The clock above the dormitory fireplace struck six.
Its chime was soft, almost apologetic—as if it, too, understood that nothing was normal anymore. The sun had begun its descent, spilling dying gold across the velvet drapes and dark-wood floorboards. Outside, the light was fading. And with it, any sense of safety.
The room was dim now, lit only by the growing dusk and the flickering hallway lights that still functioned, though some of them sputtered every few seconds, as if the building itself was suffocating.
Seraphina sat propped against the wall, the towel at her side slowly soaking with blood. Her elegant fingers shook as she held a teacup Monika had brought her. The cup didn't match the chaos—painted porcelain, delicate, chipped from being dropped once last semester. But Seraphina still held it like she was at some formal event.
Henriette paced like a caged animal, her fists clenched. "We can't just sit here."
"We need a plan," Katharina said, her voice low and controlled.
"There is no plan," Monika whispered from the window. "The teachers are dead. The faculty—Herr von Riedel was the first, but I saw Frau Lenz fall on one of the younger girls in the courtyard."
"I saw her too," Seraphina said faintly. "She was foaming at the mouth. Her eyes were... gone. Clouded. Like milk."
A silence followed. The ticking of the fireplace clock grew louder.
"I don't get it," Henriette muttered. "This isn't some disease. This isn't the flu. These people—our teachers—they're attacking us."
"It's spreading," Katharina said. She moved to her desk and pulled out the folder of emergency protocol she had always mocked for being outdated. "Whatever this is, it's moving fast. And it's only been two days since the first news broke."
Seraphina's eyes narrowed. "The news barely said anything. Just 'sudden illness' in some urban districts. Berlin was the first to shut down."
Henriette grunted. "Typical. They always say everything's fine until it's eating your face."
Katharina opened the file. "There's a phone in the administrative office—landline. If there's any power left, we can try to call for help. But it's on the other side of the school."
"That's suicide," Monika said.
"It's a risk," Katharina corrected. "Not suicide. We can't stay in here forever."
"And what if the phone lines are already down?" Seraphina asked, setting the cup down carefully beside her.
"Then we get to the security office," Katharina continued. "There's a radio, and emergency protocols. Backup keys. We'll find something."
The room went quiet again. The sound of girls crying echoed faintly from the hallway beyond the door—muffled. Some had locked themselves in like they had. Others, not fast enough.
Henriette stopped pacing. "So we move tonight?"
Katharina nodded. "At full dark. The infected—whatever they are—seem slow at first. Disoriented. If we're quick, quiet, and stick to the walls... we might make it."
Monika shivered. "And then what? We get help? Who's going to answer?"
No one responded.
Because no one knew.
The sun dipped lower. Shadows crept like ink across the walls. In the distance, a scream rose—and then abruptly cut off.
Henriette sat down on the edge of the bed and began lacing her boots tighter. "Well," she said grimly, "if I die tonight, I'm going to punch something first."
Seraphina smiled faintly. "Charming."
Monika reached out and took Katharina's hand without a word.
Katharina squeezed it once, her face unreadable.
The plan wasn't perfect. It wasn't even good.
But it was something.
And in a world that was rapidly becoming something else entirely, something was all they had.