Watching Rachel and Finn perform yet another duet—what felt like the hundredth that week—had left the entire glee club drifting into a haze of disinterest. Mr. Schuester stood onstage conducting the pair, their voices weaving together flawlessly, the choreography polished, but the audience of their own teammates looked anything but entertained.

Quinn slouched deeper into her seat, absently tugging at a loose thread on the worn upholstery, her sigh barely audible in the cavernous auditorium. She was lost in thought when a faint, high-pitched buzz cut through the air. At first, everyone dismissed it as mic feedback. Even Rachel and Finn faltered mid-song, exchanging uncertain looks. But the sound grew sharper, louder—until the house lights above flared white-hot, flooding the room in a blinding glow before shattering in a spray of sparks.

Darkness swallowed the auditorium, pierced only by the shrill screams of startled voices.

“Whoa, whoa!” Mr. Schuester shouted, his own nerves bleeding through the words. “Everyone, uh—stay in your seats!”

Quinn jerked upright, instinctively clutching the armrest for stability. But instead of cold, cracked vinyl, her fingers closed around something warm and solid—someone’s hand. Her breath caught as she squinted into the black, trying to make out who she’d latched onto. She hadn’t even noticed who was sitting beside her.