The announcement came five minutes before the last period.
The intercom crackled to life, feedback screeching through the halls. Conversations died mid-sentence. Lockers slammed shut. Somewhere nearby, someone swore under their breath.
"Attention students," the principal's voice said, calm to the point of being unnerving. "Due to a scheduled safety protocol, all after-school activities are canceled. Students are to proceed directly to their assigned classrooms and remain there until dismissal."
A pause.
"Teachers, please initiate Full Moon Lockdown procedures immediately."
The word "lockdown" landed harder than it should have.
Teachers moved fast.
Too fast.
Classroom doors were shut and locked from the inside. Curtains were drawn. Lights dimmed. A substitute across the hall fumbled so badly with her keys that another teacher shoved her aside and did it for her.
No one asked questions.
No one laughed.
I was herded into my classroom with a knot tightening in my chest. The quiet boy, him, was shoved in right behind me before the door slammed shut.
The lock clicked.
The sound echoed.
"Phones away," the teacher snapped. "Everyone in your seats. Do not approach the windows."
Someone laughed nervously. "Is this a drill?"
The teacher didn't answer.
I slid into my desk, pulse pounding, and glanced toward him.
He stood rigid near the back of the room, knuckles white where his hands gripped the edge of a desk. His breathing was wrong again, too controlled, like he was forcing air into lungs that didn't want it.
"You okay?" I whispered.
His head snapped up.
For a split second, his eyes flashed gold.
Then he looked away.
"No," he said.
The word was barely audible.
The room grew warmer.
Or maybe that was just me.
Minutes passed. Then more. Outside, clouds swallowed the sun completely, plunging the classroom into an eerie twilight. The hum under my skin grew louder, vibrating through my bones.
A sharp thud echoed from somewhere above us.
Someone screamed down the hall.
The teacher flinched.
"Stay seated," she said, voice tight. "This will pass."
Another sound followed, metal scraping against metal. A door rattling violently.
I felt it then.
Fear, raw and animal, slammed into me from the boy's direction.
He staggered back a step, hand flying to his head.
"No," he growled, louder this time.
Every head turned.
"Sit down," the teacher barked.
He didn't hear her.
His shoulders hunched. His fingers curled like claws, nails digging into his palms hard enough to draw blood.
The smell hit me.
Sharp. Wild. Like rain-soaked earth and something burning underneath.
"Oh my God," someone whispered.
He sucked in a breath and hissed.
The sound wasn't human.
The desks rattled as something unseen pressed outward, like the air itself recoiled from him. His spine bowed, muscles straining beneath his hoodie.
I stood without thinking.
"Hey," I said, my voice shaking. "Look at me."
His head snapped up.
His eyes were fully gold now bright, glowing, and wrong. Pain twisted his face, sweat slicking his skin.
"Get away," he snarled.
"I can't," I said, even as fear clawed up my throat. "You told me not to walk alone. Remember?"
His chest heaved.
"Please," he choked out. "If I lose it"
A loud bang cut him off.
The classroom door shook violently.
Several students screamed.
Something scraped along the outside, slow and deliberate, like nails dragging over wood.
"Lights off," the teacher whispered urgently.
The room plunged into darkness.
In the dark, his presence was overwhelming.
I could feel him his fear, his rage, his restraint like static flooding the air. He staggered, dropping to one knee, hands braced on the floor.
"I can smell them," he whispered. "They're everywhere."
A low growl rumbled from his chest.
I moved before I could think.
I knelt in front of him and grabbed his hands.
The instant our skin touched, the world seemed to lurch.
The growl cut off.
His breath hitched sharply.
"What" he gasped.
Something pulsed between us warm, grounding, wrong. The pressure in the room eased, like a storm passing overhead without breaking.
His shoulders sagged.
The scratching at the door stopped.
In the silence, his grip tightened around mine, not painful, just desperate.
"Don't let go," he said hoarsely.
I didn't know why, but I believed him.
"I'm here," I whispered.
Outside, footsteps retreated down the hall.
Inside, the hum under my skin settled into a low, steady throb.
When the lights finally flickered back on, he was still kneeling in front of me, forehead pressed briefly to my hands like he'd forgotten where he was.
Slowly, carefully, he pulled back.
His eyes were brown again.
But his expression was terrified.
"I almost hurt you," he said.
"You didn't," I replied.
His gaze dropped to where our hands had been.
"That's what scares me."
Somewhere in the building, a bell rang deep, resonant, and nothing like the normal dismissal tone.
Over the intercom, the principal's voice returned.
"Lockdown lifted. Students will be dismissed in controlled groups."
No one moved.
Because we all knew now,
This wasn't a drill.
And the rules weren't there to protect us.
They were there to contain what came out during the full moon.