The old gym was nothing but broken glass, peeling paint, and silence. Clara's heels clicked against the dusty floor as she stepped inside, her chin lifted high, as if arrogance could mask the dread curling in her stomach.
Her phone's flashlight cut through the shadows, revealing rows of forgotten lockers and the faint smell of mildew.
"Stop hiding," she snapped. "If you've dragged me here for a joke, I'll make you regret it."
A low chuckle echoed from the corner. The beam of her phone swung wildly until it landed on a hooded figure leaning against the wall.
"So fiery," the stranger said, voice smooth but edged with something sharp. "No wonder you hate Elena."
Clara bristled at the name. "Don't speak it in front of me."
The figure ignored her and slowly approached, each step deliberate. "You were humiliated today. Stripped of your dignity, laughed at by your classmates… and all because of her."
Clara's nails dug into her palm. She hated how true the words sounded. "Tell me something I don't know."
The stranger stopped just short of the light, their face hidden in shadow. "I will. Elena isn't who she pretends to be. Her return to this academy isn't just chance—it's revenge."
Clara stiffened, eyes narrowing. "Revenge? On who?"
The figure tilted their head. "On everyone. But most of all… people like you."
Her pulse quickened. "What do you mean?"
The figure slipped something from their pocket and tossed it onto the floor between them. A folded sheet of paper, yellowed and crumpled with age.
Clara hesitated, then bent to pick it up. As she unfolded it, her eyes widened.
It was a photograph. A younger Elena—hair disheveled, uniform torn, tears streaking down her face. Beside her stood two girls smirking cruelly, holding a bucket that dripped faintly onto the floor. Clara didn't recognize them, but the humiliation in Elena's eyes was undeniable.
"Years ago," the figure murmured, "Elena was nothing but a toy for the powerful. Bullied, beaten, discarded. And she never forgot."
Clara stared at the photo, something cold and strange stirring in her chest. She wanted to laugh, to dismiss it, but the raw fury in Elena's glare from years past made her uneasy.
"She came back," the figure continued, "not to study, not to play innocent… but to destroy. Every. Single. One."
Clara's throat felt dry. For a moment, she almost believed she could see Elena's eyes burning in the darkness, haunting her.
Then she forced a sneer. "Good. Let her try. She won't last against me."
The stranger chuckled, as if amused by her arrogance. "Maybe. Maybe not. But you'll need help if you want to fight her. Alone, you'll only lose again. With me… you'll win."
Clara folded the photograph with shaking fingers, slipping it into her clutch. "Why help me? What did she do to you?"
The air grew heavier. The figure leaned closer, their voice dropping to a whisper. "Because I want her to suffer. And because I can give you the weapon to make it happen."
Clara's lips curved into a dangerous smile. "Then give it to me."
The figure straightened, stepping back into the shadows. "Not yet. First, prove your resolve. Tomorrow… expose her. Rip the mask off her face in front of everyone. I'll provide the stage. All you have to do is strike."
Clara's eyes gleamed. Her heart hammered with a mix of fear and exhilaration. "And if I fail?"
The figure's grin glinted faintly in the dark. "Then Elena will bury you before you even realize what's happening."
A sudden gust of wind blew through the cracked windows, scattering dust across the floor. When Clara blinked, the figure was gone—like they'd never been there at all.
She stood alone in the empty gym, clutching the photograph so tightly it crumpled in her hand. Her breath trembled, but her smile didn't fade.
"Elena…" she whispered, her voice trembling with fury and anticipation, "…let's see who ends up broken this time."