Chapter 13

The main topic of the day quickly became the mysterious elderly man who had appeared in class and seemed unusually interested in Alan. No one really knew why he had come to the center, but his presence sparked countless whispers and wild speculation. He wandered the halls with an almost eerie fascination, his sharp eyes scanning the building as if sizing it up for some unknown purpose.

Though old, his face was far from kindly or benign. It radiated hostility, a cold, hard glare that seemed to look down on everyone around him. His very presence sent shivers down spines, and all the students instinctively kept their distance, avoiding crossing his path whenever possible.

In time, it became clear that the man wasn't just passing through—he was going to stay at the center for an extended period. A dark cloud settled over Sara's heart. This place was a hell they couldn't escape, a prison ruled by cruel villains who harmed them with impunity. Their parents, indifferent or absent, could offer no rescue.

That night, the first since the old man's arrival, the center seemed monstrously gloomier—more restless, as if the building itself was breathing in dread.

Sara lay wide awake, unable to catch a wink of sleep. From the hallway came eerie, twisted laughter that sent chills racing down her spine. Strange thuds echoed in the silence, stirring a creeping sense of unease. Tonight, the ghosts were more aggressive, more insistent.

She pressed her hands over her ears, desperate to shut out the noise, but the laughter and whispered voices echoed relentlessly in her head. She couldn't shake them.

Driven by growing desperation, Sara slipped out of bed and crept into the hallway. Her heart thumped loudly in her chest as she scanned the shadows with wary eyes. The hall was quiet—too quiet. Everyone was asleep, or so it seemed.

Convincing herself it was only her imagination, she turned to head back, but the door slammed shut just before her face. Panic surged as she grabbed the handle and pushed, but the door wouldn't budge.

A cold breath brushed against her neck, icy and foul. She froze, dread rooting her in place. Slowly, she dared to glance behind her.

A massacred, eyeless figure hovered there, emitting a high-pitched, shrill squeak. She had seen such specters before, but their recent boldness was terrifying.

Without hesitation, Sara flung her eyes open and bolted toward the stairs, but an unseen force hurled her backwards into the wall with crushing impact. Pain exploded across her back, knocking the air from her lungs.

She tried to rise, but a chilling shudder coursed down her spine, paralyzing her.

Tears blurred her vision as she struggled to suppress the mounting terror. The phantom returned swiftly, seizing her by the throat and lifting her off the ground. She clawed at its grip, gasping for air that wouldn't come.

A cold voice rasped in her ear, "Kill the boy before it's too late."

With a cruel jerk, the ghost flung her to the floor.

Gasping and trembling, Sara crawled toward the stairwell. Clutching the handrail, she fought to stand, pain lancing through her every movement.

Halfway down, her legs gave out, and she tumbled down the steps. Her eyes glazed as she stared blankly at the ceiling. The world spun wildly before everything faded into darkness.

*

Sara's eyelids felt glued shut, as if sealed with tape, yet she could hear every word clearly. Several male voices argued heatedly nearby. She struggled to focus through the fog creeping over her mind, desperate to stay awake.

After a long, agonizing effort, she managed to lift her heavy eyelids. The blurry outline of a hospital room slowly came into focus. She was lying on a bed, weak and vulnerable.

Turning her head cautiously, panic swelled as she recognized four men standing nearby: the psychologist, the math teacher, the director—and the mysterious old man who had so unnerved the students since his arrival.

Sara pressed her head back to the pillow and forced herself to remain still, feigning unconsciousness. She needed to hear what they were planning.

"... so you confirmed that this boy is my grandson?" the director asked.

"Yes. Though even without the test, I was certain. Alan takes after you—feisty, stubborn. He's inherited his grandfather's spirit. Breaking him won't be easy, but my son is a specialist," the psychologist replied, receiving a reassuring pat on the shoulder from the director.

The old man sneered harshly, sitting down with a grim tone. "That bitch didn't squeak a word when she was pregnant. Ran away like a coward. What did I expect? She was Polish—trash, all of them."

The director interjected calmly, "Brother, Alan's grandmother died many years ago."

A cruel smile twisted the old man's face. "She should have died young. If I hadn't been hiding under a false name in Spain, I would've found her and murdered her myself. And who's this girl?" His eyes locked on Sara.

"We suspected she's the granddaughter of the woman who tried to kill you," the psychologist said.

The old man chuckled darkly, stepping closer. Sara's heart pounded wildly, but she refused to show any sign of fear.

"That woman—she was helped to escape because she knew death awaited her for trying to kill me. Still, I fell in love with her once. Foolish, I was fascinated by her cunning," he muttered, amused. "What kind of love? No, just fascination. She was as sly as a fox."

The psychologist spoke again. "But we were mistaken. This isn't the girl, though we already know who her granddaughter is."

The old man's interest sharpened. "And?"

"She's the one who's caused trouble here many times."

The old man snapped, "Then why keep her here? Send her to the doctor until she wakes. Don't make it worse. Things are already complicated enough."

*

Sara slowly opened her eyes, blinking against the harsh light of the doctor's office. She only dared to move once the teacher finally left the room.

The doctor looked at her kindly. "Stay here until morning. It's safer than wandering the corridors at night." Sara felt a wave of relief—she had no desire to walk alone after what had happened.

Once alone, Sara sat up abruptly. The conversation she'd overheard replayed in her mind. The mysterious old man was the cruel General from the photo—the same one Alan's grandfather. And he was plotting something dangerous.

She had to warn Alan.

Without hesitation, Sara slipped out and sprinted toward her room, her head throbbing from the fall but grateful she hadn't been seriously hurt. She needed to freshen up and get ready for class.

As she rushed down the corridor, she bumped into Julia, who had just started recovering. Julia's face was softer now—less harsh, but still marked by fear.

"Watch where you're going," Julia snapped as Sara passed her.

Sara ignored her and dashed up the stairs. She was winded when she finally pushed open the door—but froze. Laura and Simon were asleep, curled together in a rare moment of comfort.

She grabbed clean clothes and hurried to the bathroom. When she returned, Laura was awake, quietly talking to Simon.

Sara envied Laura's friendship with Simon. She'd noticed how he looked at Laura—there were feelings deeper than friendship there. He, too, must be suffering. Laura confided in him about Chan, and Simon's quiet pain made Sara's heart ache. Still, Simon tried to be caring, despite his own struggle.

"Where were you all night, Sara? I was worried sick," Laura whispered, dabbing at tears.

Simon shot Laura a furious look, as if blaming her for Sara's condition.

"She's suffered enough," he growled. "Don't give her more reasons to worry. She's your roommate—care about her! Especially now, after everything. Nobody's safe here. You should stay in your room at night, even if you can't sleep."

Laura defended herself quietly. "I didn't hurt her."

Simon's jaw tightened. Suddenly, without a word, he stormed out of the room. Laura shook her head in frustration.

"Why'd you say that? I was trying to calm him down, not make him angrier. Simon's impulsive—he fights first and asks questions later," Laura explained, hastily pulling on her clothes.

Sara's eyes widened in alarm. She realized she'd accidentally egged Simon on.

They raced after him to the men's section, hoping to intervene before it escalated. But it was too late.

The door burst open—and Simon's fist collided with Matthew's nose in a brutal greeting. Sara covered her mouth, horrified. It must have hurt terribly. She felt a pang of guilt. Simon was here because of her.

"Have they lost their minds? Do they want a psychologist lecture?" came Alan's voice. Sara's heart skipped. She needed to warn him now.

Laura stepped between the two men, and Sara grabbed Alan's hand, pulling him aside, ignoring the chaos.

"Something happened last night—I ended up at the psychologist's," she said, voice trembling. Alan's worried eyes spurred her on. "I'm okay, but listen. That man staring at you—the General—he's your grandfather. The same one behind all the atrocities. He hid in Spain under a false name. You're related."

Alan's mouth fell open, disbelief plain on his face. "I thought he was dead."

Sara pressed on, "I think the director is his brother. They'll try to convert you to their side. I don't know their full plan, but you have to watch yourself. Don't trust them. You know what they're capable of."

Alan swallowed hard. "I guessed I was related to him, but never that he was my grandfather. My dad's a bastard because of that. Born into that bloodline." He laughed bitterly. "Good thing my grandmother died before I was born. I wouldn't want to meet someone who bonded with a monster. She was probably just like him. A real role model," he added with cold sarcasm before slipping into his room.

Sara wasn't sure if she'd done right by telling him, but he had a right to know. This was his family.

Suddenly, a booming voice cut through the tension.

"What's going on here?" The math teacher stormed past, glaring. "Are you planning a fight?"

Laura tried to downplay it. "Just practicing!"

The teacher sneered. "I invite you to the director's office. Previous punishments weren't enough—you all need a proper talking-to." His tone was sharp, deadly serious.

They froze, knowing they were in deep trouble.