Ep. 31 Lies and Secrets

Maya's body hit the floor with the dull impact of a sandbag, the thud resonating through the wooden floorboards like a death knell. She clawed at the air, each desperate gasp a primal fight for survival itself, her throat working frantically to draw in oxygen that had been denied for too long.

Ms. Vera stood motionless above her, a statue carved from shadow and regret. The killing intent that had filled the room moments ago had vanished, replaced by something heavier, more suffocating—an almost palpable grief.

I had come to the brutal realization that she was beyond any of us. Fighting her again would be suicide. Still, I couldn't just lie there. With trembling arms, I pushed against the floor, trying to lift my broken body. The simple movement sent waves of agony through my chest, and I doubled over, coughing up a spray of blood that spattered dark against the wooden boards. Multiple ribs were definitely broken, and the room wouldn't stop spinning—clear signs of a severe concussion. Every nerve ending screamed in protest, every movement a fresh lesson in pain.

Through my blurred vision, I could make out Rowan across the room, struggling similarly to orient himself in the aftermath of Ms. Vera's assault. But my attention was drawn inexorably back to our teacher, still standing over Maya's crumpled form, her back rigid and unyielding.

"M-Ms. Vera?" I managed to force the words out, not knowing whether they would be answered with words or another bone-crushing blow.

She remained silent, unnaturally still, as if she'd been frozen in time. The silence stretched thin and brittle between us. Despite every survival instinct screaming at me to stay back, I knew I had to check on Maya. I began to edge forward, my muscles coiled as much as my battered body would allow, ready to attempt some futile defense if she turned violent again.

I circled cautiously around her right shoulder, trying to get a clear view of Maya while keeping Ms. Vera in my peripheral vision. But when I finally caught sight of her face, what I saw stopped me cold.

Tears. Silent rivers of them tracking down her cheeks, her eyes fixed on some distant point as if she couldn't bear to look at the carnage she'd wrought. The sight was so incongruous with the terrifying force we'd just witnessed that for a moment, I wondered if my concussion was causing hallucinations.

"M-Ms. Vera?" I tried again, the words barely more than a whisper.

She turned to face me with agonizing slowness, and in her eyes I saw something that shook me more than her violence had—raw, unfiltered anguish.

"I'm so, so sorry, child." The words fell from her lips like drops of blood, each one heavy with the weight of a thousand unspoken regrets.

"I-I don't understand," I stammered, my mind still reeling from the whiplash of emotions—from mortal terror to this strange, fragile moment. The woman who had just tried to kill us, who had thrown me through a wall and nearly crushed Maya's throat, now stood before me with tears streaming down her face. None of it made sense.

But Ms. Vera offered no illumination. Her tear-filled eyes met mine, carrying the weight of secrets I couldn't begin to comprehend. "I know," she whispered, those two simple words somehow heavier than any explanation could have been.

Our gazes remained locked for what felt like an eternity compressed into heartbeats. In those brief seconds, I caught glimpses of something in her eyes—pain, resignation, and something that looked almost like fear. Not of us, but of something else, something bigger.

Then, as quickly as the moment of vulnerability had appeared, it vanished. Ms. Vera's hand swept across her face, wiping away the tears with brutal efficiency. Her expression transformed, softness giving way to steel, grief hardening into grim resolve. The change was so complete, so absolute, that I found myself taking an involuntary step backward. Her new expression carried a gravity that made her previous killing intent seem almost gentle in comparison.