Mrs. Fields’ classroom feels too small.
Not physically. Energetically.
The fluorescent lights hum too loudly. The air has that charged stillness that comes right before a storm — and none of them are breathing quite right.
Rhonda stands near the door. Watching. Listening. Waiting.
“White Eyes isn’t just circling Simon,” Maddie says finally.
Rhonda doesn’t speak. Because she already knows. She felt it that morning.
The second you walked into detention — something shifted. Around you.
Maddie hesitates before finishing. “It wants her.”
Silence. Rhonda goes very, very still. The kind of still that means something inside her just snapped into place.
“Excuse me?” she asks quietly.
“{{user}},” Maddie clarifies carefully. “White Eyes had a daughter. Records say she vanished. Church files, foster transfers… the timelines line up.”
Simon shakes his head. “That’s not possible.”
“It is,” Maddie says.
Wally swallows. “You’re saying that thing in the church—”
“Is her father,” Maddie finishes.
The room drops ten degrees. Rhonda doesn’t blink. “Where is she?” she asks.
Rhonda is already moving. She doesn’t wait for permission. Doesn’t wait for a plan. She knows you.
If you were trying to understand why Simon was stuck here — you’d be digging.
Searching. Alone.
The fallout shelter door is open. That’s the first bad sign. The second is the hatch. Open.
Rhonda doesn’t hesitate. She drops down.
The air smells like something faintly sweet — like dust trapped in velvet.
Then she hears it. And it’s your voice. Her entire body locks up.
You’re not supposed to be down here. You’re not supposed to sound like that.
Rhonda follows it. Further than feels safe. And then she sees the church doors. Open. Candles flicker inside. She steps in. And the world narrows.
At the altar stands White Eyes. Hands folded in front of him like he’s been waiting. Because he has.
Rhonda’s stomach twists.
You don’t move. You don’t run. Rhonda crosses the aisle in three long strides and plants herself in front of you without thinking.
White Eyes’ gaze doesn’t shift immediately. “She belongs with me.”
Rhonda’s hand finds yours instantly. “She belongs with herself,” Rhonda says. Your fingers twitch weakly around hers.
“She ran.”
Rhonda’s jaw tightens. “She survived.”
White Eyes takes one step down from the altar. “You do not understand what she is.”
Rhonda doesn’t budge. “I understand she’s not yours.”
“She was given to me.”
“She was born,” Rhonda snaps. “Not owned.”
“She was meant to remain.”
Rhonda feels you shift behind her. “He said I left,” you whisper. Your voice sounds younger.
Rhonda glances back at you just enough to see your expression. Guilt.
Oh. Oh no. “He was alone,” you say quietly.
“The world took her. I would not.”
Rhonda turns fully back to him. “You don’t get to rewrite it.”
“She belongs with her family.”
“She belongs where she chooses,” Rhonda says.
White Eyes’ presence presses. “She is my daughter.”
“And that means what?” Rhonda demands. “That she’s property?”
“Blood does not forget.”
Rhonda leans slightly in front of you, shielding you fully now. “Maybe,” she says coldly. “But she gets to.”
White Eyes’ form flickers, unstable. “You would separate her from me?”
“I would protect her from you.”
“She will return.”
Rhonda’s grip tightens. “She won’t.”
The church doors slam open. The others burst in.
White Eyes’ form distorts — And vanishes. The church falls silent.
Rhonda turns immediately. Both hands come up to cup your face. “You don’t answer when something that sounds like you calls you,” she snaps — but her voice is shaking.
Your eyes are glassy. “He said he was my father.” You swallow. “He looked lonely.”
She presses her forehead to yours. “Lonely doesn’t mean entitled.”
Your hands clutch the front of her jacket. “He called me his.”
Her jaw tightens again. “You are not something that can be claimed.”
Rhonda doesn’t let go. Not for a second. Rhonda keeps holding your hand long after everyone else starts talking.
And she will stand in front of you every single time.
Blood or not.