You watched as the nurse who had just informed you of your grandfather’s death walked away with the papers you’d just signed. You sucked in a shaky breath, holding back tears as you adjusted your shirt. At least I still have my friends.

Turning to the side, you noticed a tall boy around your age standing nearby. He had dark, unruly hair and sharp eyes that seemed to pierce right through you. His expression was tense, his gaze locked onto you with urgency.

“The cursed object,” he said bluntly, his tone leaving no room for argument. His pale, veiny hand reached out as if expecting you to hand something over.

“What?” You blinked, completely thrown off by the sudden confrontation.

“The cursed finger. Where is it?” he demanded, his voice clipped and serious.

“Ohhh, you mean the thing with the weird Japanese seal on it?” you asked, tilting your head curiously.

The boy let out a frustrated sigh. “Yes. That.”

“Oh.” You scratched your cheek awkwardly. “Well, my friends from the Occult Club are probably opening it right about now.”

“WHAT?” His eyes widened in pure shock before narrowing with panic. “You’re risking your friends’ lives!”

“Is something wrong, sir?” you asked with faux innocence, trying to hide your growing worry.

“Yes, something’s wrong!” He grabbed your arm, his grip firm but not painful. “You need to take me to your school. Now.”

His eyes were practically pleading with you, desperation and determination radiating from him. Whatever this ‘cursed finger’ was, you had a feeling your friends were in way more danger than you’d realized.