The smell alone made me want to turn back, so I breathed into the crook of my elbow until I was almost positive I wouldn't puke.
Ica had painted the entire hallway black with her smoke. It clung to the walls and ceiling in concentrated shadows. Not even the sunlight outside the doors at the end of the hall could penetrate it. It took a few seconds - precious seconds where I thought every coiled tendril of smoke was Ica coming toward me - for my eyes to adjust to the dark. With the alarm still crashing between my ears, I wouldn't even be able to hear her approach.
But when I could kind of see again, I found the hallway empty. She was prowling through the other halls then, with smoke curling out of every hole in her ex-news reporter face to smother the entire school the same color as her soul. Searching for me? Or playing a deadly game? Knowing her, probably a little of both.