"What?" I breathed, stunned. "No–no, that's not possible! I didn't touch your laptop!"
"Stay where you are!" she shouted, hands trembling as she tapped frantically. "Oh my God... you generated a fake report!"
She looked at us like we weren't even human. She didn't wait for an explanation. She bolted to the emergency switch and slammed it.
Within seconds, guards stormed in–tall, rigid, short-haired, black glasses hiding their eyes. She slipped out behind them.
"I'm getting the principal. Don't let them out of your sight!"
We were forced to our knees in the center of the room. My heart raced. I couldn't let my friends take the fall, not for me. I shut my eyes, ready to speak up–ready to take the blame.
But then the door exploded open.
Sheriff Smith slid in on his knees, firing. The shots hit the guards, and they didn't fall. They disintegrated. Flames consumed them in an instant, leaving behind nothing but blackened ash that vanished into the air.
"What the hell just happened?" Shawn asked, arms still raised.
"We have to move!" the Sheriff barked.
I stumbled to my feet. "How did my face get on that footage? Who were those guards? Why did they turn into burning sand?!"
"Zinnia!" he snapped, grabbing the mouse. "I'll answer, but not now. Show me the footage."
I pointed to the screen. He clicked through tabs until he found the clip. He leaned in, studying it.
"You're right," he muttered. "It's not you."
"I swear, it was–"
"I know," he cut me off. "Look at her eyes."
He stepped aside. I stared.
"Her pupils… they're like a cat's."
He nodded. "It's a Recaster."
He waved a hand across the screen, and it flickered off. The footage vanished.
"What did you just do? What's a Recaster?"
He looked at me with urgency.
"We're out of time," he whispered. "Move!"
And we ran.
As we stepped outside, we froze. The receptionist stood just ahead with two guards and a tall man in a sharp black suit. They were speaking in hushed tones.
"We need to act. Those kids tampered with the reports. I'm sure they're tied to the murder," she muttered.
"What now?" Shawn whispered.
"Relax," Sheriff Smith said under his breath. Then he raised a hand, as if wiping fog from glass, and whispered, "Turn in nobis exspiravit."
"I'm sorry, what expired?" Shawn mumbled–but then noticed the group was now only a step away. He flinched, hiding his face, expecting to be grabbed–
Instead, something passed through him.
He spun around. Nothing. No one reacted. They couldn't see us.
Staring at his hands, baffled, he whispered, "What just–?"
"This way!" the Sheriff barked.
We ran after him, invisible, undetected, darting past people who looked right through us. He didn't stop until we reached the warehouse door.
He reached for the handle when I called out, breath catching, "Wait…"
He paused.
"This place… It's only ever brought pain," I said softly, tightening my lips.
He held my gaze, unreadable–then turned the knob anyway.
I hesitated, then followed. We had no choice.
Inside, we moved quickly, retracing every step from before. We entered the room. The one with the first aid box.
I let out a shaky breath as Cris gently took my hand.
Sheriff Smith snapped his fingers and murmured, "Revelare."
The world rippled–like glass struck by a stone. The air twisted. Walls shimmered. Then, silence.
Everything changed.
The same room stood before us, but it was transformed–immaculate, white, gleaming. The shadows were gone. The dust, the decay–erased.
At the desk now sat a woman. Blonde hair twisted into a tight bun, glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, a tailored suit hugging her frame. She looked like she belonged here. And yet... she didn't.
"Come on," the Sheriff whispered.
But I gripped his arm.
"I'm not taking another step until you tell me everything."
He gave me that look–resigned, irritated–and then finally relented with a sigh.
"Frederick was a werewolf. I don't know what killed him, but it wasn't natural. That woman you saw in your form? She was a Recaster. A Shapeshifter–usually a cat. But capable of becoming anyone."
He kept going. "Those guards? They weren't human. They were Crows. Shadow creatures. They don't die unless their summoner–the caster–is killed."
It felt like the air thickened with each word he spoke.
"This is... a lot," I whispered, my voice nearly breaking. "But why me? What did I do to deserve this?"
He didn't blink. "I'll find out. Once I leave you here, I'm heading back to your town to investigate."
He led us toward the receptionist. Her presence chilled me more than the room.
She looked up as we approached–eyes wide, body stiff. There was something fractured in her gaze. Something wrong.
Without blinking, she sat bolt upright, pen scratching furiously at a notebook. Her eyes didn't meet mine.
They fixated on my chest.
She began to mumble, low and broken, her hand trembling as it kept writing.`
"Zinnia James Paragon. Age sixteen. Guardian's name: James Paragon. Mary James Paragon. New York. Family symbol: Phoenix."
The rest of her words faded into incoherent mutters.
My heart tightened. "How do you know that?" I asked, my voice barely steady.
"Please, madame, allow me to collect the data of the remaining individuals," she replied without emotion.
Sheriff Smith tugged my arm gently, pulling me back as she moved on to the others. "She's a Gazer," he whispered. "They see more than any normal eye ever could."
She finished collecting the information. Sheriff reached for the door–it now had a knob. As it creaked open, the hallway we'd seen before stretched ahead: the trees, the swings, the path... but something was different. It was alive. Radiant. People our age ran, laughed, played–free from shadows.
We stood frozen in the glow of it. Then Shawn's voice shattered the calm.
"Wait... how is that even possible? Last time we came through here–it was dark!"
His eyes were wild.
"Because we came here at night–both times, idiot!" Cris said dryly, smacking him on the back of the head.
At the far end of the school grounds stood the gates–massive, milky white. On the left, a golden wolf snarled in frozen motion, intricate floral carvings twisting around it. On the right, a majestic bird mirrored it, locked in an eternal standoff.
Both doors had golden handles, identical except for the creatures locked in their silent battle.
"I'm leaving you here, Zinnia," the Sheriff said, his voice low but firm. "I need to clean up the chaos that Recaster left behind."
"But I have a lot of questions!" I said. I didn't know why, but I didn't want him to leave.
"You'll find your answers, Zinnia." He gave me a small smile. "But here's some advice–stay friends with Ryan. Stay away from Robin." Then he turned and ran off before I could say another word.