Jason felt the tension pressing in through the darkness. A thin shaft of light spilled through the hole he'd blasted in the wall, but it only made him more exposed. Even barely seeing them, he could feel every eye on him.

"Get him out of here, Luke," Greyson ordered.

Jason barely had time to react.

Luke's noodle arm snaked around his ankle, yanking him backward. Pain exploded through his jaw as it cracked against the cement. White light burst behind his eyes. Gazed, he clawed at the floor, struggling to force himself upright.

"You're looking pretty helpless there," Luke snarled.

Jason gritted his teeth. He wouldn't give Luke the satisfaction of a word. Instead, he focused his energy on his hands, feeling the familiar burn as his power surged through him.

A sudden burst of blue light shot from his palms. Luke's grip loosened, and Jason scrambled to his feet, gasping for breath.

Luke smirked, his voice dripping with mockery as he glanced at Jason. "See, I'm glad you burned off this arm since that ugly thing gave me this special one."

Before he could react, Luke lashed out from Jason's blindside, his whip-like arm snapping across his chest with a sickening crack. Pain tore through him as he stumbled toward the opposite wall.

Luke struck him again, targeting Jason's legs and arms. Each blow felt like a razor slicing through his skin, and Jason could feel the blood pooling beneath his clothes.

"Once I'm done with you, I'll deal with your housewife," Luke sneered.

Jason's vision blurred as he staggered, trying to steady himself. He raised a trembling hand to fire at Luke, but his movements were sluggish.

Luke dodged effortlessly, his sadistic grin widening as he slashed Jason across the face with his noodle arm. Although they had been dressed in winter gear, he could physically feel the wounds opening.

"Does that hurt?" Luke taunted, his voice laced with amusement. He struck again and again, each blow landing with precision.

Jason's body was a mess—bruised, battered, and bleeding. He stumbled, barely able to keep himself upright. He needed to find a way to get away from Luke, but burning that arm was the only option.

He knew that Bella still crept around here while it was evening. Jason could barely keep his eyes open as his brother was trying to turn the hydro back on.

Luke's grin twisted with cruelty. "You're shaking, Dipstick. Can't even stand straight?"

Jason shook his head, his eyes darting around the dark hallway. Even if he could make out Luke's outline, he knew he needed a better plan.

His legs wobbled as he stood, the pain from the wounds making his vision blur with tears. He aimed his hands, and a burst of blue light fired at Luke's noodle arm as he attempted to dash away. He held a hand on the wall, glanced back, and saw Luke's arm spasm wildly.

"Can't go running, Dipstick," Luke sneered.

"Neither can you, Lukey," Esme shot back, rushing past Jason with a smirk. "Think you can keep me down?" she circled around Luke.

When Jason spotted Esme, she had a large gash across her face. Part of the wound was opened with blood dripping down her cheek and onto her coat.

"Yeah," Luke snarled as he whipped at her.

Esme darted past him, her tone mocking. "What's the matter? Want another makeover?"

"It looks like I already gave you one," Luke snarled.

She slammed into him, knocking him off balance—but the strike jarred her shoulder painfully, leaving a sharp sting that slowed her movement.

Luke retaliated, his whip-like arm striking her side; she staggered, blood from her cheek mixing with sweat.

Jason aimed at the ceiling, his own muscles trembling with exhaustion. A chunk of debris fell onto Luke, who collapsed—but even then, his arm twitched spasmodically.

"There you are," Jade said, coming from the opposite direction with Bella. "Did you kill him?"

Jason stared down at Luke's body. The guy was flat on his stomach, blood pooling beneath him, but that noodle arm kept twitching. If Luke were really dead, it'd mean one less problem around here. That still left the snowstorm, Ashley, illness, Greyson, and food supply.

"Let's just go and deal with it in the morning," Jason mumbled.

His breath came in shallow bursts, each inhale stinging like fire. His vision swam as he tried to keep his footing. Every part of him screamed for rest, but his mind wouldn't shut up—images of Luke's twitching arm, Esme's scream, the blue light from his hands. He couldn't tell if they'd won or just survived.

The group turned their attention to their surroundings. The door they'd come through was barely visible now, half-buried under snowdrifts. The car parked nearby was almost completely swallowed by snow, its roof barely peeking out.

"Wow, that's a lot," Esme awed as she stumbled on the snow.

"This is why it's dangerous to go out," Bella whispered.

Jade was already at the car, yanking open the driver's door with a sharp motion. "Get in," she said flatly.

Bella might be right. Maybe he should just avoid dangerous situations altogether. He could just distract himself from everything going on.

He slid into the backseat beside Esme, who was busy wiping blood off her face with the sleeve of her coat.

"We got out, and you may have killed Luke," Esme mumbled.

"And blasted a hole in the power plant," Jade said nonchalantly. "Don't go see Emma, so drop us off."

"Hanna might be awake," Bella quietly remarked.

"Or Cindy, if she's around," Esme chimed in, flicking on the overhead light.

The sudden brightness made Jason blink hard, but it also gave him a clear view of Esme's face. The gash in her cheek looked worse under the light—her skin was torn and ragged, and blood slowly trickled down her chin.

"Aren't you going to get treated?" Jade questioned Esme.

Esme shrugged, her tone casual. "It looks pretty badass, doesn't it? Besides, Emma can probably heal it in the morning."

Jason rubbed his temples, feeling the weight of the days pressing down on him. His mind was spinning, and the thought of taking a break from the hero business sounded more appealing than ever.

"What time is it?" Esme asked.

"Time for you to be quiet," Jade mumbled.

"How's Emma?" Bella asked.

"She's having a mental breakdown over something," Esme started. "She'll be better eventually."

Jason barely realized the car had stopped in a driveway. Jade climbed out as Esme got onto her feet wobbly. He wondered if Emma could actually heal her cheek, but he assumed she could.

"Try not to burn yourself again!" Esme called, and she slammed the door as Bella went to drive.

"Let's just have you relax tomorrow," Bella remarked. "That way you'll be safe."

Jason didn't hear anything else after that. He fell asleep with Greyson's plan and the storm that could kill them all weighing heavily on his mind.

Emma lay in bed, eyes fixated on the yellow wallpaper in front of her. For the first time in days, she'd actually slept. She should've felt grateful, but rest was a luxury she couldn't afford. Not while people were still dying.

A soft rustle made her glance sideways. Bryce was still asleep beside her, one arm lazily draped over her waist, the other flung over his head. He'd insisted they share the bed for warmth, but Emma knew the truth: she was one more burden he didn't need.

She rolled out of bed, her body hitting the cold floor with a soft thud. Everything ached. Her arms, her head, and her heart. She was fourteen and already felt ninety.

The infirmary was still overflowing. Burns. Fevers. People coughing until intestines were seen. If she didn't show up, someone else would not make it.

Hanna was probably already there, scrubbing fresh blood from the floor while Mark and the others hauled out buckets of waste.

Her eyes landed on a pair of black socks resting near the wall. Bryce was standing there, his eyebrows raised. Without a word, he reached down and pulled her to her feet. She wobbled slightly, her limbs heavy, her chest full of regret.

"Time to eat food," Bryce said.

"I'm fine without eating," Emma mumbled.

He didn't say anything. Just grabbed her arm.

Pulled her up like a rag doll.

She wanted to say no.

He didn't stop. Didn't wait. Never did.

Before they reached the kitchen, the front door blew open with a loud slam, sending a blast of cold air curling down the hallway.

Esme stood framed in the doorway, cheeks flushed red from the cold, snow clinging to her snowsuit.

"I almost killed Luke," she panted, then narrowed her eyebrows together. "Bryce? I thought you went back to Uden."

"Emma doesn't take good care of herself," Bryce replied flatly, still tugging her forward.

Emma's gaze landed on Esme's face. Thick bandages wrapped across her cheek and jaw, stained at the edges with dark red. She didn't ask questions. Esme just gave a casual shrug and disappeared down the hallway to her room.

The kitchen was dim and cold, with a single candle flickering on the table.

Emma slumped into a wobbly wooden chair. A chipped bowl sat on the table, filled with a few soggy black beans—their version of meals.

"Eat," Bryce said, placing the bowl in front of her.

She picked up a spoon and stirred the beans. They were soft, slimy and smelled faintly sour. Her stomach turned. Still, she forced one into her mouth. It was bitter and mushy, but chewed and swallowed. Somewhere in the infirmary, someone hadn't had water. Complaining was selfish.

She tried to stand, but Bryce stepped forward, placing both hands on her shoulders and guiding her back down. Her eyes widened as he moved through the table—he phased right through as if it wasn't even there.

"Eat," he repeated.

"I have to go back to the infirmary," Emma whispered, barely lifting her gaze.

Bryce cocked an eyebrow, a small smirk curling his lips. "Didn't Hanna say you're not allowed until you feel better?"

She didn't answer. There was no point until the sick were healed. If she didn't keep going, people would die. It would be here fault.

"I got it!" Esme burst back into the room, proudly holding up a roll of barbed wire above her head. "We're slicing him like a kiwi!"

Emma blinked. "Where's Jason?"

Esme dropped the roll of barbed wire onto the table with a loud clank. "Bella took him home. She's such a buzzkill. I'm out here, speeding around, and she is trying to prevent these missions."

"Everyone knows she's a party pooper," Bryce said, scooping up a few beans from the can.

"Did they get the hydro working?" Emma murmured.

Bryce glanced at the frosted window. "Doesn't look like it."

There was no peek of sunlight or clear sky that might melt the snow away. The water still didn't work, nor did the electricity to produce light or heat.

"I'm out," Esme said, twirling a scarf around her neck and bolting out the door.

Bryce turned back to Emma. "I'm coming with you to the infirmary."

Emma wasn't sure why Bryce wanted to go to the infirmary. It wasn't just that, but he wanted to come with her. Why would someone want to help or follow her?

She popped another bean into her mouth, its watery taste doing little to distract her from the growing lump in her throat.

"You don't have to," she whispered, staring at her hands.

Bryce stared at her in thought before slyly grinning. "And how is handling vomit buckets working out for you?" he teased.

"The graveyard team assists," she mumbled, feeling her eyes glossy.

"Still coming," Bryce said.

Her mind was spinning. Too many things. Too much to do.

She shut her eyes tight, hands on her head.

If she didn't heal them, they'd die.

They'd blame her. It'd be all her fault.

She shouldn't have been this week.

She shouldn't have failed them.

If she hadn't been so naive, she would have seen it sooner. Greyson hadn't wanted her. He had wanted what she could do. And she handed it to him like it meant something.

A whimper escaped her lips as Bryce leaned in, blowing a playful puff of air onto her face. Her eyes shot open to find him smirking, his eyebrows raised.

"Wakey, wakey," he said. "I don't think it's time to sleep."

"Lost in thought," she mumbled.

"When aren't you?" he slyly asked.

Emma had known Bryce from the project they worked on together, but they never really talked much at Uden Academy. Maybe it was because he had been more into delinquent activities. He didn't seem to care if he failed an assignment or anything else.

"You get embarrassed easily sometimes," he said.

Emma couldn't help but notice how Bryce always teased her. Like last night, when her heart felt it was running a marathon just because he'd said something offhand.

"I can't help it," she mumbled, chewing on her lip.

Bryce raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. "Are you not going to pass out today?" he asked.

"I have to help them," Emma said, wobbly standing from her seat.

Bryce gave her a playful chop to the forehead with the side of his hand. "And doctors get breaks."

Breaks weren't an option for someone like her. She wasn't even a doctor either. Her medical knowledge was whatever she could read on the back of a pill bottle.

The two shuffled toward the door, bundling up in the rest of their winter gear.

She knelt down to tie the laces of her snow boots, pulling the scarf tighter around her neck. She didn't want to go, but it was her duty.

"I don't have a car," she mumbled.

The last time she'd driven it was with Esme and Jade, and it had been a disaster. They'd gotten lost between the highway and the middle of nowhere. After that, they didn't keep a car because walking was easier.

Bryce just stared at the violent weather. "Okay," he said, pulling up his scarf.

Emma felt herself being dragged by her hand into the raging winds. She felt like at any moment she'd fall face-first into the snow and feel it sear her skin. No, she would probably end up getting the illness.

"This is going to be fun!" he yelled over the harsh winds. "Jump on my back!"

Bryce crouched for her to climb onto his back. If she did that, he could get injured, or even she could.

Emma felt herself bring lifted onto his back as he began running through the uneven snow. They weren't even roads, but large piles of snow.

"It's a good thing you're short!" he called.

"I'm five feet," she mumbled in her scarf as figments of the plaza came into view.

When the church door came into view, Bryce pushed it open but kept her on his back. From the top of the stairs, she saw no dead bodies lying around. She could hear him thumping down the stairs, but also the coughing.

"Yikes," Bryce said.

Emma stared at the bodies, dread washing over her. She'd seen this too many times, but it never stopped feeling like a nightmare. Blood. Vomit. The kind of smell that stuck to the back of your tongue.

She saw Hanna sleeping on the cot. Nearby, Mark looked up at the stairs, his expression a mix of exhaustion and relief.

"The healer is back," Bryce remarked, dropping her near a boy who coughed up blood.

Emma felt a wave of dread rush through her system. If she didn't stay and help, they'd die. The thought of more people losing their lives was unbearable. Had all this happened because she was weak?

She moved slowly to a young girl's body who was shaking violently on the ground.

Hanna had passed out.

Emma's chest tightened. That should've been her. Taking care of them. Not Hanna. Not again.

If she'd just been stronger...

No. No time. Just heal. Just help.

"I'm gonna take out some of the puke buckets before Emma adds to the collection herself," Bryce called as he flashed her a cheeky smile.

"Just dump them behind the church," Mark muttered.

Bryce took two buckets filled with blood and vomit and left for outside.

Emma didn't get why Bryce kept helping. Maybe he felt bad for her. Maybe he knew it was her job.

He didn't have to let her cry in his hoodie last night. But he had. He didn't even say anything when it went on for hours.

Her head throbbed. Every step felt like she had ankle weights strapped to her bones. She used to complain about P.E class. Now her whole life felt like a punishment.

Someone started coughing, deep and wet.

Emma flinched like it was gunshot.

She looked and instantly regretted it. The kid was smaller than her, red bubbling up from their lips like soda. Emma's stomach twisted. She slapped her hands over her eyes, like she could avoid it.

Just keep moving. Just don't stop.

But the tears came anyway hot and quiet. She didn't even know why. She was just so tired.

People were scattered around the dining hall at Uden Academy. Some sat playing card games. Others stared blankly at dented cans of food, as if waiting for them to open on their own.

Stick wondered if this was normal behaviour for the school.

A few trembled violently, cupping their hands around the weak flicker of dying candlelight. The flames barely held against the cold creeping through the cracked windows.

But, there were others who acted like nothing was wrong.

"Just try it," a girl urged, holding a joint toward Tumbles.

"Mia, you're a dumbass," Maverick snarled from across the room.

"You're just jealous because Greyson said you can't get high," Mia shot back, a sly grin on her lips.

Maverick glared at her before she started screaming. "I can still use my power."

Stick slumped against the wall, feeling like a ghost among the chaos. The memory of killing Vickie was a crushing weight, heavier with each day. Drinking had become his escape, but even that wasn't helping.

He had once been the athletic, confident boy—the one who charmed girls with a smile and ruled the sports fields. Now, that version of him felt like a stranger. What remained was a hollowed-out version of himself, haunted by a word never earned: murderer.

A girl stepped in front of him, her dyed white hair spilling from beneath a knit hat topped with a fluffy pom-pom. Her oversized winter coat swallowed her frame, making her look like she belonged in a snow globe. Her scarred hands were clasped together.

Eden Weber stood still, her eyes closed, her face peaceful. When she opened them, she gazed up at the cracked ceiling with a soft smile.

"If we confess our sins," she began. "He is faithful and just to forgive us, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness." She turned her eyes toward Stick. "Murder is a sin, but God will forgive you."

"God wouldn't forgive me," Stick muttered bitterly.

God wouldn't forgive him for what he'd done—he was sure of it. Not for hesitating, not for looking away when Vickie needed him. Not for throwing her lifeless body in a ditch like she was trash. Not for every mistake, every selfish choice that led him here.

"Repent, then, and turn to God, so your sins may be wiped out, and times of refreshing may come from the Lord," Eden preached. "It starts with regret. God's telling me you're ready to turn to Him."

Religion had always felt foreign to Stick. Growing up, his life had been consumed by practices, games, adrenaline. Coaches shouted louder than preachers, and the closest thing to prayer was hoping for a buzzer-beater.

"Come, I'll show you," Eden chimed, waving a hand to follow.

They moved through the silent, cold halls, where every step echoed against the walls. Scraps of torn worksheets and candy wrappers littered the floor, crunching beneath their feet like dry leaves. The air smelled faintly of wax and mildew.

At the far end of the west wing, a tall, warped door stood ajar. Faded letters above it once spelled "CHAPEL," though most had peeled off. Eden pushed the door open, revealing a room unlike the rest of the school.

It was a chapel—or what was left of one. The ceiling arched high above like a cathedral, but paint peeled walls in long, curling strips. A stained-glass window had caved in, its shards still glittering faintly on the floor.

Eden slid quietly into a pew near the front, her gaze fixated on the broken crucifix that now lay sideways against the wall. She didn't speak. Stick followed, lowering himself beside her, the old wood creaking under his weight.

"The Lord is with us right now," she whispered.

Stick's gaze drifted across the dim chapel—rows of empty pews stretching into the gloom. No Lord in sight. Just dust, silence, and the low pounding of his headache. His body ached for a drink, something to drown the noise, to numb the sharp edges of memory.

"Lord, I've brought someone new with me today," Eden started, eyes closed again. "He's been walking a difficult path, seeking repentance. He's here to ask you for your forgiveness."

Stick felt awkward. Eden was a stranger, yet she spoke as if she knew his life story. He barely knew what repentance even meant, let alone applying it to him.

"God would like to know your name," Eden said gently.

"Matthew," he whispered.

Eden leaned forward, hands folded tightly over her chest. "Matthew is trying to forgive himself for what he's done. For the life he took. He needs your guidance, Lord."

Stick shifted on the pew, his hands clasped so tightly they ached. He wanted to believe what she was saying, but part of him flinched at the idea.

Eden didn't know everything. She didn't see the ditch. She didn't hear the silence after Vickie's body hit the ground. She didn't watch the blood dry on his hands.

"You talk like it's easy," he whispered. "You don't know what I've done."

No one ever guided him. He'd just followed—Henry's lead, bad instincts, the easy road. When they dumped Vickie's body in the ditch, he hadn't even cried. Not then. The guilt came later, like poison that soaked slow.

"You killed someone," Eden chimed. "I can help you change and find forgiveness."

Stick stayed silent. "Okay."

"What about Bella?" he asked suddenly. "Have you helped her deal with her grief?"

"She's walking the wrong road," Eden replied, the softness gone from her tone. "And she doesn't know it yet."

"How?" Stick asked, his eyebrows furrowing.

"She's wrapped in controlling beliefs," Eden said. "God doesn't like that."

Stick frowned, trying to recall any signs of Bella being controlling. The only thing that came to mind was that she kept Jason at home.

"I'm on the wrong road," Stick mumbled.

"No," Eden said firmly. "You're on the right one."

Redemption was a distant light, but maybe God could really forgive.

"God wants to know what you regret," Eden added.

Stick throat tightened, his voice cracking as the words escaped. "I regret not stopping when Vickie was there. I should've helped her. I shouldn't have thrown her body into the ditch." Tears streamed down his cheeks. "And I regret being a jackass at school."

He remembered the boy he used to be—the one who laughed after slamming kids in dodgeball, who grinned like a king every time he scored, who mocked weaker played online with Henry. The boy didn't care who he hurt. But he cared now.

"God told me something about you," Eden began, opening her eyes. "He's proud you recognize your sins. He wants to help you, guide you, and see you embrace His name."

"How?" Stick asked quietly. "How do I even start?"

Eden smiled softly. "It starts with change," she said. "You have to release what's poison you. The bottle. The shame. The belief you're worth saving. God's world is waiting for you. It's a place of peace, forgiveness, and purpose."

Henry wouldn't want him turning to God, but Stick wanted forgiveness more than anything.

"Rehab and redemption," Eden said firmly. "That's the path and I will help you."

Stick wasn't sure how he felt about this girl—this stranger with scarred hands and preacher's words. She seemed harmless but was oddly obsessed with religion.

"You'll probably go mad," a voice drawled behind them.

"God doesn't condone your actions," Eden said without turning around.

Preston cleared into view, flipping through a wrinkled swimsuit magazine. His eyebrows were furrowed, lips pulsed in exaggerated concentration—as if he were studying sacred texts instead of centrefolds.

"There's nothing wrong with being a pervert," Preston remarked casually, exhaling cold air.

Stick caught Preston's glance before the boy looked back down at the magazine, but the pages showed something entirely different.

"Dunlop family builds a new cottage," Preston mumbled, reading from fine print beneath a flashy ad.

Eden snatched the magazine from his hands, eyes narrowing as she scanned the glossy page. The ad featured a mansion on an island near Simcoe—pool, movie theatre, and fourteen bedrooms, lush landscaping. The type of place that screamed luxury. But he didn't deserve such a thing.

"Have you two connected the dots? Dunlop is River's last name," Preston said.

"This gives me an idea," Eden started, her eyes closed again and nodding. "We must head back to give others our support."

Stick followed her out into the corridor, the chapel door creaking shut behind them. As they made their way back to the dining hall, people eyed him strangely. The last time he had been to Uden Academy was for punishment.

Lately, he had hiding at home, avoiding everyone.

"Wait," Mia called out, stumbling toward him. "Aren't you the one who killed that girl?"

Stick breath caught, and his fingers curled into fists before he could stop them. He had to admit it—he had committed the crime that was eating him alive. But he needed a different path now.

Mia stared at him for a moment, then cracked a lopsided grin. "Yikes. If you need to get high, I've got the stash."

"Did you have a fun time with Eden's Jesus preaching?" Maverick mocked.

Eden simply smiled. "It was enlightening," she replied.

Stick didn't say anything, but he eyed the ground. One end wanted to believe he could change, and the other felt he couldn't.

"He had an amazing time with our Lord," Eden chimed.

Mia stumbled toward River, sitting quietly in a corner. "Wait," she slurred, "aren't you, like, a model or something?"

River glanced up, expression unreadable. "Yeah," he whispered.

Mia nodded exaggeratedly. "Surprised you aren't in Simcoe," she said. "Then again, I'm here."

"Mia, stop encouraging people to take drugs," Tumbles said, but fell. "They're bad for you!"

"I'm not, silly," Mia laughed.

"The Lord will help us," Eden said, eyes closed.

"Eden, I'm going to throw a bucket at you if you keep talking like that," Maverick called.

Mia burst out laughing. "Eden could kill you with that bucket. You don't know the real Eden. Only the three of us."

If Eden wasn't just a strong religious believer, who was she? Did she know boxing, and was that why Mia was informing them? Or was she a murderer like him?

"You mean Uden Academy's top delinquents, don't you?" someone asked.

Mia's lips curled into a sly smile as she tilted her head back, her gaze landing on the boy leaning against the wall. She winked, as if sharing a private joke. The top delinquents from Uden Academy knew Eden's old personality. He wondered why other people didn't know.

Mia spun back to River, who hadn't moved from his corner. "So," she said, crouching low beside him. "What's modelling like? You meet anyone cute?"

River hesitated. "Some," he whispered.

Mia nodded and started to rise, only to trip over her own footing and collapse in a heap, laughing hysterically.

Nobody seemed surprised at her behaviour as Tumbles tried to pull her onto her feet.

"Can't you at least stop smoking weed? Bryce did," Tumbles mumbled.

Mia groaned dramatically. "Bryce is lovesick," she said.

Someone who had changed from what Stick could assume, namely, that Bryce had smoked pot.

"Is that how it worked?" Stick whispered under his breath. "You fight your demons and do something remarkable?

He stepped toward Mia, who sat up.

"Do you have any alcohol?" he asked.

"Oh, definitely. I have the rare stuff and drugs to knock you out cold," Mia laughed.

If he drank less. If he changed. Maybe that would be enough.

But he didn't know where to begin—or whether forgiveness was something people like him were allowed to have.

Don't forget to comment and vote!
-Lexi