Clear Lake Academy holds some of the worst delinquents from around the country. Each and every student there holds a notorious background and almost everyone avoids them.
After setting another building on fire, which just so happened to be a commun...
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I walked down the silent hallway, completely void of life. Nearly every student was locked inside their classrooms as the weekend slipped by unnoticed, leaving nothing but the steady ticking of the clock to remind us that time was still moving forward — whether we wanted it to or not.
A migraine throbbed at the front of my skull, pulsing outward in slow, punishing waves. I blinked, and the brief cool darkness behind my eyelids tempted me toward sleep. I couldn't give in. Not here. Not now. My steps felt uneven, unsteady, like the ground beneath me was shifting with every movement. I felt as though I could collapse at any second, yet I forced myself forward, clinging stubbornly to what little strength I had left.
The conversation with Holland's little brother rang in my head like an incessant alarm. It had kept me awake all night. Still... it was better than the nightmares.
Why was Holland connected to any of this? The only link we had was that Hendrix had met her a handful of times when they were younger. She wasn't part of my past, and as far as I knew, she wasn't tied to any of the others either. Which meant this all circled back to Hendrix.
But why?
What connection existed between them that could have possibly led to her death? Was she tangled in this through someone else? Or was it nothing more than cruel coincidence—that she happened to know him and was dragged into something she had no business being a part of?
The questions spiralled through my mind, colliding into one another, multiplying with every sleepless night.
Each time I splashed cold water onto my face just to stay conscious, the thoughts only sharpened, growing louder, heavier... stronger. And with them came a dangerous temptation—the quiet pull to simply surrender to whatever darkness waited patiently for me to fall into it.
I kept walking, forcing myself toward behavioural class. It was easily one of my most hated lessons. Every session revolved around trying to make us better, as if morality could be hammered into someone through lectures and worksheets. They tried. They failed.
There was one sentence they'd said once that still scraped against my mind like broken glass.
"How do you think this makes your parents feel?"
Who the hell cared how they felt when I felt worse?
The harsh, fluorescent lights beamed, making my dark under eyes more prominent and my unruly hair come to light. The brightness stabbed at my vision, forcing me to blink rapidly as pain spiked behind my temples. I winced, my body craving darkness the way lungs craved air.
A wave of dizziness slammed into me, and my foot caught awkwardly against the floor. I stumbled, barely catching myself before gravity could drag me down. I straightened slowly, waiting for the hallway to stop spinning around me.
I had known this moment would come eventually. I had just hoped I could hold it off a little longer. I needed to.
I forced myself forward again, managing only a few unsteady steps before the world tilted violently to one side. My hand shot out, gripping the wall as I struggled to stay upright. I closed my eyes and focused on breathing — slow inhale, slower exhale — trying to quiet the frantic pounding inside my skull.
