I entered Ms. Hale's office, nervous yet trying to maintain composure. Her polished wooden table hosted two hot tea cups their owners would never touch. Their owners would never connect. I sat there, hugging myself as tightly as possible, feeling vulnerable and helpless in the face of such a tragedy.

"I saw her," I whispered grimly. Ms. Hale leaned closer and asked whom I was referring to.

"Claire Donovan... She worked at Blockbuster down Franklin Street... I talked to her..." My voice trailed into a groan as my head lowered in grief and despair.

Ms. Hale's sharp voice cut through the air like a blade. "They should have closed the school when Thomas Chang died."

I lifted my head slowly and cautiously. My eyes narrowed in agreement with hers, and I whispered, "Yeah... maybe even when Pete died." I fold my arms protectively across my chest, unwilling to bear more painful memories or news.

Ms. Hale sighed heavily, and her compassionate eyes shifted away from me briefly before she spoke again. "It's a shame, but sadly, death is an inevitable part of life."

I looked at her curiously then, fascinated by this older woman's wisdom and understanding of nature. Her lips were painted red like blood, reminding me of something or someone familiar.

I opened my mouth to respond but paused instead. My gaze drifted to the ancient cat clock on the wall behind Ms. Hale's desk, becoming utterly captivated by its hypnotizing ticktocks.

∆∆∆

I watched my dad, Mr. Klein, stalk behind the podium, his face as cold and hard as a marble statue. I felt a chill run through me at how quiet the room got when he raised his hand and all eyes turned to him.

My heart raced as questions flew his way from the reporters. He seemed overwhelmed and unable to answer any of them before raising his hands one by
one to stop the chaos. His eyes were huge and filled with fear and disbelief that seemed to shake the whole room.

The telephone rang like a gunshot, cutting through the excitement that had filled the room. Dad answered it quickly and hung up seconds later, a ghostly pale creeping over his face as he muttered something about cutting breakfast short and grabbing his coat from behind the door. Then he kissed Mom, grabbed his jacket folded in the back of his chair, and strode out of the living room without another
word - leaving us all behind in shocked silence.

My heart raced as I heard the news. All my questions were answered, yet I felt even more confused. I watched in disbelief as the crime scene tape marked off the area, signifying this was real.

The large crowd filled the street with people of all shapes and sizes - some screaming and cursing, others crying in each other's arms, many wearing white ribbons pinned to their shirts. Each face was a story of its own - some contorted with rage, some tear-stained, some standing still like statues, unable to comprehend what they saw.

Then came the announcement — a deafening roar rose from the group as everyone frantically tried to understand it all. No one had answers, and the fear settled into our collective hearts.

Ezra's heart suddenly hardened as he trudged along the winding path in the forest.

He could feel the warmth of the golden rays of sunshine on his skin, but it did nothing to brighten his mood. He walked forward in an abyss of anger and grief, desperate for justice even though he knew there were no suspects or leads in the investigation yet.

Why would someone do this? Why are they randomly picking students? Did they target one person specifically or intend to kill everyone in their classroom? He had no answers. All he had was a deep desire to seek revenge on whoever did this.

He felt a gentle tug on his elbow and looked up to see Hazell standing beside him, looking at him with a mischievous grin. At her words, Ezra stumbled back with shock and disbelief. She wanted to help him take vengeance? A wave of determination flooded his body, replacing the fear and doubt he had felt only
moments before. He now had someone by his side in this fight.

My heart thumped wildly in my chest as I faced off against Hazell. She stepped closer, her eyes glinting with a dangerous promise. It seemed like she could sense the concealed anger churning within me, and I could feel the guilt of my actions weighing down on my soul.

"The law would still find you guilty," Hazell hissed, her voice low and menacing.

I gulped, unable to muster up an answer. Thomas, Ms. Hale... what had I done? Just then, something in the distance alerted our attention. Verma and Sebastian had arrived at the scene.

Hazell's mouth curled into a devilish grin as he surveyed the situation. He chuckled to himself. "What do we have here? An impromptu audience?"

My chest tightened as I stood there, feeling powerless. I wanted to protect them both—Verma and Thomas—and ensure nothing terrible happened that night. My hands trembled as I held the hammer in my hand, the light bouncing off the polished metal and blinding me through my watering eyes.

"Don't even think about it!" I yelled, my voice laced with desperation and fear.

The rock's jagged edges tore at my face as he lay on the warm earth beneath me. He watched the clouds synchronizing with the sun like they all had
somewhere they needed to be. My eyes widened when the moonlight lit up the lake; its glowing reflection watched them intently.

Thomas rose to meet Hazell's challenge, but his strength was no match against the other boy's agent. I saw Thomas's head go light as if it was drained of life, and his body began dancing around like a handful of paint thrown into the air as Verma screamed in terror.

My breath caught as Hazell raised his hammer to the sky. It gleamed like an ethereal star, bright and magnificent, decorated with a radiant sun; the weight of each swing rattled the ground and filled the chamber with a loud sound.

Then came Hazell's laughter, which echoed through the chamber as he declared it more accessible than he thought. In despair, I cried out, "Hazell, no!" but my warning came too late.

My heart raced as I heard the sickening thud against bone. The cobblestones trembled beneath my feet, and I felt my senses sharpen. A wave of horror washed over me when I peered around the corner. Verma lay still on the ground, her skull bashed beyond recognition. Hazell and I stood in eerie silence, both of us somehow united by this moment of terror.

Hazell turned to me with a wicked smile as the reality of what had just happened sunk in. "You see, that's the thing about revenge. It's so much sweeter when you have someone to share it with."

I shook my head in disbelief, feeling sick at what I had just witnessed. "This isn't revenge, Hazell. This is murder. You killed Verma."

Hazell shrugged, his eyes glinting with malice. "He was just collateral damage."

My mind raced as I tried to figure out what to do next. Part of me wanted to turn Hazell over to the authorities, but another part knew that the justice system couldn't be trusted to do the right thing. I looked down at Verma's lifeless body and
decided.

The smell of death hung heavy in the air, and I could taste the metallic tang of blood in my throat. My mind raced as I tried to devise a plan, but fear and
confusion paralyzed me. Hazell stepped closer, and for a moment, I thought he would strike me, too. But he knelt beside Verma's lifeless body, his eyes filled with regret and sadness.

"I didn't mean for this to happen," Hazell whispered, his voice barely audible above my heartbeat.

I trembled as I stared at Hazell, unsure of what to say or do. He had just killed one of our own, and I couldn't process what that meant. The world around me seemed to blur, and I felt myself slipping into a daze.

Hazell's words echoed in my mind as I struggled to make sense of the situation.

How could he not have meant for this to happen? He had wielded the hammer with such brute force, a weapon of death in his hands. And yet, as I looked at him now, I saw a deep sorrow in his eyes that spoke to a pain I couldn't understand.

"I'm sorry," I said softly, stepping closer to him.

I took a step closer to Hazell, my heart heavy with grief. "Why did you do it?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Hazell's eyes bore into mine, and I saw a flicker of something dark and dangerous in them. "Because I had to," he said, his voice low and filled with conviction.

I shook my head, unable to accept his answer. "No, there's never a reason to take another person's life. Never."

Hazell's face twisted in anger, and he towered over me. "You don't understand," he spat, his voice rising. You don't know what it's like to be me—to feel you're always on the outside looking in like you don't belong anywhere."

My heart ached as I listened to his words. I could see the pain etched on his face, the hurt he carried daily. And I realized, for the first time, that Hazell wasn't just a killer. He was a boy who had been hurt and broken, who had lashed out in his pain
and anger.