The door slammed shut behind them with a hollow thunk, and Henriette didn't hesitate—she slid the bolt, turned the key, and pressed her shoulder to the heavy oak frame as if sheer force might keep the world out.
Their dorm room—normally a place of quiet vanity and expensive perfumes—now felt like a coffin.
Monika backed into the corner, her eyes wide, lips parted in disbelief. "That wasn't—he wasn't—he couldn't have been human anymore."
Katharina stood in the center of the room, fists clenched tight. Her blazer was damp with sweat, her braid had come partially undone, and the pale skin at her collarbone was flushed with adrenaline. She didn't speak.
Henriette finally stepped away from the door. "What the fuck is going on."
They were silent for a long beat.
The room was large, richly decorated with carved wardrobes, velvet drapes, and two beds each adorned with pristine white duvets. It smelled faintly of jasmine and furniture polish. A family heirloom—Katharina's mother's silver-framed mirror—reflected their pale, shocked faces.
"We need to get help," Katharina said at last, her voice quiet, sharp-edged.
"From who?" Monika asked. "The faculty? That thing was a teacher."
"The headmistress. The staff. Maybe someone's called emergency services," Henriette said, though her voice held none of its usual confidence.
Katharina moved to the window and pulled aside the curtain.
The courtyard was chaos.
Girls were running, some screaming, others frozen in place. She spotted uniforms crumpled on the ground, twisted in ways they shouldn't be. There were sounds—wet, brutal, and fast. One of the statues had been knocked over, its shattered head lying in a pool of blood.
Monika gasped. "Katha—look!"
A girl sprinted into view, her long platinum braid unmistakable even at a distance. She was stumbling, holding her arm close to her chest. Blood stained the side of her uniform, and her once-impeccable blazer was torn.
It was Seraphina von Rothschild.
"Open the door! Please! Somebody!"
She ran up the stairwell, turned sharply, and began banging on doors with her uninjured hand, the other still pressed to her side. Her voice was high, panicked—but still clear, still composed in that uncanny Rothschild way.
"Let me in! It's Seraphina! Please—!"
Henriette rushed to the door, but Katharina grabbed her arm. "Wait."
"She's one of us," Henriette snapped.
"That's not why I'm stopping you," Katharina said. "If she's injured—if she's turning—"
"She's not," Monika whispered, stepping forward. "She's bleeding, but she's still speaking, still moving like herself."
Outside, Seraphina had reached their door. Her hand slammed against it.
"Monika? Henriette? Katha? I know you're in there!"
There was no time to think. Henriette threw the bolt, turned the key, and yanked open the door.
Seraphina nearly collapsed inside.
Henriette caught her by the waist and pulled her in, slamming the door shut behind her. Katharina locked it again, and for a second, none of them moved—just the sound of Seraphina's ragged breathing filled the room.
"They… they wouldn't let me in," she said, eyes wide. "They heard me, and they wouldn't—"
"Sit," Katharina ordered, grabbing a towel from the desk and pressing it to her arm. "Where were you?"
"I—I was in the conservatory. The glass exploded. Someone got dragged out. There was blood, and—" Her voice cracked. "I ran. I couldn't get to my dorm. There were bodies on the stairs. Girls who—who weren't moving."
Henriette crouched beside her. "You're safe now. You're okay."
But Katharina knew better.
There was no "okay" anymore.
Outside, the screaming started again—closer this time. A shriek, a crash, followed by silence.
The virus—or whatever it was—was inside the school now. And help? Help wasn't coming.
Not tonight.