Vibrate.
The darkness recoils from the walls, the ceiling, the bodies—ripping itself free and funnelling back toward the figure. Shadows stream into it like a warped waterfall, draining from the room as the being condenses, thickens, and grows more solid.
Ryder doesn’t answer.
Because suddenly—
It’s gone.
Vanished as if it had never been there at all.
But the people remain.
They stand shoulder to shoulder, hollowed out, eyes empty, bodies upright but lifeless—shells of who they once were, trapped inside something I can’t see. The wind sneaks through the broken glass, teasing their hair, tugging at loose fabric.
None of them move.
A cold certainty settles in my gut.
That thing did this.
My fingers curl against the window ledge, adrenaline overriding sense, fear sharpening into urgency. Before Ryder can stop me—before he can even breathe my name—I wrench the window open and climb inside.
“What are you doing?” Ryder whispers sharply, his hand fisting the back of my shirt.
“It’s gone. Come on.” I wrench free and haul myself through the window. Wood splinters against my leggings, and my boots crunch softly over broken glass scattered across the floor. Ryder exhales behind me—annoyed, tense—but I’m already inside before he can finish protesting.
The maze of bodies stops me cold.
It would be manageable if they were conscious—if they could shift, step aside,breathe—but they’re rigid. All stiff limbs and locked joints. Walls of muscle and bone. Brick by stoic fucking brick.
I force my way through.
Their closeness makes my skin slick with sweat. Every step costs me breath. Hands brush, cling, weigh me down for half a second too long, as if the darkness hasn’t quite finished with them yet. I huff in frustration, shoulders scraping past chests, hips wedged between unmoving forms.
Ryder follows, less graceful, muttering under his breath as he shoves his way after me.
“Asha, I really don’t think this is a good idea,” he says, reaching for my arm, his hand a pale sail in a sea of bodies.
“We’re almost there,” I snap, deliberately bumping into students as I pass, shoving harder than necessary, desperate for any sign of life. Any flinch. Any breath.
Nothing.
Ryder exhales again, sharp and unhappy, but then we break through the last row.
River stands directly in front of us.
Nala is just beyond him.
“You wake River. I’m getting Nala.”
Ryder nods and turns on River immediately, tapping his cheek, hissing for him to wake the fuck up. I catch Ryder’s eye, silently urging him to be gentler—but he ignores me and brings his hand back hard.
Crack.
I freeze, breath locked in my chest, half-expecting River to lunge, to swing, toreact.
He doesn’t.
