Loria fumbled with the remote, switching channels in a frenzy of disbelief. Every station—the national news, the local Woodblock feed, even the entertainment network—was splashed with the same graphic: BLOOD WAX VACCINE: BREAKTHROUGH. The same stunned reporters, the same shots of scientists in labs, the same word: Hope.

  Her hands flew to her mouth, a sob wrenching free from her chest. It was a cry held back for months, a dam of fear finally breaking.

  Sadie was there in an instant. She placed her small hands on Loria’s wet cheeks, drawing her face down. “Ma, this isn’t the time for crying,” she said, her own voice trembling with excitement. “It’s time to celebrate!” With a tenderness that belied her years, she used her thumbs to wipe Loria’s tears away like windshield wipers clearing rain.

  Then, she snatched up the newspaper, her eyes blazing with purpose. “I know where the birthday is! I’m going to tell Martin!”

  “Sadie, wait—” Loria began, but the girl was already flying out the still-open front door, the newspaper clutched like a winning lottery ticket.

  Loria’s phone buzzed in her hand. It was her husband. She answered, hearing his voice, breathless with joy. “Loria! Have you heard? The vaccine! They found it! I’m coming home right now!”

  _____

  Across town, under a sky bruised with twilight, the planned protest was reaching its peak. Amid the chanting crowd, a smaller, more dangerous group peeled away. Their faces were set, their movements purposeful. They carried not just signs, but the grim tools of their intended message. Their target was clear: the Mioro house. They moved like a shadow detaching from a larger shadow, slipping through the backstreets toward the affluent neighborhood.

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  ______

  Jeremy was alone in the cavernous, post-dance silence of the school hall. He pushed a broom listlessly, the swish-swish the only sound. A teacher patrolled nearby. “You’re the only one who showed up, Jeremy. I’ll remember that. The others will regret it.”

  Jeremy didn’t care about rewards or regrets. He was here because he had nowhere else to be. The hollow ache of Ava’s indifference was a constant throb. She’d read his message. She hadn’t invited him. He was just… background noise.

  He took a heavy bag of trash out to the dumpster in the rear courtyard. As he turned to go back inside, a sound froze him—a soft scuff from the second-floor hallway, a part of the school already dark and locked for the night.

  Curiosity, mixed with a prickling unease, drew him toward the sound. He entered the long hallway. At the far end, where the last of the dusk light from a high window failed to reach, a figure stood motionless.

  Jeremy’s blood ran cold. A ghost? He took a step back.

  “Wait.” The voice was low, calm. “I’m not a ghost.”

  “Then what are you?” Jeremy called out, his voice echoing in the empty space. “Why are you standing there looking like a creep?”

  “I’m someone you know.” The figure took a single step forward, entering the dim light.

  Jeremy squinted, then recognition dawned, followed by a surge of defensive anger. “Caleb. The guy who sucker-punched me. What, you want another go? Want me to hit back this time?”

  Caleb’s expression didn’t change. “Actually, no. I came here to punch you again.”

  Jeremy barked a laugh. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that. But you clearly don’t know who you’re messing with.”

  Caleb continued as if Jeremy hadn’t spoken. “My sister told me what you did to Martin. I also think you were the one who hit her and gave her that bruise, but she insists it wasn’t you. So. Oh well.”

  The mention of Martin ignited Jeremy’s smoldering rage. “Oh, so this is about him? I can go beat that little freak up again right now, just to show you your words mean shit to me.”

  Caleb was silent for a long moment. He slowly rolled his shoulders, his gaze fixed on Jeremy. “Is that so?” he said, his voice dropping to a deadly quiet. “Well then. I’m done using words.”

  In the dark, empty hallway, far from prying eyes, the reckoning for the humiliation in the hall, for the chase through the streets, for every cruel joke and sneer, was about to be delivered. Not by Martin, but by his silent, furious guardian.