Chapter 38: Fire Beneath the Surface
It happened on a Tuesday.
The kind of day that looked normal on the surface—blue skies, chattering halls, the faint scent of cafeteria pizza wafting down the corridor. But Evelyn had woken up with a weight in her chest. Like the air itself had thickened.
A premonition, maybe.
Or just intuition sharpened by fear.
Clara hadn’t replied to her last three messages.
That wasn’t like her.
Not since the note.
By second period, Evelyn was in full panic mode. She ducked out of class, ignoring the teacher’s call, and ran through the courtyard toward the science wing.
Then she heard it.
A boom.
A sharp crack.
The shattering of glass.
And the screams.
By the time she got there, smoke was curling from the chemistry lab. A sprinkler had burst overhead. Students were pouring out of the doors, coughing and yelling.
And then—
“CLARA!”
Evelyn pushed through the crowd, heart in her throat, until she saw a figure stumbling out of the building, soot-streaked and wide-eyed.
Clara.
Alive.
But barely standing.
Evelyn reached her just as she collapsed into her arms.
“I—I didn’t do it,” Clara gasped, voice hoarse. “I didn’t touch anything. I swear—”
“I know,” Evelyn whispered, holding her tight. “I know.”
Liam appeared seconds later, eyes scanning the chaos, his expression one of barely contained fury.
“What happened?”
“Someone tampered with the Bunsen valve,” a student said nearby. “It overloaded. Blew the side of the table.”
Clara’s class wasn’t even supposed to be using that table.
The paramedics came quickly. Clara was checked, questioned, then released with minor burns and a concussion scare. But it was enough.
Enough to send a message.
Enough to silence most students.
But not Evelyn.
Not this time.
That evening, Clara lay on the Monroe couch, wrapped in a blanket, a bandage over one arm and her voice quiet but clear.
“They waited until I was alone,” she said. “There was a sub. No one else had checked the setup. They timed it.”
Evelyn sat beside her, hands clenched. “They’re escalating.”
“They want you afraid,” Liam said from across the room. “They want to rattle your focus.”
“They nearly killed her,” Evelyn snapped.
“I know,” he said. “That’s what rattles me.”
Clara turned to Evelyn. “You have to promise me something.”
“Anything.”
“If they come for me again… you keep going. You finish it.”
Evelyn shook her head. “Don’t say that.”
“I mean it.”
“I’m not sacrificing you for this.”
“You’re not,” Clara said. “I’m choosing this.”
Later, alone in the garage, Evelyn stared at the charred edge of Clara’s sleeve—evidence of the fire. Of the attempt. Of the war they were neck-deep in.
She pinned it to the board.
Beneath it, she wrote:
“You almost killed her.
We won’t let you try again.”
The next morning, the school remained eerily quiet.
No announcement. No warning. No investigation.
Just a simple note posted on the hallway bulletin board:
“Science Lab Out of Order — Equipment Failure. Repairs Underway.”
Just like that.
Wrapped up.
Forgotten.
Erased.
But not by Evelyn.
Not by Liam.
And definitely not by Clara.
They met behind the auditorium, beneath the tree they once used for poetry readings and study sessions.
Now it was a war table.
“No more waiting,” Evelyn said. “No more hesitation.”
“We move early,” Liam agreed.
“Before the Gala?” Clara asked, voice scratchy but steady.
Evelyn nodded.
“They want to scare us silent.”
Clara pulled out her phone.
“Let’s make sure everyone hears us instead.”