks at me then.
"I know," he says.
And for the first time since we packed up in Montreal, he lets the mask fall and I can see the weight of the exhaustion he carries. The brightness in his eyes dimming. Shoulders sag. The air around us becoming think and heavy.
I place my hand on his shoulder. A quiet support meant to remind him that he doesn't carry this burden alone. I fear since arriving in Mill Hollow, that might not be enough.