"Alongside time exists fate, the bearer of cruelty."

Nyx Avatar, Persona 3

"Stocke!" cried out Sonja. "To your right!"

Stocke whirled on his feet, commanding Baldr to stand beside him. Belatedly, he realized that a beast-shaped Shadow had been barrelling toward him. The creature slammed into Baldr's shield, and the Persona shoved it to the side, where it was fried on the spot by a bolt of lightning summoned by Tyr.

"Nice going, you two!" said Sonja.

Predictably, her words brought about a dopey grin on Rosch's part. Stocke rolled his eyes, hiding his own smile. Silently, he ordered Baldr forward. The Persona reached Sigrún, who had been fending off some knight-shaped Shadows all on her own, swinging her spear with obvious zeal. Byggvir hung closely behind. Sometimes, the small rodent Persona glowed blue or green, giving a much-needed boost to Sigrún's offensive or evasive capacities.

"Hiya!" said Raynie, as Stocke joined her. "You wanted to join in the fun?" She sounded barely winded—hell, there was something insolent in her tone, almost as if a part of her wasn't currently grappling with a bunch of homicidal monsters born out of the dark recesses of the human mind.

"Pretty much," Stocke replied evenly. As he spoke, he felt a newfound strength coursing him. Baldr raised his sword with a flourish, and two Shadows writhed in pain as they burst into flames. Stocke looked behind him, and Marco gave him a shaky smile. Stocke responded with a nod, earning himself a sigh of relief from the younger teen.

Not long afterwards, no enemy remained. Hlín sent a sweeping gaze at her surroundings, looking purposeful even though her expression hidden by her veil. Then, Sonja clapped her hands in delight.

"Good job, everyone!" she said. "I sense some other Shadows deeper inside the school, but their signals are getting weaker. It's almost as if we got them on the run."

"Hah!" said Raynie. "What a bunch of wimps!"

"You guys sure are handy," Rosch said. "It's definitely easier with you two around."

"Really?" Marco said, looking up at him hopefully.

Raynie ruffled his hair, earning herself a wince from him. "Man, stop it! Your Persona's super useful and adorable to boot!" She gave a thumb's up to Byggvir, who hopped around for a bit before disappearing in a scatter of blue light.

Soon, all the Personas followed suit, leaving only Stocke and his friends standing around in the now deserted classroom. Now that the Shadows were gone, the distortion seemed to have lessened somewhat. A wrongness still hung in the air, yes, but now the walls had become a dull grey again rather than a mix of garish colours, and the strange black mist had stopped oozing from the corners of the room. Stocke could almost believe he had left the Shadows' spooky slice of reality and returned to the real world.

"Oh!" Sonja suddenly said, startling Stocke. "I sense something else. Something different from usual."

"What is it?" he asked.

"It feels like a greater Shadow, but…" Sonja clutched a hand to her chest. "It's not exactly like a Shadow. It's more like a… Persona."

"A Persona?" Rosch said sharply, as both Raynie and Marco gasped. "You mean there's someone other than us who got one of these?"

"Seems so," Sonja said. "I can't get a good reading on it, but it feels like it's pretty powerful and—oh!"

"What's wrong?" said Stocke.

"I can't sense it anymore! It blocked me!"

"Wait, what?" said Raynie. "The Persona blocked you?"

"Yes!" replied Sonja. "It's like the signal in that part of the school has gone dead. Everywhere else is fine, but that one place… I can't feel a thing! It's almost as if it saw me and then hid itself from Hlín. It's the most logical explanation I can find."

"Why would they do that?" Rosch asked. "You'd think we would all be on the same side, what with all those creepy bastards crawling about the place."

A horrible suspicion crept up Stocke's spine like a shiver. "The Black Chronicle holder," he said through grit teeth. "It's got to be him."

"Then, what are waiting for?" Raynie said fiercely. "Let's get that sonuvabitch!"

"I can guide you where I last sensed them," Sonja said. "Still, let's all be very careful, alright? If that Persona user really is an enemy, then…"

"Fighting a real person is going to be harder than fighting Shadows," Stocke completed. He kept his face grim, but the thought of hurting another human being, no matter how despicable they happened to be, made him sick to the stomach. No, that wasn't like him, he wasn't like—Stocke shook his head, dark memories resurfacing in his mind. He could almost feel the pressure of a pair of hands tightening around his throat—

Raynie put her hands on her hips. "Yeah. But we gotta do what we gotta do, huh? I mean, I don't wanna hurt nobody, but if they're gonna put more people in danger, then I won't play nice, yeah?"

"Definitely," Stocke said. He forced the memories away—now was not the time to dwell on darker moments. "Let's get going, everyone."

Still, by the time they reached the area, the strange signal had already disappeared. Raynie stomped around the place, loudly cursing, but Sonja only sighed. Stocke noticed with some alarm that her hands were shaking.

"Sonja?" he said. "Are you alright?"

"I don't think fighting them would have been a good idea," she muttered. "Hlín couldn't tell me much, but I have a very bad feeling about that Persona. It's as if it's barely holding itself together. It… it frightened me. And it saw us. That Persona has the same kind of abilities as Hlín, I'm sure of it."

"Well, the Persona user went out of their way to avoid us," Marco said. "That's kinda reassuring, you know? It doesn't seem like they want a fight."

Sonja smiled weakly. "Maybe you're right. I could be overreacting."

Stocke could not share her (probably faked) sense of hopefulness. Still, he did not voice his concern aloud. Whoever that Persona user was, they had not tried to seek out Stocke and the others to give them aid. Something was off; Stocke just couldn't put his finger on what it was just yet.

"We should get going, then," Stocke said. "No use in wasting any more time here."

The rest of the week, they found no hair nor hide of the other Persona user as they patrolled the Shadows' own twisted version of the school. As before, the Shadows took various forms: beasts, knights and even homicidal scalpel-bearing nurses blocked their paths, hostile golden eyes glowing faintly from behind their masks. Still, Stocke noticed that the creatures seemed weaker than usual, their opponents falling rather easily to their blades and spells. The others were enthused with their progress (Raynie in particular seemed to have taken quite a shine to the art of bashing Shadows with her trusty hockey stick), but Stocke remained cautious.

And then came a day where no Shadow appeared when Hlín bridged the way between the two worlds.

"There's nothing," Sonja said, in disbelief. "Hlín doesn't sense any Shadow. Even the distortion is gone."

"Really?" Raynie said with a grin. "We cleared up the place then?"

"Maybe," said Rosch, "or maybe not. Whole thing smells fishy, if you ask me." He rubbed his chin, looking at Sonja. "What about that Persona user? You still haven't got another reading on him, huh?"

"No," said Sonja. "They haven't showed up again… or so it seems to me." She frowned. "They might be using their Persona to hide from us. That's the impression I got last time, at least."

"Then, let's go back," Stocke said. He'd have to pester Igor and the twins for more information—if they were willing to give up their cryptic act for a moment, that is. He had the niggling feeling that he had something else to ask them. Vaguely, he recalled a woman's haunting plea and a sense of dread building up inside his chest. Stocke shook his head. No, he thought, it would do him no good to worry about half-remembered impressions and spooky dreams. He had bigger fish to fry, really.

And so November rolled in, bringing a cover of snow that blanketed all of the city. The low temperature was a bit unusual, in fact. Stocke had been living in Alistel for eight years, and never had he seen winter arriving so early. Still, the cold caused more smiles than frowns; Raynie could not stop talking about the start of hockey season, while Eruca gingerly helped a giddy Sophia put up some Noah's Day decorations, to Stocke's great horror.

Surviving a month or two of cheesy carols playing on loop on the radio turned out to be far from Stocke's greatest worry, however.

"You failed your math test?" Sonja said as Stocke and Rosch were waiting in line behind her at the school cafeteria. "How did you manage that?"

"Did you have to scream it for everyone to hear?" Stocke muttered.

Rosch sent Sonja a long-suffering look. "Sonja, get off his case. It's just a midterm test, he just has to score better on the next one."

"That's not the point," Sonja said, in a huffy tone that eerily reminded Stocke of his mother. "You've never failed a school test before, Stocke. What's going on?"

Stocke sighed. "You know what's going on. It's no use making a fuss about it."

Sonja's disappointment was swiftly replaced by concern. "If you need any help, just say it. We're all in this together, you know?"

"Yeah," Rosch said. "But, uh, don't ask me to give a hand on that one. I barely passed the test myself. Math's not my thing."

Sonja helped herself to some vegetables, before answering, "I guess it'll be study sessions for all of us, then."

"Is it really the time?" Stocke said dryly.

"Well, of course," replied Sonja. "Fighting monsters to save the school is good and all, but so is thinking about our future."

Stocke grimaced. She would not budge on this, he was sure.

The three of them then sat down with Eruca, Raynie and Marco. Stocke's sister had been obviously curious as to why her two schoolmates had suddenly become close acquaintances with Rosch and Sonja, but she'd accepted Stocke's (rather fuzzy) explanations without an objection—more or less. Still, they had to be extra cautious to hide from her their ongoing campaign to rid the school of Shadowy pests. Stocke had been adamant on that point.

As Stocke began to dig into his bowl of pasta, Sonja said, "Maybe we should ask Mr. Dias if we can check your exam, Stocke? It could help if we know just where you went wrong."

"I still have my copy of the exam, actually," said Stocke.

"Oh. Do you mind if I get a look?"

Stocke only shrugged in response before rummaging through his things and handing the paper over to Sonja. The group ate in awkward silence while she skimmed the content of Stocke's exam. Her frown grew deeper as she read.

"That's strange," she said. "I answered the same on a lot of these questions, but I scored higher than you did. What's going on?"

"D'you think Dias graded you too low?" said Rosch. "Why would he do that?"

"You should go see him," said Marco. "It might be all just an honest mistake."

Raynie snorted. "Yeah, right."

"Marco's right," said Sonja. "I could come too, if you want, and maybe we could compare your copy with mine."

Stocke rubbed his face with both hands, groaning. This time, it was Eruca's turn to look at him with concern. Soon, all the others were following her example, to Stocke's great embarrassment.

"Alright, fine, let's go see him after classes," he said, gloomily. Somehow, he suspected that their efforts would not amount to much of anything, however.

After the last period, Stocke and Sonja headed for the faculty office. To Stocke's relief, very few teachers still remained inside; in one corner, Coach Garland was speaking with Viola Aldebrandi, the first years' gym teacher, while Raul Gutierrez was grading exams next to them. On the other side of the room sat Stocke's political sciences teacher, Mr. Selvan. Dias was seated in the desk in front of him. Stocke's skin prickled with dread when he noticed just who was talking with him (or rather, talking at him; Dias didn't seem much interested in the woman's choices of topics). For a moment, he wondered whether or not he should make his escape. Still, it soon was too late. Vice-principal Protea had spotted him, and a smile was spreading on her face.

"Oh!" she said. "Ernst, isn't it?" Stocke ground his teeth together and said nothing. "It's been far too long! How are you?"

Dias raised a pair of frosty eyes to her. "You know this boy, Protea?" His disdainful gaze then came to rest over Stocke.

"Of course," she replied. "He's my stepson. Victor's boy. I told you about him, remember?"

Across from Dias, Selvan quirked a brow. "Is that so?" His tone was oddly devoid of any inflection.

Protea gave a crystalline laugh. "Funny, isn't' it? I move out of Granorg to work here only to end up with many of my new relatives still around." She turned up her nose in a self-sufficient manner, her eyes sweeping across the room so that everybody would pay attention to what she was about to say next. "They're descended from Granorgite royalty, you know? The Heiss family."

"Really?" Garland said, grinning, while Viola and Raul turned toward Stocke, their faces expressing amusement and curiosity in equal measure. Even Sonja was goggling at him. Stocke eyed the nearest window, wondering if he would survive the drop. Then again, dying would be preferable to spending one more minute in Protea's company, he supposed.

Dias and Selvan, however, only glared daggers at her. Stocke blinked, surprised by the intensity of their reactions; still, not a second later, they had both regained their usual masks of cool disinterest.

"You should go," Dias told Protea. "I'm sure that Mr. Heiss here has some important business we need to discuss."

Stocke scowled, opening his mouth to tell Dias the correct name to use, but Sonja tugged on his arm, silently telling him to let it slide.

"Alright, then," Protea said. "See you soon, dear." With a last, simpering smile at Stocke, she left, her heels clicking loudly on the floor as she went.

"What is it?" Dias asked immediately afterwards. "Students aren't allowed at the faculty office unless it's for something important."

"Well," Sonja began, "could I get a look at my copy of the last exam? Stocke showed me his own copy and, um, I noticed—"

"You noticed what?" Dias' fingers tapped impatiently on his desk. For the first time, Stocke realized how starkly the purple bags under his eyes stood out against the sickly pallor of his skin. It was a far cry from his usually impeccably groomed looks.

"I answered the same as Stocke on a lot of question, so I was thinking, well, if maybe I could just see—"

Dias held out his hand. "Perhaps I would understand your babbling better if your friend just gave me his exam paper, Ms. Silverberg," he said in clipped tones.

Sonja grew red as a beetroot, her fingernails digging into the fabric of Stocke's sleeve. Without a word, he handed his exam over to Dias.

The man barely spent five minutes to peer over Stocke and Sonja's copies. "I see nothing here warranting my attention," Dias said. "I graded his exam fairly. Perhaps you two should simply spend your precious time on studying for the next test rather than wasting mine."

"Wait," Sonja said, "please, just let me have a look!"

Dias' beautiful features twisted as he glowered at Sonja. "I have to ask you to leave. There are some important matters I have to attend to." His tone clearly hinted that he would not allow any form of protest. Selvan looked at him from over their shared desk, his brows furrowing—more in worry than in annoyance, Stocke thought. "I will see the both of you tomorrow in class, then."

"But—" said Sonja.

This time, it was Stocke who pulled on Sonja's arm to drag her along. "Let's go. It's not important, anyway."

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Garland and Viola as they both stood half-risen from their chairs. Garland's jaw was set tight, while Viola was frowning slightly.

Stocke led himself and Sonja out of the faculty office before anybody could place another word. He'd taken only a few steps when he heard someone calling from behind, "Mr. Stocke! Please, wait!"

Stocke and Sonja turned to find that Raul had followed them into the hallway. The teacher greeted them a wavering grin. This expression, added to his unfortunate choice in hairstyles (a bowlcut on a forty-something man was not what Stocke would call a good fashion choice) should have made him look dorky, but instead it only highlighted the natural warmth in his blue eyes.

"I'm sorry, but I happened to eavesdrop on your, uh, conversation with my colleague." Raul scratched the back of his head. "You're both good students, it strikes me as odd that he would not hear you out."

"I'm not surprised," said Stocke.

Sonja gave him a light swat on the shoulder, before adding, in a cautious tone, "This could be just a huge misunderstanding, really."

"No," Raul said, "I think he shouldn't have dismissed you kids so easily, especially since he could be the one in the wrong here. I'll talk to him, see what I can do."

"Really?" said Sonja. "Thank you, Mr. Gutierrez!"

"I'm just doing my job," the man answered brightly. "Good day to you both, then."

"Good day, sir," Stocke said, his faith in humanity slightly restored.

The next Math class, Dias glared at Stocke with the expression of someone who had clearly swallowed something unpleasant. Stocke supposed Raul had spoken to him on his behalf, and the man had not enjoyed it. After the end of the period, he called Stocke over, telling him that he would give his exam another look. Stocke thanked him, carefully keeping his face blank, before following Rosch and Sonja out of the classroom. Not long afterwards, they joined the rest of the group at their usual table in the cafeteria.

"So this whole business with Dias is essentially over?" Rosch asked as he poured ketchup over his fries. "Raul took care of it?"

"Seems so," Stocke said. He noticed with some amusement that Raynie was subtly stealing fries from Rosch's plate.

"On another note," said Sonja, "what's up with your stepmother? Why did she have to say that weird stuff about your family being descended from Granorgite nobility?"

Eruca nearly choked on her tea. Stocke noisily slurped his juice, not wanting to dignify her question with an answer.

"Wait, what?" said Raynie. "Granorgite nobility?"

Rosch made a strange face. "Is it for real? I know your dad's side of the family is loaded, but…"

Eruca sent Stocke a look of distress from across the table. Stocke forcefully put down his cup on the table, making all the others wince.

"Can we change the subject?" he said coldly. "That's not something we really need to discuss, do we?"

"Nope," Rosch said, eyes darting away from Stocke's own gaze, "definitely not." He swallowed nervously, then said, in an obvious attempt to defuse the situation, "I guess those study sessions are off the table, then? A guy can dream, right?"

He laughed when Sonja gave him a peevish look in return, showing that he had not really meant what he'd said.

"Nah, I think it's a good idea, really," he told her. "Gotta be honest, though, I won't have much free time to spend with you guys these days."

"Oh, yeah," said Sonja. "You have a lot of appointments coming up, right? You need to meet with your prosthetist and physical therapist so you can get outfitted for your new arm, don't you?"

"Yep," said Rosch. Rather than elaborate, he began to eat again, leaving the table in yet another bout of awkward silence.

Stocke sighed, then took a mouthful of salad. The image of Rosch's Shadow flashed in his mind, leaving a sour taste in his mouth. Still, he said nothing—not while everybody else was present, at least.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Before Stocke could take Rosch aside to speak with him, the latter took off, citing a previous engagement as reason why he could not stay after school.

"So," Eruca asked Stocke, "I guess you'll be coming home with Uncle Heinrich and me? You stay after school to study so often these days. I guess you really can't fool around in your senior year, can you?"

Marco gave a wheeze, while Raynie chuckled.

"No," Stocke said with a grim smile, "I really can't." He jutted his chin toward the parking lot, where he knew his uncle had parked his car. "You should get going. You know Uncle Heinrich gets fussy if we make him wait for too long."

"Okay," she said. "You'll be coming along soon, then?"

"Yeah. Just need to make some things clear with the guys first."

Eruca fixed on him a pair of unblinking blue eyes. "Really? What about?" she asked, almost innocently.

"School stuff," Stocke said without skipping a beat. "Those study sessions won't plan themselves all on their own, you know."

Eruca scrunched up her nose, obviously annoyed by such a poorly planned lie. Thankfully enough, she only gave them a painfully forced, "See you later, guys!" before heading toward the parking lot.

"So, no Shadow-hunting tonight, huh?" said Marco.

"Not without Rosch around, no," answered Stocke. "Besides, you haven't sensed any new Shadows lately, have you, Sonja?"

"No," she replied. "Both in their world and ours, I don't sense anything. They're just… all gone."

Raynie threw her arms around Stocke and Sonja's shoulders. "Alright! We're getting somewhere!"

"We shouldn't get too cocky," said Stocke. "Something's wrong, I'm sure of it."

"Well, for one, I'm relieved that those creepy things are gone," said Marco. "It can't be so bad, right?"

Stocke watched the gaggle of students rushing out of the school entrance. Some scooped out snow from to ground, laughing as they threw it at their friends. Others hung away from the crowd, heads bent low as to not attract notice. No shadowy freaks slithered their way among them, no blobs of black mist tried to get their claws on an unsuspecting victim. Stocke should have been relieved.

Instead, he only said, "Let's stay on our guard. We'll get to the bottom of this, I swear."

Stocke pulled on the strap of his bag, feeling the comforting weight of the White Chronicle inside. Again, the distant screams of an unknown woman filled his ears. Stocke frowned. A strange sort of envy sprang in his heart as he watched the lives unfurling in front of his eyes. He wondered if any of the teenagers he saw were dealing with circumstances as freakish as his. He hoped not.

A crushingly mundane routine ensued in the following week.

Schoolwork and shifts at the bookstore soon took over their daily patrols of the school in the evenings. Of course, with no Shadows around, their training sessions had been rendered pointless. Dias had revised his decision to fail Stocke on the latest test, which was a silver lining in an otherwise grey mush of dreariness. Still, Stocke's grades remained lower than usual. It would help, of course, if he could just get a whole night of sleep without being dogged by vague, creepy dreams involving faceless monstrosities assaulting his friends and the sounds of his sister's screams as she was being crushed to death. He had saved her, Stocke kept telling himself, just as he had saved Rosch and Sonja and all the others, but a nagging worry remained.

What if one day the powers of the White Chronicle failed him? What would happen then?

Everyone around Stocke stayed wholly ignorant of these doubts, and he preferred it that way. After all, Rosch was busy with physical therapy, Sonja was busy fussing over anyone in a ten-metre's radius of her, and Marco and Raynie were busy trying to jumpstart Eruca's burgeoning career as class president.

No, Stocke thought, that burden belonged on his shoulders alone.

It was hard, sometimes. His mother often asked about his grades, and soon Stocke knew his vague answers would stop satisfying her curiosity. His exhaustion had become so evident that even Mr. and Mrs. Norton commented on it. The owners of the bookstore had offered him some time off, citing his obvious need for a break, but Stocke had turned them down, surprisingly. His shifts at the shop were pleasant bits of boringness in a life that had become a great deal too complicated for his own peace of mind.

Of course, more and more Stocke was wondering if he should have added babysitting to his list of chores.

"Nuh-uh!" said Aht, crossing her little arms over her chest. "You're wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong!"

"D'you forget that episode back in season three?" Kiel countered. "You know, the one where the Red Champion thought he'd fight better on his own, and then it nearly got the Yellow Champion killed as a result?" He smiled, a bit smugly in Stocke's opinion. "They would have learned how to pilot the Great Panther a lot earlier if the Red Champion was a bit more of a team player."

"That doesn't mean the Blue Champion is better," Aht said, pouting. "She's nowhere as cool as the Red Champion."

"I never said that! I just think the show is still good even with her as the main character, is all!"

Stocke listened to them with inattentive ears as he put a few books back to their designated shelves. How did this happen? he wondered, and not for the first time.

The middle school where Kiel went, it turned out, was right next to Aht's elementary school. It had not taken long for Rosch's overly excited cousin to learn that Stocke just happened to work in a bookstore across the road. And so Stocke had found himself not just with one, but two stragglers for the past two weeks. Two stragglers with a slavish devotion for the same comic books and cartoons, it seemed.

"Besides," Kiel continued, "everybody knows the Red Champion's gonna come back anyway. He's not dead, he's just stuck in a magic coma. Remember that hint in the season six finale?"

"I don't want him to be in a magic coma, I want him to come back!"

Don't ask for my opinion, don't ask for my opinion, Stocke silently prayed as he moved a stack of books around.

"What do you think, Stocke?" asked Kiel.

Crap. "I haven't watch that show since I was twelve," said Stocke. "But I remember thinking the Red Champion was a bit of a moron."

Aht gaped at him. "Stocke! How could you?"

"Didn't he just go and accept that reality-shaping artifact from the main villain in episode one, no questions asked? That sounds pretty dumb to me."

"No," Kiel said, "that was the first Red Champion. They kinda soft-rebooted the whole thing starting in season two."

"Oh," Stocke said simply. Why was he even bothering anyway?

Thankfully, he was saved from more nerdy shenanigans when the door to the store opened to let in a familiar figure in a black suit. Mr. Gafka removed his shades before striding toward them. Aht seemed to shrink a little.

"Hey, Mr. Gafka!" Kiel said cheerfully. "You're here to take Aht home, I suppose?"

Gafka's dark gaze flicked over to his ward. The Satyros girl grimaced, staying firmly put in her seat.

"That, among other things," Gafka replied. "The school called your grandfather, young miss. Why were you not in class this afternoon?"

Kiel's mouth dangled open. "Oh no, Aht, you didn't!"

Aht puffed out her cheeks. "I didn't wanna go to class 'cause I wasn't feeling well. Where's the problem in that?"

"Then, you should have asked me to fetch you home," said Gafka. "As you should have done every time you saw fit to ditch your classes to go wherever you please in the last week or so."

Aht did not answer; she only bent her knees as she sat, circling her legs with her arms.

"Aht," said Stocke, "what's the matter? Why don't you want to go to school?"

"Maybe I didn't want to get eaten by soul-sucking monsters!" Aht snapped, a scowl marring her cute little face.

"Soul-sucking what?" said Kiel.

"This is no joking matter, young miss," Gafka said with a sigh.

Still, Stocke's breath hitched a little. "What are you talking about, Aht?"

"Ugh, it's not important," Aht said. "I don't wanna go to school because I don't like the people there. That's it."

Gafka's harsh features softened somewhat. "I see. We will discuss this with Ambassador Barranca. He's very worried about you, as you are probably aware."

Aht's lower lip wobbled a little. "I didn't wanna make him sad, I swear. I'm sorry." She jumped out of her chair. "I won't do it again, I promise."

"That's something you need to tell your grandfather, not me," said Gafka. He then tipped his head toward Stocke and Kiel. "Good day to you both."

"Good day, sir," Stocke responded, while Kiel said, "Goodbye, you two!"

Before they could all leave, however, Stocke spoke out, "Hey, Aht. If you've got any trouble with people at school, you really should confide in someone you trust. You don't have to carry all of this painful stuff alone."

Her eyes were very big and shiny. Stocke realized with a pang that she looked on the verge of tears.

"Okay," she eventually said in a tiny voice. "Thanks, Stocke."

"See you later, Aht," said Stocke.

Slowly, her face brightened with a smile. "See ya, Stocke!"

And with that, she was gone, leaving Stocke feeling like he'd just found another puzzle to untangle.

Two more days passed, and still no Shadows showed to prowl the school grounds.

Everything had turned back to normal, it seemed. Hlín had taken them twice to the Shadows' realm, and both times their surroundings had changed very little. Only the fact that they had somehow slipped into a version of the school where they could find no students or staff betrayed the fact that they had gone into another dimension. In a way, it was spooky in its own way.

Still, that Friday morning Stocke went to class only to find an empty desk at Rosch's usual place. Frowning, he exchanged a look with Sonja as they sat down for homeroom. The blood had drained from her face, and her eyes were wide and fearful.

She spent the whole of the first period staring at her phone, and toward the end of class, Stocke heard a ping coming from her side. At the same time, his own phone buzzed in his pocket. Without a care for the consequences, he grabbed it, looking down in as covertly as he could. As he took in the words written on the screen, his mouth started to go dry. At the same time, Sonja's arm shot up in the air. She looked as if she could barely stop herself from bolting out of her seat.

After what felt like an eternity to Stocke, Dias finally addressed her, "What is it, Ms. Silverberg?"

"Sir," she said, "I've just gotten news that a friend of mine is at the hospital. Can I have your permission to leave so I can visit him? Please, Mr. Dias!" The pleading note in her voice nearly broke Stocke's heart in two.

Stocke got out of his chair. "He's my friend, too." He swallowed nervously, hating that he had to nearly beg. "It's an emergency, sir, we really have to go."

Dias considered him for a moment, his beautiful face as placid as a lake in winter. Then, he said, "Wait until the end of class. Afterwards, you can go wherever you please, it is of no concern to me."

Sonja pinched her mouth before adding, with obvious restraint, "Thank you, sir."

The moment the bell rung, Stocke and Sonja all but ran out of the classroom. Through the bus trip to the hospital, Sonja grabbed Stocke's arm tightly for support, never uttering a sound. Stocke himself could not say anything; his head remained void of any thought, except for one.

You failed, you failed, you failed—

The moment they entered the hospital room, Sonja rushed toward Rosch, who had been standing next to the patient's bed with a vacant look in his eyes. He accepted Sonja's hug numbly and acknowledged Stocke's presence with the barest of nods. Besides Rosch, there were two other people in the room: a middle-aged couple who greeted Stocke with reddening eyes and a few muttered words of gratitude.

In the bed, Kiel seemed to be sleeping peacefully.

Stocke could barely stand to look at him. His skin had not yet turned to the same sickly shade of white as Mimel's, but seeing him without a flush of excitement spread over his freckled cheeks was a punch to the guts. His chest rose slightly with each shallow breath; still, he made no other movement, no other sound—a far cry from his usual boisterous and bubbly demeanour. Stocke eventually turned his gaze away, throat tight, hands clenched at his side.

Stocke was not the only one to feel that way, it seemed. After a few moments of awkwardly trying to engage his aunt and uncle in conversation, Rosch mumbled an apology before leaving the room. Stocke and Sonja followed after him, and the three of them made for the hospital cafeteria. As they sat around a rather bland lunch, Rosch spoke, in a soft, hollow voice.

"He didn't come home yesterday. This morning, a teacher found him inside the school library. He must have spent the night there." Rosch feverishly ran a hand through his hair. "But they didn't find him yesterday evening when they searched the school! What's going on?"

Sonja wrapped her hands tighter around her coffee cup. "It's just like with Mimel," she whispered. "I could feel it. I could feel the Shadow inside of him. It's… it's horrible."

"He must have been pulled inside the Shadows' dimension after the end of school," Stocke said. "He must have gotten stuck there and only got out after everybody had already stopped searching for him."

"The White Chronicle," said Rosch sharply. "There wasn't a loop. Why didn't it work?"

Horror washed over Stocke like a wave of nausea. He opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out. A sense of shame as thick as bile trapped the words inside his throat. Sonja patted his arm in an attempt to comfort him.

"We should go there," Stocke eventually said, managing to keep his voice steady despite the distress churning in the pit of his stomach. "To Kiel's school. I'm starting to think—" He let out an irritated sound, then fell silent.

"You're right," Sonja agreed. "Let's ask Raynie and Marco to meet us over there when classes are over."

Stocke and Rosch gave their assents half-heartedly. Once they had finished eating, they returned to Kiel's room with all the energy of a funeral procession. Stocke spent the rest of the afternoon as if on autopilot, silently watching Kiel's parents as they tried to reach out to their comatose son with whispered words of love and support. He was almost thankful when Rosch finally said his goodbyes to his aunt and uncle. Mr. and Mrs. Lehmann appeared barely aware that they were leaving; Kiel's mother held his hand, and it seemed she would not let go, not ever.

The image of her clutching that pale, limp hand like her life depended on it stuck in Stocke's mind as Rosch drove to Kiel's school. When they arrived to Alma Middle High, the last bell had obviously just rung, and excited middle-schoolers were pouring out of the door. Among them, Stocke recognized two familiar figures: Raynie and Marco, still in their St. Noah's uniforms. Unlike the dozens of students eagerly looking forward to the weekend, their faces were grim, haunted even.

As they approached the school entrance, Sonja gasped, putting a hand over her mouth, while Rosch loudly swore. Stocke himself grit his teeth as he clenched the strap of the bag that held the White Chronicle. He did not need Hlín's keen sense of sight to grasp the source of his friends' shock.

The place was crawling with Shadows.