Mira's POV
Twenty-four minutes until the fire started.
I threw myself against the door again, shoulder first. Pain shot through my arm but the door didn't budge. It was solid wood, probably original to the building—thick and heavy and impossible to break.
"MARCUS!" I screamed again, pounding with both fists. "CAN YOU HEAR ME?"
Still nothing. Had they gotten to him too? Was he locked in another room, or worse?
My chest felt tight. The walls seemed to be closing in. I couldn't breathe right.
No, I told myself firmly. *No panic attacks. Not now. Mom needs you.
I forced myself to take three deep breaths, even though each one felt like swallowing glass. Think, Mira. Think.
The room had no windows—it was an interior lab. The door was locked from the outside. But there had to be another way out. There had to be.
I spun around, really looking at the space for the first time. Old lab tables. Broken equipment. A supply closet in the back corner. And above the teacher's desk, an air vent.
Air vents connected to other rooms. Other hallways. Maybe even other parts of the building.
I dragged a lab table across the floor—it screeched horribly against the tile—and climbed on top. Even standing on my toes, I could barely reach the vent cover.
My fingers scrabbled at the edges, trying to find purchase. The metal was old and rusty, screws loose from years of neglect. I dug my fingernails under the edge and pulled.
It didn't move.
I pulled harder, putting my whole body into it. The sharp metal cut into my fingers but I didn't stop.
With a shriek of protesting metal, the vent cover came loose. I nearly fell backward off the table.
The opening was small. Really small. But I was small too. I could fit. I had to fit.
I pulled myself up, muscles straining. My arms shook with effort as I dragged my body into the vent shaft. It was dark and dusty and barely wider than my shoulders. Cobwebs stuck to my face.
But I was out of the room.
I checked Mom's phone—the one the kidnapper had left for me. Twenty-one minutes left.
The vent shaft stretched in two directions. Left or right. I had no idea which way led where.
I closed my eyes and tried to picture the school layout. Room 247 was at the end of the abandoned wing. If I went right, I'd head deeper into the closed-off section. If I went left, I'd move toward the main building.
Mom could be anywhere. But the photo showed smoke detectors and exit signs—things that worked. That meant she probably wasn't in the abandoned section where nothing worked anymore.
Left it was.
I crawled through the darkness, the metal cool beneath my palms. Every few feet, there was another vent opening looking down into empty classrooms. Dust made my eyes water and my throat itch, but I didn't dare cough. What if they heard me?
The shaft branched off in multiple directions, like a maze in the ceiling. I tried to keep track of my turns but quickly got lost. Right, then left, then straight, then right again. Or was it left?
My phone buzzed. I almost dropped it in surprise.
A new text: *Tick tock, Mira. Seventeen minutes. Is your mom's life worth your effort, or are you as useless as everyone says?*
Rage burned through my fear. I crawled faster, ignoring the way the sharp metal scraped my knees through my jeans.
Another vent opening appeared ahead. I peered down into what looked like an old teacher's lounge. Broken coffee maker on the counter. Saggy couch with stuffing coming out. And painted on the wall in huge red letters: GETTING WARMER.
My heart jumped. That meant I was going the right direction!
I kept crawling. The shaft got narrower. My shoulders scraped against both sides. Panic fluttered in my chest but I pushed it down.
Mom needs you. Keep going.
The next vent showed another room. This one had an arrow painted on the floor, pointing right.
I followed it.
The shaft turned corner after corner. More arrows appeared at each vent opening, leading me deeper into the building like a twisted treasure hunt.
Twelve minutes left.
My arms ached. My knees were definitely bleeding now—I could feel the warm wetness soaking through my jeans. But I didn't stop.
Finally, the shaft opened up into a larger space—some kind of central junction where multiple vents connected. And through one of the openings, I heard it.
Muffled sounds. Like someone trying to talk through cloth.
"Mom?" I whispered.
The sounds got louder, more frantic.
I crawled to that vent and looked down.
There she was. Mom, tied to a chair in what looked like an old storage room. Gray cloth over her mouth, hands bound behind her back, eyes wild with fear and relief when she saw me.
"I'm coming!" I told her. "Hold on!"
I kicked at the vent cover. Once, twice, three times. On the fourth kick, it gave way and clattered to the floor below.
The drop was about eight feet. I could make that. Probably.
I didn't have a choice.
I swung my legs through the opening and pushed off, trying to land in a crouch like I'd seen people do in movies.
I did not land in a crouch.
I crashed onto the floor in a heap, pain shooting through my ankle. But I scrambled up immediately, limping toward Mom.
"I've got you," I said, fumbling with the knots on her wrists. "It's okay. I've got you."
My fingers shook so badly I could barely work the rope. Whoever tied this knew what they were doing—the knots were tight and complex.
Eight minutes left.
"Come on, come on," I muttered, picking at the knots. Finally one came loose, then another.
Mom's hands came free. She ripped the cloth from her mouth, gasping.
"Mira! Oh, baby, are you okay? Did they hurt you?" Her hands flew to my face, checking for injuries.
"I'm fine. We have to go. They're going to start a fire—"
The door burst open.
Victoria stood there, and she wasn't alone. Madison and Sophia flanked her, along with three boys I didn't recognize. All of them wore dark clothes and masks pushed up on their foreheads.
"Well, well," Victoria said, slow clapping. "The little mouse found her way through the maze. I'm almost impressed."
"Let us go," I said, stepping in front of Mom. My voice only shook a little.
"Let you go?" Victoria laughed. "After all this planning? After all this work? I don't think so."
"This is insane, Victoria. You kidnapped someone. That's not a prank—that's a felony!"
"Only if someone finds out." She smiled, and it was the cruelest thing I'd ever seen. "And who's going to tell? You? Your mom? No one will believe either of you. Especially after we show them the 'evidence' of your mom breaking into school property."
One of the boys held up a crowbar. "Found this in her car," he said. "Perfect for breaking into buildings."
"You planted that," Mom said, her voice steel. "And when the police find out—"
"They won't." Victoria cut her off. "My dad donates millions to this school. The principal, the school board, the local police chief—they all owe him. They all owe me. So go ahead. Tell them whatever story you want. See who they believe."
She was right. I knew she was right. People like Victoria didn't face consequences. People like us didn't get justice.
Unless we made it ourselves.
Six minutes left.
"What do you want?" I asked. "You want me to leave Westwood? Fine. I'll transfer tomorrow. Just let my mom go."
"Oh, it's way past that now," Victoria said. "You've become a problem that needs a more permanent solution."
"You're going to kill us?" Mom's voice was sharp with disbelief. "You're sixteen years old!"
"Killing is so messy." Victoria examined her nails. "No, I thought we'd just let the fire department do the heavy lifting. Tragic accident in the abandoned wing. Faulty wiring. Two people who shouldn't have been there in the first place."
"The fire," I breathed. "You're really going to do it."
"Already done." Victoria held up her phone, showing a timer. "Smoke bombs placed in three locations. Fire department gets an anonymous call in exactly five minutes. And when they arrive, they'll find evidence of arson—evidence pointing right at your unstable mother who was so worried about her daughter being bullied that she snapped."
My mind raced. Five minutes until smoke. Maybe ten before the whole wing was evacuated. And we were locked in a storage room in the deepest part of the abandoned section.
We'd never make it out in time.
"You're a monster," Mom said quietly.
"I'm a survivor," Victoria corrected. "And I eliminate threats before they can hurt me. It's just good business."
She backed toward the door, her friends following. "Nothing personal, Mira. You just shouldn't have testified against the wrong person's brother."
The door slammed shut. A lock clicked.
Mom immediately ran to it, yanking on the handle. "No! HELP! SOMEONE HELP US!"
I pulled out the phone. Four minutes.
Then I noticed something. The storage room had shelves lining the walls. And on those shelves were old science supplies. Beakers. Bunsen burners. Chemicals in dusty bottles.
And a fire extinguisher.
"Mom," I said slowly. "I have an idea. But you're going to think I'm crazy."
She turned to look at me, and despite everything, she smiled. "Baby, after today, nothing could surprise me. What's your plan?"
I grabbed the fire extinguisher off the wall. "We're going to make our own exit."