The classroom smelled like... God, like old chalk and wet socks. That kind of stink that settles into your throat and makes you gag a little. The windows were cracked open just enough for the sea fog to crawl in — thick, damp, salty. It clung to everything. Skin, hair, lungs. Camille couldn’t breathe right. She couldn’t think. Her fingers were cold but sweating, sticking to the edge of the desk.

David’s text was still burned into her retinas.

Check Ellie’s classroom.

She had. She was here. But it wasn’t enough. Her stomach was one long, tight knot and her heartbeat was—wasn’t even beats anymore. Just a brutal thudding, like...