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The rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor echoed faintly in the distance, each pulse a dull reminder that she was still alive.
Celine's eyelids fluttered open slowly, the blurry shapes around her gradually sharpening into white walls and the faint sterile scent of antiseptic.
The harsh fluorescent light stung her eyes. A sharp pain shot through her head as flashes of what she had seen earlier came rushing back—the blood, the screams, her friends' faces… lifeless, broken, gone.
Her breathing quickened.
She sat upright suddenly, the sheets tangling around her trembling legs as she clutched her chest. Her skin felt cold, her heart racing as her mind struggled to separate nightmare from reality.
But it wasn't a dream.
The images were too vivid—the twisted limbs, the crimson stains, the words You're Next carved into her memory like fire.
Her trembling gaze drifted around the room and that was when she saw him—Zhane.
He was sitting quietly by the far side of the bed, one elbow resting on his knee, his hand supporting his chin.
His uniform jacket was off, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing faint bruises along his forearm. His expression was unreadable—somewhere between exhaustion and quiet concern.
For a brief moment, the sight of him confused her.
Why was he here?
And then memory struck like lightning.
He had been there—in the courtyard—among the crowd. She remembered faintly collapsing, her vision dimming, the world spinning, and then… darkness.
But before that final blur, she had caught a glimpse of someone running toward her, a pair of arms catching her just as her knees gave out.
Now she realized—it was him.
Zhane. The same boy she had once pitied enough to help when he had been beaten up by those arrogant seniors weeks ago. The boy most students ignored, mocked, or pretended didn't exist.
And yet… here he was.
Celine swallowed hard, her throat dry as paper. Her voice came out hoarse.
"Zhane… what are you—"
He turned at the sound of her voice. His sharp eyes softened slightly as he met her gaze.
"You're awake," he said simply. "You fainted near the courtyard. I brought you here."
The words were plain, but there was something in his tone—steady, calm—that grounded her panic, if only for a second.
Celine looked down, her hands clutching the bedsheet so tightly her knuckles turned white.
The silence between them stretched thin.
Then, like a wave breaking through a dam, it all came crashing in.
The images. The sounds. Cindy's laugh. Cathy's teasing voice. The sight of their bodies…
She pressed her palms to her temples, trembling as tears pooled in her eyes.
"I couldn't help them," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I was right there, Zhane. I was there—and I did nothing. I just stood there, frozen like a coward."
Her voice broke completely now, raw and shaking. "I'm so useless… I couldn't save them…"
Zhane's fingers twitched slightly, his mind going blank for a moment.
He remembered her friends. The same group who had humiliated him back then at the restaurant. The same girls who scorned and mocked him , even going to the extent of making him lose his only surviving job.
He should've felt nothing.
But seeing her now—shattered, broken—he realized there was no satisfaction, no revenge, only an aching stillness that pressed against his chest.
Pain was pain, no matter who bore it.
Zhane exhaled slowly, glancing away before standing up and walking toward her bed. He hesitated for a heartbeat, unsure what compelled him, then sat beside her.
She didn't move.
Then, almost without thinking, he reached out and wrapped his arms around her trembling shoulders.
Celine stiffened at first, eyes wide in disbelief.
"Wha—Zhane—?"
"Don't," he murmured softly, his voice steady but warm. "Just… let it out."
The sincerity in his tone hit her harder than she expected. Something about his presence felt different—solid, grounding, like a wall holding back the storm threatening to drown her.
Her lips trembled, and before she could stop herself, she broke.
A raw, guttural sob tore through her as she buried her face against his chest, gripping the fabric of his blazer so tightly it wrinkled beneath her fingers.
"I don't understand… why them? They didn't deserve that," she cried, her words muffled against him. "They weren't perfect but they weren't bad people either…"
Zhane said nothing. He just held her. The rhythm of her sobs echoed softly in the small clinic room, each one clawing at his chest in ways he didn't understand.
Minutes passed—maybe more. The air grew heavy, saturated with grief and silence.
Zhane stared at the window, his mind spinning. He wanted to tell her it would be okay, that justice would come, that things would make sense—but that would be a lie.
Finally, when her cries began to soften into quiet sniffles, he whispered,
"They're gone, Celine. You can't change that. But you're still here. Don't let their deaths destroy you too."
His words weren't comforting—not really—but they carried weight. The truth of them made her chest tighten.
Celine slowly lifted her face. Her eyes were red, lashes wet, but there was something searching in her expression as she looked up at him.
For the first time, she noticed the faint scar running along his jawline, the flicker of something guarded behind his calm expression.
"Why… why are you being nice to me?" she asked quietly, her voice trembling. "After everything I did to you?"
Zhane blinked, 'So she remembers ' he thought and then looked away. His lips curved into a humorless half-smile.
"I don't know," he admitted. "Maybe because you helped me when no one else did."
She blinked through tears. "That doesn't make up for what I—"
"I'm not saying it does," he interrupted gently. "But you didn't have to. And yet… you did."
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
The air between them shifted—soft, fragile, something unspoken flickering just beyond reach.
Celine looked down again, tears slipping quietly down her cheeks.
"I keep seeing them when I close my eyes," she whispered. "Their faces… that message…"
Her voice dropped lower. "You're next."
Zhane's eyes narrowed slightly. "That message… you saw it too?"
She nodded slowly. "It was written in blood. I thought—maybe I imagined it—but it was real. I saw it."
Zhane's jaw clenched. He had heard whispers from other students about the crime scene—about the strange words. But hearing it from her made it feel heavier, more deliberate.
Someone wanted her to see it.
Someone wanted her afraid.
Zhane's mind flicked back to something—an echo deep inside him, the faint hum of his strange gift. He could usually hear the surface thoughts of anyone around him like distant whispers… but now, as he sat beside her, there was only silence.
No whispers. No noise. Nothing.
His brow furrowed. This is weird… why can't I hear her thoughts?
He looked at her again. Her fingers trembled as she wiped her tears away. There was something else in her eyes now—fear, yes, but also confusion, as though she sensed something she couldn't explain.
Outside, thunder rumbled faintly though the sky had been clear just moments ago , then a heavy downpour of rain followed. The lights flickered for a split second, casting long shadows across the room.
Celine froze. "Did you see that?"
Zhane glanced toward the window. The breeze outside had stilled completely. The silence felt wrong—too quiet.
Then came the faint sound of footsteps echoing down the hallway.
Slow. Deliberate.
Celine turned toward the door, her pulse quickening. The footsteps stopped right outside the room.
Zhane stood, his eyes narrowing.
Without warning, the door creaked open—but there was no one there. Only the faint scent of iron and something metallic drifting into the room.
Celine's breath hitched.
"Zhane…" she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Then they both saw it—something faint on the white tiled floor, just beyond the doorway.
A smear of red.
Zhane took a cautious step forward, his body tensed, every sense alert. He crouched slightly, tracing the direction of the smear—it led down the hall, faint but unmistakable.
"Stay here," he said firmly.
But before he could move another step, Celine grabbed his hand.
Her eyes were wide with terror. "No… don't go."
For a brief second, their fingers intertwined. Zhane looked down at her trembling hand clutching his, then at her face—pale, terrified, fragile.
Something cold ran down his spine.
He turned back toward the open door—and that was when he saw it.
Scrawled in faint crimson letters across the clinic wall, words that hadn't been there moments ago:
"YOU CAN'T RUN."
The room fell into complete silence.
Zhane's heartbeat pounded in his ears. He tightened his grip on Celine's hand as the lights flickered again—once, twice—before going back to their normal stable lights .
And in that brief moment of pitch-blank silence, a whisper brushed against his mind—soft, distant, and chillingly familiar.
> "I told you she was next."
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