Clarissa stumbled into her room, her exhaustion making everything spin like she was on a carousel of regrets. She didn’t even check if Harper was there. The weight of Gale’s revelations felt like a thousand-pound anchor dragging her down. How had she missed the storm brewing right under her nose? Questions swirled in her mind like a chaotic hurricane, leaving her feeling disoriented and lost.

She collapsed onto her bed, the comforter rumpled beneath her as she stared at the ceiling, trying to piece together the fragments of her shattered confidence. Each revelation from Gale felt like a punch to the gut, and now the crushing sense of responsibility and guilt was almost too much to bear.

In the dimly lit room, Jason was slowly shaking off the remnants of his enthrallment. His usual buoyant personality was replaced by an unexpected silence. Howard, ever the meticulous scientist, leaned forward in his chair, his gaze fixed on Jason with a mix of curiosity and concern. The empty cup in Howard’s hand seemed to reflect the weight of their conversation.

“How are you holding up?” Howard asked, his voice steady but laced with concern.

Jason’s eyes remained fixed on the floor, his voice barely above a whisper. “Tired. Just really tired.”

Howard sipped his drink, observing Jason with an analytical eye. “What was it like?”

Jason let out a long sigh, slumping against the wall, his legs folded awkwardly beneath him on the cot. “I want to say it was awful, like being trapped and used, but... it was actually incredible.”

Howard’s eyebrows arched in surprise. “Incredible? How so?”

Jason’s expression softened, as if he was reliving the sensation. “It was like... all my senses were on overdrive. It was like synesthesia. I could see her emotions, taste her troubles, and feel the solutions as if they were braille on my fingertips. During the fight, the colors around me were singing opera. It was... epic,” he said, a chuckle escaping his lips. “Nothing compares to that, not even Devil’s Spirit.”

Howard’s eyes widened, his scientific curiosity flaring. The experience sounded almost transcendent compared to his own. He was eager to understand and categorize these extraordinary sensations. The allure of the Firstborn was undeniable, and he knew they needed to study her more to unravel the mystery of the enthrallment.

As the first light of dawn painted the sky with hues of pink and orange, Eliane and Casandra walked toward the lake. The morning was crisp, and the lake’s surface mirrored the gentle sunrise. Eliane’s voice was firm, cutting through the early silence.

“Casandra, we don’t have time for this right now,” she said, her tone resolute. “We need to focus on the ritual. We have to save April—and ourselves if we’re lucky.”

Casandra nodded, her face etched with concern as they approached the ritual site. The weight of their mission was palpable, yet the ritual was their last hope.

Casandra grabbed Eliane’s hand, her grip conveying both urgency and frustration. “You don’t get it,” she said, her voice trembling. “This isn’t just about us.”

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Eliane pulled her hand away, her eyes flashing with irritation. The revelation of Casandra’s James heritage hit her hard, mixing betrayal with confusion. “What’s so important that it can’t wait?” she demanded, her impatience clear. “April’s life is on the line. What could be more urgent?”

Casandra took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves. “I had another dream about that girl,” she said, her voice barely audible.

Eliane’s frustration shifted to intrigue. “Did you learn anything useful?”

Casandra nodded, her gaze serious. “I think I know who she is, but I’m starting to think she might not even know herself.”

Eliane’s eyebrows knitted together. “What do you mean?”

Casandra looked directly into Eliane’s eyes, her own filled with determination. “I think she might be a James.”

Eliane’s eyes widened in shock, and she took a step back, her face paling. “What? Are you serious?”

Casandra swallowed hard, her throat dry. “I think she’s our sister.”

Eliane stared at her, speechless. The weight of Casandra’s revelation hung in the air, overshadowing their immediate crisis.

Meanwhile, in the Chronicle, Maya glanced up as Trevor, one of Angelo’s football teammates, nervously stepped inside. His anxiety was palpable, and he looked around as if expecting something terrible to happen. “How can I help you?” Maya asked, noting his visible discomfort.

Trevor clutched his backpack tightly, his gaze fixed on the floor. “Before I say anything, you have to promise my name stays out of this.”

Maya’s curiosity was piqued. She quickly moved to the blinds and drew them shut, creating a semblance of privacy. “As far as I’m concerned, you were never here,” she said firmly. She turned to her computer, starting up iTunes to play background music just loud enough to mask their conversation. “Lock the door behind you.”

Trevor did as instructed, his movements jittery. He glanced around the Chronicle, clearly fascinated but too anxious to fully appreciate the surroundings. “I’ve never been inside before,” he said, awe mingling with his nervousness.

Maya offered a small smile. “It’s not much, but it’s home,” she said, watching as Trevor’s eyes landed on the Wall of Weird—a collage of articles from the Harvest Grove Ledger and the Enquirer about the town’s strange occurrences.

Her own journalistic curiosity had been sparked by these oddities, but now she wondered if they were tied to something darker, like witchcraft. Angelo and Clarissa had mentioned Dabblers, and Maya was beginning to suspect that some of the town’s abnormalities weren’t just natural but consequences of failed dabbling.

But now was not the time for such distractions. Trevor looked like he was about to burst, his anxiety almost tangible. Maya snapped her focus back to him. “What’s going on, Trevor?”

Trevor took a deep breath, his face pale. “It’s about the Coach...”

Maya’s eyes widened, a realization dawning on her. She had suspected the Coach was involved in something sinister, but hearing this from one of his players was unexpected and alarming. Her mind raced with conflicting thoughts—she wanted to help Trevor, but she knew Angelo might not be pleased.

Trevor continued, his voice trembling. “He’s not normal. He can—he can create fire.”

Maya nodded, her expression thoughtful. “So he’s pyrokinetic.”

Trevor looked uneasy. “Yeah, that’s what they’re calling it. The thing is, I’m scared to go to practice. The other guys are too, even if they try to act tough.”

Maya leaned against the wall, her gaze steady. “What do you need me to do?”

Trevor’s anxiety peaked. “I don’t know! Get it on tape, expose him like you’ve done with other stories. Just make him stop hurting us.”

Maya considered the fidgety jock, her mind already racing through the implications. “Okay,” she said, determination in her voice. “I’ll take care of it. But for your own safety, don’t come around here again. I’ll get in touch with you. It’s best if no one knows you’re helping me.”

Trevor nodded quickly, relief washing over his face. “Thank you.”

As he hurried out, Maya turned her attention back to the Wall of Weird. The stakes were rising, and with Trevor’s revelation, it seemed that the Coach’s hidden powers were just one more piece in the intricate puzzle of Harvest Grove’s mysteries.