L I R A
The bell stops, but my body doesn’t get the memo. I keep waiting for another pulse. Another crack. Another sound that lives inside my ribs instead of my ears. But the air goes still in that eerie way it does after something breaks and everyone’s pretending it didn’t almost kill them.
My phone is warm in my hand now. Too normal. The frost is gone. The screen is clean. If I didn’t still feel that cold echo in my chest, I might convince myself I imagined it. Ezra finds me before I can stand up. Of course he does.
He looks… steady. Hair perfect. Expression controlled. Like he didn’t just miss glass exploding and frost spelling something that wanted me specifically. Like he didn’t just text me Where were you? instead of Are you okay?
“Lira,” he says softly, already reaching for me. Not panicked. Not shaken. Certain. And something about that makes my stomach drop. The school moves fast when it wants to bury something.
By the time we’re herded into the main hallway, there are adults everywhere. Clipboards. Radios. Words like structural issues and vandalism tossed around like explanations instead of excuses. Rehearsal is “postponed until further notice.” Police are “on the way.” Nobody says frost. Nobody says the bell. People say everything else.
“It cracked right at her,” a girl whispers behind me.
“I swear the ice moved.”
“My cousin saw a face in it.”
Ezra shifts closer, like he can block sound with his shoulder. His arm brushes mine, protective, practiced. Student Council President to the rescue. I feel exposed anyway. Like my skin is too thin. Like everyone can hear the echo still ringing through me. A freshman stares openly. Fear mixed with something uglier. Suspicion.
Ezra clears his throat. One look from him, and she looks away. I should feel grateful. I feel trapped. Ezra steers me into a quiet corner near the lockers, away from the noise. Away from Callen’s absence, which feels louder than the screams did.
“Sit,” he says gently, pressing me down onto the bench like I might tip over if he doesn’t anchor me. His hand wraps around my wrist. He’s warm. Solid. Real. And I feel nothing where his skin meets mine.
Not comfort. Not relief. Just this strange pressure, like a weighted blanket I didn’t ask for. The bell doesn’t react to him. The metallic click near my ear doesn’t stop, it just dulls, like something is being smothered instead of soothed.
“You’re shaking,” he murmurs. I hadn’t noticed. My body feels far away. Like I’m watching myself from a few feet back.
“I’m fine,” I say again, because that’s what I’m good at. His thumb strokes my pulse, slow and grounding. He’s always been good at this. At being the calm one. The solution. So why does it feel like I’m holding my breath?
“I wasn’t ignoring you,” he says suddenly, like he’s been rehearsing it. “Earlier. During rehearsal.” I don’t answer. I don’t trust my voice yet.
“I got pulled into something,” he continues. “Council-related. Administration stuff.” His jaw tightens, just a fraction. “There are… protocols. When things like this happen.” Things like this. As if windows exploding inward with frost-carved warnings are just another checklist item.
“You checked,” I said quietly. “You said I wasn’t there.” His eyes flick up, sharp now. Assessing. “I went to the sanctuary.” That’s not an answer. Not really.
“I saw enough to know this wasn’t random,” he adds, lowering his voice. “And enough to know you’re at the center of it.” A chill crawls up my spine that has nothing to do with temperature. Ezra squeezes my wrist, grounding again. Possessive this time.
“I’m handling it,” he says. Like it’s already decided. He doesn’t let go of my wrist when he says it. Like if he loosens his grip, I’ll disappear.
“I’ve been looking into the ledger,” Ezra says. “Not the official records. The old stuff. The things they don’t digitize because they don’t want anyone noticing patterns.” My stomach twists. The word ledger does something to the air between us. Makes it feel heavier. Colder.
“There are references,” he continues, voice low, careful. “Buried ones. About strips that never rang. Names that were… delayed.”
“Delayed,” I repeat, faintly.
He nods. “Or erased. There’s one incident—years ago. A strip was destroyed before the bell could finish its cycle. Burned.” The word lands hard. Burned.
“The name on it was never called,” he says. “The student transferred the next semester. No incident. No follow-up. Nothing.” My heart starts to pound, fast and uneven. The bell in my chest hums, like it’s listening too.
“You think..” I start, then stop. My mouth is dry.
“I don’t think,” Ezra says gently. “I know. If the strip is destroyed before it completes whatever… process this is, the bell loses its claim.” He finally looks at me like he expects relief. Like he’s handing me a life raft. All I feel is the water rising.
“I’ll take care of it,” he says, so easily it scares me. “Before it gets worse.” My ears ring. The hallway noise fades, like someone turned the world down so I can hear only him.
“Ezra..”
“I’ll save you,” he says, cutting in, voice steady. Certain. “I’ll burn it myself if I have to.” The words don’t sound dramatic. They sound practical. Like a promise he’s already slotted into his schedule. My chest tightens. Gratitude flashes first, sharp and painful. Of course he would do this. Of course he would stand in front of something terrifying and say I’ve got it.
Then comes the pressure. Like my ribs are being wrapped in wire. Like my future just snapped shut around me. The metallic click near my ear sharpens, sudden and insistent. I wince before I can stop myself. Ezra notices. Of course he does.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “You won’t have to feel that anymore. Not once it’s done.” Once it’s done. Something about that phrase terrifies me more than the frost ever did. Because I don’t know what done means. And I don’t know who I am inside it.
“What if I don’t want saving?” The words slip out quietly. Not defiant. Not loud. Just… honest. Ezra blinks, like he misheard me.
“What?”
“What if I don’t want you to do this for me?” I ask, heart racing now. “What if..”
“You’re in shock,” he says immediately. Too quickly. “That’s normal after something like this.”
“That’s not..”
“You don’t get to decide that when you’re in danger,” he continues, still calm, still reasonable. “You’re not thinking clearly.” There it is. The click in my ear goes wild, sharp and fast. My breath stutters. I don’t argue. I don’t mention Callen. I don’t say his name or the way the bell answered him, or the way my body felt when he was the one holding me down behind the pew.
Ezra wouldn’t understand that. He thinks this is fear. The air drops suddenly. Not enough for anyone else to notice. Enough that my breath fogs. Ezra keeps talking, outlining steps, plans, contingencies. Words stack on words, neat and controlled.
Behind him, chalk dust stirs on the floor. I watch, frozen, as it drags itself into a line. Then another.
DUE.
The letters smear, dissolving as soon as Ezra shifts his weight. My heart slams against my ribs. The bell pulses once. Twice. Harder than before. Like it’s pushing back.
Ezra pauses. “Did you hear something?”
“No,” I lied. The pressure in my chest worsens the more he insists, the more he plans. Like the curse doesn’t like being cornered. Like it hates certainty. I realize, with a sick twist in my gut, that the bell reacts differently to control than it does to fear. That can’t be good. Ezra crouches in front of me, finally releasing my wrist so he can look me in the eye.
“Just promise me,” he says softly. “Promise you’ll let me handle this.” My mouth opens. Before I can answer, my phone vibrates. Unknown number. One word flashes on the screen.
LISTEN
The bell hums in my bones, low and close, like someone else just leaned in on the other side of a wall. Ezra doesn’t see it. He’s watching my face, waiting. A single black feather drifts down the hallway and lands between us. Perfect. Unbroken. I don’t know who it’s for. And I don’t know which answer will damn me faster.