Dawn of Fog and Glass

Chapter One: Dawn of Fog And Glass

The Fog is thick outside the window. It rolls by, tumbling and twisting in on itself. It's always seemed to me to have moods, despite what Orion says. The Fog is angry. It growls, crashing like black waves against jagged rocks.

"Arden?"

"Hmm?" I glance up at Mme. Lin, who waits at the blackboard. I realize with reddening cheeks that she must have asked me a question.

I glance at the board. The loopy words subjonctif and plus que parfait scream back at me.

"Right," I begin, and glance at Orion for help. He only shrugs, then returns to the doodles covering his digital notes. "The subjunctive is used to express opinions or feelings. Plus que parfait is for when you are talking about the first of two things that happened in the past."

A few chuckles erupt around the class. I sink lower into my seat, knowing I got the question wrong.

"You're correct, technically," Mme. Lin responds, pinching the bridge of her nose. Her snotty French accent is stronger when she's annoyed. "However, I only asked if you could pull down the blinds on your window. Some may find the outside world...distracting."

I offer a weak smile and pull down the blind, wishing all the eyes on me would find someone new to torment. Orion snorts a laugh and elbows me in the side. I elbow him back, harder. He makes an over-exaggerated choking noise.

"Arden," Mme. Lin warns, narrowing her eyes. "Don't think I won't move you."

I blush and start picking at my cuticles. "Sorry."

"En français," she hisses.

"Desolée, Madame Lin," I reply in an equally rude tone.

She returns to the lesson with a scowl. I lean over and look at Orion's sketch, watching perfect strokes appear. Mme. Lin's monotone voice becomes white noise in my ears.

"Who is that?" I whisper, gesturing to his drawing of a profile view of a laughing boy. He curses and erases the strokes shaping the boy's forehead, unsatisfied.

"No one," he responds without looking up. I stare down at my desk's screen, mystified by the new tech. They replaced the old desks with them last week, claiming it's better for taking notes. The entire desk's face is a screen that uses the desk's attached pen to write. After each class, the desks print out the notes.

I lean back over. "Can you draw me?"

"No." His expression doesn't change. I grin, knowing how much he hates that question.

"You're not very good at taking notes."

He smirks, nudging my shoulder. "Neither are you, dumbass." The tattoo on his forearm of the Orion constellation is extra black under his screen's blue light.

I squint up at the notes on the blackboard and scribble down the words without processing them. My printing is messy, and most lines are uneven, unlike Orion's neat handwriting that's now hidden under sketches.

As the bell rings, the printers instantly begin whirring underneath each screen top. It prints each of our notes on still-warm sheets of paper. I shove them in my satchel and stand from my desk. Orion stuffs his drawings in his knapsack. We scurry out of the room before Mme. Lin can yell at us for leaving before being dismissed.

The halls are already bustling with students and security alike. The guards are the best in the surviving scraps of this country. Most of them are ex-cops or bodyguards who used to work for famous people, trained at high-level facilities. They're terrifying enough to keep even the Fog Crawlers away, apart from the most bloodthirsty.