The school hospital at Haul Academy was cloaked in a tense stillness, the sterile air thick with the faint hum of monitors and the occasional beep from the machines that kept Mr. Harl alive.
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•••••Outside his room, the cramped waiting area felt smaller than usual, as if the walls themselves were closing in on the five figures huddled there. - Rossie, Michael, Angela, Ethan, and Becky.
Each of them wore exhaustion like a second skin, their faces pale and drawn from sleepless nights and relentless worry.
The past few days had been a blur since Eli's battle with the dark entity left Harl unconscious, his ventilator-assisted breathing a constant, haunting reminder of the stakes they faced.
Rossie sat closest to the door, her satchel resting on the floor beside her. Inside it, the moonflower glowed faintly, its pulse a quiet comfort against the bruises on her neck, a subtle reassurance amid the chaos.
She rubbed her temples, trying to steady her racing thoughts. Her voice was low, almost a whisper as if afraid to disturb the fragile calm.
"I've been hearing his voice in my mind - weak, but it's him. Something about 'roots' and the garden. Maybe he's waking up."
Michael, sitting beside her, nodded slowly. His hand found hers, a silent gesture of support. His dark eyes, usually so full of certainty, now held a flicker of cautious hope.
"That could be a breakthrough," he said softly. "If he's stirring, we might finally get answers. Answers that could end this nightmare."
Rossie squeezed his hand, drawing strength from his presence. Their bond had been a lifeline through the chaos, a tether to sanity when everything else seemed to unravel.
Becky, perched on the edge of a chair with her notebook open on her lap, tapped her pen thoughtfully against the paper.
"I've been digging into Elias's journal," she said, her voice steady but tense.
"If Hargrove's mind is still active, even faintly, it might mean the covenant's influence hasn't completely faded.
We need to be prepared for whatever comes next." Her gaze flickered toward Ethan, who stood by the window, his hazel eyes fixed on the darkened campus beyond.
The worry etched into his posture was unmistakable.
•••••√Ethan turned away from the window, his voice tight with emotion.
"He's my uncle. If he's waking, I need to know he's safe - not just some piece in your puzzle." His words carried a protective edge, raw and unfiltered.
The memory of Harl's possession still lingered like a shadow over them all.
The fragile calm shattered when Angela, lounging with her arms crossed, let out a sharp, derisive laugh.
"Oh, please, Ethan," she sneered, her voice dripping with venom.
"Stop playing the martyr. You couldn't even keep your uncle from turning into a monster - maybe if you'd been less distracted with Becky, he wouldn't be hooked up to those machines. And Becky, always scribbling in that book like it's going to save us all - grow up."
The room froze. Angela's insult sliced through the air like a knife, the tension snapping taut.
Ethan's face flushed crimson, his fists clenching at his sides as he stepped forward, anger boiling over.
"What the hell, Angela? You think I wanted this? I've been fighting for him while you've just been whining!" His voice cracked with frustration and pain, directed equally at Angela and the slight to Becky.
Michael sprang up, his protective instincts flaring as he moved quickly between them.
"Ethan, calm down - she didn't mean it like that. Angela's just stressed, like all of us." His voice was firm but gentle, trying to defuse the situation.
Yet the way he glanced at Angela, his expression softening, hinted at something more complicated beneath the surface - a misunderstanding waiting to explode.
Ethan's eyes narrowed, suspicion sharpening his tone.
"Stressed? She's insulting my family, and you're defending her? I thought you were with us, Michael - not swooning over her like some lovesick fool!" The accusation stung, the rift between them widening with every word.
Before anyone could respond, Michael, caught off guard and flustered, blurted out,
"That's not it—I just… I've always liked Angela, okay? She's been there in her own way."
The words tumbled out awkwardly, his face paling as he realized what he'd just admitted. The room plunged into stunned silence.
Rossie's breath hitched, her hand slipping from Michael's as shock washed over her. Her eyes widened, the warmth of their shared moments replaced by a cold ache.
"Michael… what?" she whispered, voice trembling. The moonflower's pulse quickened, as if mirroring the turmoil twisting inside her.
Becky's jaw dropped, her pen clattering to the floor.
"Michael, what are you saying?" she gasped, her protective instinct toward Rossie flaring fiercely. She shot Angela a glare, her voice sharp and accusing.
"And you - your little comment started this. Maybe if you weren't so cruel, we wouldn't be here!"
Angela rolled her eyes, crossing her arms tighter, her smirk unapologetic.
"Oh, spare me the drama. If Michael likes me, that's his problem - not mine. I'm out of here." She stood abruptly, storming toward the door, leaving a trail of tension in her wake.
Ethan turned on Michael, his voice low and hurt. "So that's it? You're choosing her over us? After everything with my uncle?" His trust shattered, the misunderstanding deepening the divide between them.
Rossie stood, her hands shaking as she faced Michael.
"I need a moment," she said, voice breaking. She grabbed her satchel, the moonflower's glow casting a faint, eerie light as she slipped out into the hall, her heart heavy with betrayal.
Michael reached for her, but stopped, his face a mask of regret.
"Rossie, wait...I didn't mean it like that!" But she was gone. He turned to Ethan, desperation creeping into his voice.
"I messed up. I don't know why I said that - it's not true. Help me fix this."
Before Ethan could reply, a sharper beep echoed from Harl's room, followed by a raspy groan. They rushed inside, the tension momentarily forgotten as they found Harl's eyes half-open, his voice a weak whisper.
"The mirror… in the library… destroy it…" His words were barely audible before he slumped back, unconscious again.
The stir in Harl refocused them, but the tension between Michael and Ethan, and the rift with Becky and Angela, lingered like a storm cloud overhead.
Their alliance, once strong and united, now fractured and fragile, faced the daunting challenge ahead - a battle not just against the dark entity, but against the cracks growing within their own circle.
•••••••√√√