A Bloody Lesson

The classroom was alive with murmurs, gossip, and low laughter—far too casual for a place like this. 

No one seemed to notice the faint metallic hum that came from beyond the walls, a sound that made Aziz's eyes narrow. 

There was a wrongness in the air, one that no one else seemed to feel.

Aziz leaned toward Marcus, his voice barely audible. 

"Look outside the window," he said, nodding toward the long, rectangular pane of glass that overlooked the hallway.

Marcus followed Aziz's gaze. Beyond the glass, they could see a lone student sprinting down the hallway, his face flushed red and slick with sweat, his breaths coming in desperate gasps. 

The boy's uniform clung to his skin, soaked from exertion. He was late.

The clock above the door struck the first hour. A faint chime echoed in the classroom, delicate and harmless. But Aziz didn't miss the way Marcus tensed beside him, his fingers tightening on the edge of the desk.