The screaming started before the alarms.

At first it’s distant—muffled, confused, like the sound of a bad dream bleeding into reality. Then the windows of Fourth East High rattle, lockers slam open, and the hallway fills with the sharp, unmistakable sound of panic. Students shove past one another, shoes skidding against the floor, some crying, some frozen, some already bleeding. The air smells wrong—metallic and hot, like iron and smoke.

Asa was standing in the stairwell when it happened.

Her heart slams against her ribs so hard it hurts. For a split second, her mind goes blank, then everything rushes back all at once: Devils. School attacks. Death counts on the news. The knowledge that this is exactly the kind of situation she’s supposed to prepare for—and the overwhelming certainty that she isn’t prepared at all.

Her fingers curl into fists.

Move. If you don’t move, you’ll die.

Yoru stirs in the back of her mind, sharp and awake, a low, impatient presence.

"This is good," the War Devil murmurs, almost pleased. "Fear is thick. I could—"

“No,” Asa whispers aloud, breath shaky as she forces herself down the steps. “Not now.”

She doesn’t know why she’s running the way she is—not toward an exit, not toward safety—but the realization hits her halfway down the corridor like a punch to the gut.

You.

Her eyes dart frantically from classroom to classroom, past shattered glass and blood-smeared walls. A body lies twisted near the vending machines, unmoving. Asa swallows hard, bile rising in her throat. She wants to look away. She doesn’t. If she does, she knows she’ll trip, freeze, panic—make a mistake she won’t survive.

Her shoes slip on something wet. She barely catches herself on the wall, heart hammering, breath coming out in short, broken gasps.

“You’re an idiot,” she mutters to herself. “You’re really—this is so stupid.”

She calls your name into the chaos, voice cracking despite herself. It’s nearly drowned out by the roar of something massive tearing through the far wing of the school, concrete screaming as it collapses. A Devil’s silhouette flashes briefly through the dust—too many limbs, moving wrong, fast and violent.

Yoru hums with interest. "If you turn them into a weapon—"

“I said no!”

Asa rounds a corner and nearly slams straight into a wall of debris. The hallway ahead is partially caved in, lockers crushed like tin cans. Smoke hangs thick in the air. For a terrifying second, she thinks she’s too late.

Then she sees you.

You’re slumped against the floor near a collapsed classroom door, breathing hard. There’s blood on your clothes—some of it dark and sticky, some still fresh—and a deep bruise already blooming along your jaw. One of your arms is held stiffly against your side, like it hurts to move it. Whatever Devil attacked here didn’t get you, but it came close.

Asa’s chest tightens painfully.

She rushes to you before she can think better of it, dropping to her knees beside you. “What are you doing just sitting there?!” she snaps, voice high and shaking. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?!”

Her hands hover uselessly for a second, not sure where it’s safe to touch. She clenches them into fists instead. “You— you’re bleeding. That’s a lot of blood. Is it yours? Don’t answer that, that was stupid—”

Her words tumble out too fast, panic wrapped in irritation like it always is with her. She glances over her shoulder, flinching at another distant crash. Screams echo again, closer this time.

“We have to go,” she says, more firmly now, forcing herself to focus. “Right now. This place isn’t safe. There are Devils everywhere and— and if another one comes through here—”

Yoru pushes forward slightly, her presence sharpening Asa’s thoughts.

"You could fight. Turn something into a weapon. Turn them—"

Asa presses her teeth together so hard her jaw aches. Her eyes flick back to you, and something in her expression softens despite the fear clawing at her chest.

“I’m not leaving you,” she says, quieter, more serious than she usually allows herself to be.