Zayn froze at the sound.

At first, it was faint—just a rustle, a whisper of movement in the night air. Nothing unusual. But as he took a cautious step forward, it shifted. A sharp, chilling scream tore through the silence, cutting through his chest like a blade. His breath caught. His entire body went rigid, instincts screaming louder than the noise itself.

Something was wrong.

For a moment, his feet refused to move, his mind wrestling with the instinct to run or investigate. But self-preservation won out. He turned sharply on his heel, walking away—fast. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, drowning out the lingering echo of the scream as he rushed back home.

By the time he reached his front door, his chest was heaving, his breaths shallow and rapid. The moment he stepped inside, his mother’s sharp eyes landed on him, sensing something was off.

“Zayn, what happened?” she asked, her voice laced with concern.

He hesitated, still catching his breath. The words sat heavy on his tongue. What could he even say? That he had almost stumbled into a murder? That he had heard something he shouldn’t have? His instincts told him to stay quiet.

“Nothing… just ran into a scene,” he muttered, avoiding her gaze.

His mother’s worry twisted into frustration. “I’ve told you a hundred times not to stay out so late! But do you ever listen to me?”

Zayn ignored the scolding, brushing past her and heading straight for the kitchen. He grabbed a glass, filled it with water, and downed it in one go, trying to steady himself. But the uneasy feeling in his chest refused to settle.

The commotion had stirred Lateen, his cousin, from her room. She leaned against the doorway, raising a brow. “What’s with all the noise?”

Zayn set the empty glass down with a quiet thud. Instead of answering, he brushed past her and walked straight into her room.

Lateen followed, unimpressed. “Seriously?”

Zayn sat heavily on her bed, rubbing his temples. “I was about to witness a murder.” His voice came out flat, but the weight behind his words was real.

Lateen sighed, leaning against the wall with crossed arms. “You’ll never learn, will you?”

“But I’m safe,” he said, lying back on her bed as if the night’s events hadn’t just shaken him to his core.

“Yeah, well, not for long if you keep walking into trouble.”

Zayn smirked. “Your mattress is softer.”

Lateen rolled her eyes. “That’s because you and your dumb friends have been jumping on yours like kids.”

When he made no effort to move, she huffed in annoyance. “Fine. But don’t get comfortable.” Without warning, she shoved him off the bed.

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Zayn hit the floor with a grunt. “You’re the worst.”

“Still better than you,” she retorted, curling up under the blankets.

With no other choice, he pushed himself up and trudged to his room. But sleep didn’t come easily. He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, his mind replaying the scream over and over.

What if I had kept going? Would I have seen who it was? Could I have stopped it? Or… would I have been the next one to scream?

The thoughts twisted in his head until exhaustion finally took over, dragging him into a restless sleep.

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

The next morning, Zayn sat in class, his chin resting in his palm as he absentmindedly watched the juniors playing outside. His mind was elsewhere—still stuck on the events of the night before. He didn’t even register the teacher’s voice until it was too late.

“You! Get up!”

The sharp command barely reached him.

“Zayn, the teacher is calling you,” a classmate whispered, nudging him from behind.

Zayn turned his gaze toward the front of the class, blinking slowly as if seeing the teacher for the first time.

“Get out of my class!” the teacher barked.

“What?”

“I’m teaching, and you’re staring out the window like this is your personal daydreaming session! Out!”

Zayn sighed. “Sorry.”

“Sorry?” The teacher scoffed. “I don’t want to hear it. Just leave! And bring your parents tomorrow!”

Zayn considered arguing but decided against it. There was no winning this. He nodded, grabbed his bag, and stepped out of the classroom, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets.

When the class ended, the teacher shot him a sharp glare on the way out, but Zayn barely reacted. He scratched the back of his neck and exhaled.

As he lingered near his desk, a folded piece of paper landed in front of him.

“Come at 8 p.m.,” Jack muttered as he walked past.

Zayn picked up the note and unfolded it. Meet at 8 p.m.

Katherine, appearing beside him out of nowhere, glanced at the crumpled paper in his hand. “You’re coming over?”

Zayn hesitated. He hadn’t expected her to be involved. But after a moment’s pause, he forced a small, lazy grin. “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

Later, in the cafeteria, Zayn waited in line for his food. When his turn came, he ordered, “Two sandwiches.”

As he reached for his tray, the cafeteria lady, an older woman with sharp eyes, leaned in slightly. “You kids are planning to perform the Curse of Burial, aren’t you?”

Zayn stiffened. His fingers curled around the tray. “Who told you that?”

The woman smiled knowingly. “Everyone knows.”

Zayn’s stomach twisted. This was supposed to be a secret. How had it spread so fast?

She placed a hand lightly over his. “Listen, kid. Think before you act.”

Zayn forced a smirk, though unease lingered beneath it. “Don’t worry. We’ll prove it’s just a rumor.”

But even as he said it, doubt crept into his mind.

At a nearby table, Katherine waved at him, chatting casually with her friends. Zayn narrowed his eyes. So she’s the one who told everyone.

Rick suddenly plopped down beside him, practically vibrating with excitement. “I’m so pumped for this!”

Zayn raised an eyebrow. “Then why don’t you do the ritual?”

Rick faltered. “What? You guys haven’t picked who’s doing it yet?”

“Not yet,” Zayn replied, watching him carefully. “We’ll play a card game. Whoever’s name comes up will do it.”

Rick swallowed nervously. “Y-yeah… I’m in.” Then, almost immediately, he stood and scurried off.

Zayn smirked, shaking his head. Coward.

Just as he was leaving the cafeteria, Jack stepped in front of him, blocking his path.

“What did you say to Rick?” Jack demanded.

Zayn tilted his head. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb. You scared him. Now he’s saying he won’t come.”

“In simple terms, he’s a coward,” Zayn said flatly.

Jack exhaled, frustrated. “Zayn, we’re doing this for you. The more people we have, the easier it’ll be.”

“I didn’t ask for it.” Zayn’s voice was sharper this time. With that, he brushed past Jack, walking away.

Jack remained where he was, watching Zayn’s back disappear down the hall. He muttered under his breath, barely above a whisper—

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to handle this.”