The morning at Tacony Charter Academy High starts the same way it always does, with the slow shuffle through the metal detectors and the low murmur of half-awake conversations. My backpack feels heavier than usual, probably because I'm carrying around the weight of the entire city in it--or at least that's how it feels. My lungs hurt, my head is pounding, and every part of me is screaming to crawl back under a blanket and disappear for a week.

But I'm here, because it's Friday, and skipping school two days in a row would raise questions I don't want to answer.

In homeroom, I slump into my usual seat by the window, trying to focus on the announcements. Mr. Calhoun drones on about next week's science fair, a bake sale for the soccer team, and a reminder that cell phones should remain off and out of sight during class. None of it sticks in my brain. My head's too foggy from exhaustion and smoke inhalation to make sense of anything more complicated than "sit down" and "don't look suspicious."

"Hey, Sam," Melissa whispers from the desk behind me, tapping my shoulder with her pencil. "Did you hear about the playground?"

I blink, forcing myself to turn around. Melissa's grinning, clearly eager to share whatever juicy piece of gossip she's picked up. "What about it?" I ask, my voice raspier than I'd like.

"Someone said there was, like, a superhero chase there last night. At Dorsey. My brother swears he saw, like, a flare or something. He said it lit up the whole sky for, like, two seconds."

I stiffen, gripping the edge of my desk. "Really? What time?"

"Midnight or something," she says, twirling her pencil. "I don't know. He's always making stuff up, but my mom said there was a weird smell in the air this morning when she went for her jog. Like... cat litter?"

"Probably just fireworks," I say, forcing a shrug. My throat tightens as I turn back around, my brain racing. Of course people noticed the fire, the chase. It was impossible to miss. But if Melissa's brother saw the chase, that means Aaron's antics are bleeding into places I can't control.

"Maybe," Melissa muses. "But, like, what if it was that Big Bad Wolf lady? People are saying they've been around Tacony more, right? Doing a lot of patrols."

"What if," I unrespond, keeping my eyes fixed on the front of the room. The last thing I need is for Melissa or anyone else to connect those dots.

----------------------------------------

The rest of the day drags on in a haze of monotony and rising tension. Classes blur together, the steady rhythm of lectures and note-taking clashing against the constant hum of worry in the back of my mind. I manage to answer a few questions in history and scribble something coherent enough to pass for an essay in English, but my heart isn't in it. My thoughts keep drifting back to the Music Hall, to the library, to Aaron.

At lunch, the cafeteria is its usual chaotic mess of overlapping conversations and clattering trays. I pick at a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, my appetite nonexistent. Across the table, Alex and Jordan are deep in a heated debate about some anime I've never watched, their voices rising and falling in a rhythm that feels more like background noise than actual dialogue.

"Sam, back me up here," Alex says suddenly, jabbing his fork in my direction. "Jordan's shown you Nausicaä, right? You think she could take out a Chevalier?"

"Huh?" I blink, dragging myself back into the moment. "Uh, sure. Why not?"

Jordan snorts, rolling their eyes. "That's not an answer."

"It's the answer you're getting," I say, managing a weak smile. "Sorry. My brain's fried today."

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

"Big mood," Alex says, leaning back in his chair. "You okay? You look like you pulled an all-nighter."

"Just tired," I lie, shoving the rest of my sandwich into my mouth to avoid further questions. Jordan glances at me but doesn't say anything.

----------------------------------------

By the time the second-to-last bell rings, I'm ready to collapse. The weight of the day has settled into my bones, dragging down every step as I shuffle toward the front doors. The hallway buzzes with the usual end-of-day energy, students laughing and shouting as they push their way to their last classes. For a moment, it feels almost normal--like nothing's wrong, like the city isn't burning one block at a time.

But then I catch snippets of conversation--someone mentioning the library fire, another kid talking about a "weird explosion" they heard near the river. The threads of the day start pulling together, tightening around me like a noose. Aaron's not just after me anymore. He's leaving a trail of chaos in his wake, and people are noticing.

I grip the straps of my backpack, forcing myself to keep moving. There's nothing I can do about it here, not with so many eyes and ears around. All I can do is keep my head down, blend in, and hope the rest of the day passes without incident.

----------------------------------------

The day is finally winding down, and I'm just starting to think I might make it through without any major catastrophes. My desk feels harder than usual, and my notebook is full of half-scribbled notes from a math class I barely registered. I'm zoning out, staring at the clock ticking down the last five minutes of the school day, when it happens.

The fire alarm goes off.

It's not a polite little chime or a low whoop. It's a full-on assault of sound, blaring and shrieking through the halls like it's personally offended by the idea of peace and quiet. The first burst makes me jump so hard my knees hit the underside of my desk, sending my pencil clattering to the floor. Several people around me yelp or curse, their reactions blending with the deafening noise.

"Holy--!" someone shouts, but it's swallowed up in the cacophony.

The teacher, Mr. Calhoun, raises his hands, shouting over the alarm. "Alright, everyone! Calmly and quietly--let's go! You know the drill."

Except it's not a drill. Everyone knows that immediately. There's no warning beforehand, no calm announcement over the intercom about a scheduled safety exercise (not that there usually is one). This is real. Or at least, it's supposed to be.

I grab my bag and follow the flow of students heading toward the door, my heart pounding for reasons that have nothing to do with the noise. There's no smoke, no smell of fire--nothing to suggest an actual emergency. My gut twists. This isn't random. It can't be. Not today. Firefighters keeping us on our toes? They wouldn't, right?

"Keep moving!" Mr. Calhoun calls, ushering us into the hallway. The other classrooms are emptying out too, kids and teachers filing toward the exits in what's supposed to be a calm, orderly line. It's more like controlled chaos, everyone jostling and muttering as the alarm continues to scream overhead.

I force myself to move with the crowd, my feet dragging a little more than they should. Part of me wants to break away, to run and check every corner of the school for signs of Aaron or whatever disaster is brewing. But I know the rules. Once we're outside, they'll take attendance. Anyone missing will stick out like a sore thumb. And if I try to slip away, I'll only make things worse.

So I shuffle along, clutching my bag like it's a lifeline, my ears ringing from the alarm. The noise feels like it's drilling into my skull, each pulse ratcheting up the tension in my chest. My breathing's too shallow, too quick, but I can't stop to calm down. I can only keep moving, step by step, down the hall and toward the main doors.

Outside, the cold air hits me like a slap, cutting through the lingering fog of the alarm. Students and teachers gather in clusters on the grass, their voices rising in confused murmurs. I spot my homeroom group near the flagpole and head that way, trying to blend in.

No one's panicking. There's no smoke, no fire trucks yet--just the blaring alarm and a whole lot of speculation. I scan the crowd, my eyes darting toward the building, toward the parking lot, toward every possible angle Aaron could use. Nothing. Not yet, anyway.

A group of firefighters arrives a few minutes later, stepping out of their truck with practiced efficiency. They don't look rushed, which means they're not seeing smoke either. One of them carries a toolkit instead of a hose, heading straight for the fire panel near the entrance.

"Just a malfunction, maybe," someone says nearby, but I don't believe it. Not for a second.

The teachers start taking headcounts, calling out names and marking clipboards. I respond when Mr. Calhoun calls mine, keeping my voice steady despite the growing knot in my stomach. My hands are stuffed into my jacket pockets, fists clenched so tight my nails bite into my palms.

Then, my sleeve bursts into flames.