The chalk screeched against the board, a sound that usually set Clara’s teeth on edge, but today it was drowned out by the low, frantic hum of gossip. At the front of the room, Mrs. Selby was mid-lecture, her eyes lighting up with their usual intensity as she mapped out the tactics of the Napoleonic Wars. She was a woman who lived for the strategy of the battlefield but famously turned sour whenever the curriculum drifted toward the mindless cruelty of the ancient witch burnings. However, Clara’s focus wasn't on the history books. Her desk neighbor leaned in close, tapping a glowing phone screen that displayed a breaking news alert.

"Did you see this? Sterling Vance... the actor? There was some freak accident at his estate last night. They’re saying his father didn't make it."

"I know," said Clara, for what felt like the thousandth time. "I was there last night."

She had been so excited the night before, but things were absolutely ruined when the news broke about the accident. To make matters worse, most of the people around her were irritated because the premiere was canceled. A man had died, and they were angry because they couldn't watch a movie! The way her classmates were talking made her blood boil.

"Oh my god," said a fangirl behind her. "Did you see his last post? He looks wrecked. I can't believe his dad is actually gone. Do you think he'll cancel the premiere?"

Duh! thought Clara. The guy literally lost his father, and you're worried about a premiere?

"Whatever, he's rich," said the girl Clara hated most in the world. "He'll just buy a new house and a new life. It's not like he is a normal person like us."

Are you serious? thought Clara. What do you mean his wealth lessens the blow? His father was all the family he had!

"I wonder who gets the inheritance now," said another student. "He's only, what, twenty? That's a lot of power for a guy who just plays on TV."

He's 25, you blithering idiot! thought Clara, now growing increasingly annoyed. Why don't you shut your mouth and focus on the lecture?

"I heard it wasn't just an accident," one of the students whispered. "My cousin lives near there. He said the whole place looked like it was hit by a freak blizzard in the middle of July. Also, the driver just disappeared! There was no one in the driver's seat. Totally sus."

At that, Clara zoned out. Yes, it was suspicious—not the weather, but the condition of his father's body. It hadn't been scratched or hurt. Mr. Vance's face was expressionless. Not scared, not happy, not sad. And the eyes—they were cold and glassy.

Suddenly, Clara was ten years old again, touching her mother's hand. It had been cold, like marble. She went and sat close to her dad, but he wasn't moving. He wasn't smiling lovingly as he always did. Clara remembered looking into his eyes. They were like empty black pits, cold and glassy.

"Clara? Clara!" murmured Jake, sitting beside her at the desk. "Are you okay? You look pale."

"I'm OK," Clara said, a little too loudly.

"No talking in class!" shouted Mrs. Selby. "Focus on the lecture for once!"

At that moment, Clara received a message from Sloane: "Coraline drowned." Just two words. Definitely Sloane. Jake looked at her, hesitation in his eyes. We should go, the look meant.

~ ****** ~

The sterile, sharp smell of bleach hit Clara the second the hospital sliding doors went small behind them. Her legs felt like lead. Running from the university campus hadn't worn her out, but the absolute terror gripping her chest made it hard to breathe.

Jake kept a firm hand on her shoulder, guiding her through the chaotic emergency lobby. He didn't say stupid clichés like 'It’s going to be fine.' He just stayed solid.

In the hallway outside the curtained cubicles, Sloane was leaning against the wall. Her face, usually totally unbothered, was tight. The moment she saw Clara, she stood up straight, crossing her arms defensively—a clear sign she was trying to hold her own anxiety together.

"Where is she?" Clara’s voice cracked, sounding incredibly small in the vast hallway. "Sloane, what happened?"

Sloane didn't deliver the news tactlessly this time. She took a step forward, her eyes softening. "The doctors are with her now, Clara. It’s not... it’s not worst-case. She breathed in water at the pool, and her lungs went into spasm. They’re stabilizing her oxygen."

"But she's awake?" Clara pressed, her heart hammering against her ribs. The thought of losing Coraline—the only piece of her original family left—made the room tilt slightly.

Jake stepped in smoothly, taking the weight off Sloane. "She's going to be okay, Clara. Sloane got to her fast. If Sloane hadn't been there..." He didn't finish the sentence, but the gratitude in his eyes toward Sloane said it all.

Sloane looked away, clearing her throat to hide her emotion. "I just did what anyone would do. You can see her in a minute, Clara. Just... take a breath first. Don't go in there looking like you've seen a ghost, or you'll scare her."

Clara looked at her two friends. They weren't being dramatic; they were being her shield. But deep down, the absolute fragility of her life sat like a cold stone in her stomach. It took one second, one accident, for everything to vanish.

“I need some time alone,” Some time to process, atleast until I’m allowed to see my sister. “Tell me when we’re alloed to go in, ok?”
“OK.” They both said, as understanding as they could be. They both left.

'I can't protect her,' Clara thought bitterly, staring at the closed double doors of the ward. 'I'm completely powerless.'

And that was when the first faint, freezing whisper echoed in the back of her mind...

“That’s not true, Clara.” said a cold, dry voice.

Clara looked around; seeing no one who could’ve said that. Clara started panicking. Am I hearing voices in my head now? Am I going crazy?

"You are not hearing voices, Clara," said the voice. "I'm real."

Yes, thought Clara. I'm definitely losing my mind.

"You are not losing your mind."

"Then how come I can hear you but can't see you?" she blurted out.

"It's because I don't show myself to humans," the voice replied.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"Someone whom no one understands," the voice said. "Just like you, Clara Solis. You think you can’t save others and yourself. But I can help you change that. I can help you create what gets destroyed from your life. With my help, you will be a ruler. with my help, you can make sure nothing happens to people around you. I can make you powerful."

It seemed like a nice offer.

“Ok, and all that in return of?”

One thing Clara knew perfectly well, was that everything comes at a price.

“You will have to help me create a world where people are better then they are right now. I will make you powerful, and you will give me service.”

It was a fair offer, but something about it felt off, maybe because this voice had no guarantee that it was, indeed, as good as it stated, or that it could make someone powerful. Whatever meybe the reason, Clara’s gut feeling told her not to accept.

"Get out of my head," Clara said. "I don't want your help."

"Think again, Clara Solis. I can help you be more powerful then you can ever think."

"How do I know you won't back out?" she asked.

"Because," said the voice, "I ask for something in return for the power I promise you."

The voice began to inflict pain. Every word it spoke felt like needles piercing her body.

"Get out of my head, please get out of my head, get out of my head!" Clara pleaded.

"Join the cinders, Clara! Be one of us... be powerful!"

"I said, GET OUT OF MY HEAD!" shouted Clara, and the voice stopped.

Silence finally rushed back into the hallway, but it wasn't the peaceful kind. As Clara leaned her head against the cold hospital tile, gasping for air, she realized the world looked different. The sharp edges of the chairs, the flickering fluorescent lights, even the distant hum of the vending machine felt like they were vibrating with a strange, hidden energy. The voice was gone, but the door it had kicked open in her mind refused to shut.