The lights in the classroom gave off a steady hum. A pencil rolled off a desk and tapped the floor near the back of the room.
Callen Mire sat two rows from the window, second seat from the back. He watched the sun filtering through the glass, stretching across the tile. The air was still, too warm, the way it always got in the early afternoon.
The teacher spoke from the front of the room, voice clear and even, but nothing she said landed. Books stayed closed. Heads drifted downward. A few students were whispering across aisles. Someone scrolled through their phone under the desk, tapping the screen like no one could hear it.
When the bell rang, no one moved. The sound had a strange edge to it. Louder than it should have been, or maybe sharper. It cut through the air, and then it faded, and everyone just stayed where they were.
Callen glanced toward the front again. The teacher was no longer there.
He hadn't seen her leave. The door was shut, and her notes were still on the board. A marker sat uncapped in the tray. Her bag was under the desk. Her chair hadn't moved.
The classroom kept buzzing. Conversations continued like nothing had changed, but something about the way voices carried felt wrong. The sound didn't bounce off the walls the way it used to.
Callen looked around slowly. He didn't know what he was searching for. It wasn't a specific detail. It was a feeling. Like something had shifted a few degrees out of place and the room was pretending nothing had happened.
Near the front, one of the boys—Callen didn't know his name—stood up. He looked like he meant to say something, then leaned sideways and dropped hard onto his desk. The weight of his body flipped the chair behind him and sent both to the ground.
At first no one reacted. Then a girl screamed.
Another student fell over, this time without standing. He slumped forward, arms tangled in his backpack straps. His face hit the floor with a sound no one could mistake.
A second later, someone kicked their desk trying to stand up, and panic followed right after. Chairs slid, desks crashed, people shouted across the room. A few students ran for the door. One of them dropped halfway there. No warning. Just gone.
Callen pushed himself up from his seat. He hesitated, not sure whether to move forward or away. He stepped backward and almost tripped over a body. He caught himself on the edge of a desk and looked around at the others.
They were collapsing. Not from choking, or seizing, or gasping for air. They just fell. Some still had their eyes open. Some had landed halfway across desks or on top of other people.
Someone near the back grabbed his arm as they slipped to the ground, and he instinctively pulled away. He didn't mean to. It just happened. His chest felt tight and his legs had started to go numb, but he forced himself toward the door.
He reached for the handle and caught a glimpse of his reflection in the glass. He didn't recognize the expression on his own face. His mouth was slightly open and his eyes looked like they were searching for something that wasn't there.
His hand touched the metal, and then the weight behind his eyes shifted.
It didn't feel like sleep. It didn't feel like pain. It felt like being turned off. His balance vanished. His legs stopped listening. His body gave out before he could say anything.
The floor came up too fast. He heard the sound of impact, but he didn't feel it.
Everything stopped.
Callen woke up on the ground.
His cheek was pressed into dirt. His hand was half-buried in cold soil, the skin of his palm scraped from the way he must have landed. His eyes opened slowly. Everything was out of focus.
He didn't move right away.
The air around him was still. Not warm like the classroom had been, but damp and cold. It smelled like leaves and something older beneath them. He blinked and lifted his head.
He was lying in a clearing surrounded by tall trees. They stretched high overhead and blocked out most of the sky. The bark was pale and the trunks were unusually straight. The trees were spaced apart too evenly, like someone had planted them on purpose and then left them alone for decades.
There were no leaves on the ground. No birds. No insects. No sound at all, except for breathing that wasn't his.
He pushed himself up slowly and looked around. The rest of the class was there. Dozens of students were scattered across the grass and moss. Some were lying on their sides. Some on their backs. No one was speaking. No one had moved.
Callen stood. His legs felt unsteady, but they held. The muscles in his shoulders were sore, and his head felt heavy, like he hadn't eaten in a day.
The trees surrounding the clearing stood perfectly still. The leaves overhead didn't sway. There was no wind. No air movement at all. It was like the whole forest was holding its breath.
He turned to check behind him, then to the side. No path. No trail. No break in the tree line that would show which direction they'd come from.
Callen looked up.
The sky above the canopy was a shade too blue. The clouds didn't shift. They didn't drift. They looked painted on.
He didn't say anything. There was nothing to say.
He had no idea where they were.
But something about it felt like it had been waiting for them.