(Flashback)
The door opened without ceremony. Both detectives stepped in, coats damp, eyes steady.
Tarefin sat upright, copper skin drained of color, his silver-black buzz cut exposing the tension etched into his scalp.
"Morning," the woman said, eyes already measuring him. "How are you feeling?"
Tarefin shrugged, the movement shallow. "Still here."
The man beside her flipped open a folder. "We've identified the students involved. Rishen. Alvar. Koeth. All present during the incident."
Tarefin's jaw tightened. "You came early for that."
"They're being questioned," the woman said. "We need to know what you remember."
He cut in. "My mother. Where is she?"
The man hesitated. Just a beat too long.
The woman exhaled carefully. "She heard about the stabbing."
Tarefin's fingers curled. "And?"
"She collapsed," the woman said gently. "A cardiac episode. She lost consciousness."
The room went very quiet.
"Take heart," the man said quickly.
"She's currently under observation."
Tarefin leaned back, eyes closing for half a second, as if bracing against something heavier than pain.
Silence pressed in. Light from the window trembled on the floor.
"Is she breathing."
"She's alive," the man said. "Stable. But unconscious."
Tarefin's fingers dug into the blanket. "I need to see her."
"Not yet," the woman said gently. "There are procedures."
Footsteps rushed the hall. His uncle entered, average height, moderate build, copper skin lined with age. His voice stayed level.
"I'll handle him."
"Family?"
Tarefin looked up. "Uncle, "
"How you doing son?" the man said.
"Barely." Tarefin replied.
The detectives exchanged glances.
"Your classmates," the woman added. "They were detained."
"For how long?"
"Hours," the man said. "No charges."
Tarefin laughed once. It sounded wrong.
"They always walk," he said.
Later, the corridor smelled of chalk and dust. School doors reopened. Eyes followed him.
"Is that him?"
"Careful."
Teachers paused mid-sentence. One hand hovered near the bell.
Tarefin slid into his seat. The desk felt unfamiliar.
His pulse skipped. The room tilted.
Something inside him shifted.
And did not settle.
__________________________________
Chalk scraped. The board blurred.
Tarefin blinked hard. The letters slid anyway.
"Focus," the teacher said.
"I am," he replied.
Behind him, a chair tipped back.
"Look at him," a boy whispered.
Another snorted. "Still twitchy."
Tarefin stood at the board, chalk whitening his fingertips. The classroom windows threw light across his copper skin, but it felt thin, stretched, like it belonged somewhere else.
"You okay?" The Teacher said.
"Yes, yes, I, " Tarefin began.
The chalk moved. Then stopped. His wrist jerked.
"…ra, sa, no, no, na…si….bi…ah…ka…" The sounds slipped out wrong, jagged. He frowned at the wall, as if it had shifted. "It's, wait, it keeps folding."
A murmur rippled through the desks.
"What's going on?" someone whispered.
Tarefin stood in the wasteland, the sky covered with gray-dark clouds, the earth beneath his feet cracked like a dry river bed.
Tarefin laughed once, sharp and breathless. "I can hear it. Do you hear it?"
"Hey," a girl from the front said carefully, "Tarefin, you okay?"
The Teacher startled, "TAREFIN!" He screamed.
His shoulder twitched. Chalk screeched down the board, carving a crooked line. He pressed his thumb hard into his palm, knuckles whitening. "Stop, stop moving," he muttered, though the board stayed still.
From opposite sides of the room, two boys exchanged glances.
"Is this a joke?" one murmured.
"I don't think so," the other said, eyes narrowing.
Tarefin's voice climbed, tumbling over itself. "It's pulling, can't keep the order, "
A boy near the back bent forward, head down, staring at the floor. His eyes brightened, lips twitched then metamorphosed into a repressed grin. He covered his mouth, shoulders shaking.
"Don't," his friend whispered. "Rika. Don't."
A snort escaped.
Then the boy straightened, breath bursting free. "Ha, ha! He's lost it!" He wiped his eyes, grinning. "Tarefin's finally lost it!"
The room cracked open.
Laughter erupted, sharp, loud, unstoppable.
"Did you see his face?"
"What is he even saying?"
"Teacher, make him stop!"
Tarefin stood at the board, mouth still moving, red eyes unfocused as the noise crashed over him, drowning every sound he tried to make.
Desks rattled with amusement.
He turned. Faces stared back, copper skin warm, relaxed. Free.
The cane struck the desk with a hard crack, rattling ink bottles and snapping the laughter short.
The teacher straightened, grip tight around the handle, eyes sweeping the room.
He let the silence stretch, heavy and uncomfortable.
"Laughing?" he said at last, voice low. "You find this amusing?"
The teacher rested his hand on Tarefin, "That's enough… Tarefin."
Tarefin remained standing. The floor dipped.
"I hear things," he said quietly.
Laughter grew.
"What things?"
"Wind where there isn't any."
The windows rattled. Dust lifted.
The girl from the front seat rose, walking up to him, "You should rest, Tarefin." She said, resting a hand on his shoulder.
"Come on, let's go see the nurse."
Her hand brushed his wrist. Warm. Real.
She led him off.
Then cold swept through him. The classroom stretched, edges thinning.
He smelled iron. Heard a distant pull.
The wasteland whispered.
Not words. Direction.
Tarefin swallowed.
They were laughing. Still laughing.