Heath Burns had never been accused of having good ideas.
He'd had loud ideas.
Fast ideas.
Explosive ideas.
A surprising number of ideas that ended with somebody yelling his name from across campus.
But good ideas?
Those were rare.
Right now, though, Heath was convinced this was the best idea he'd ever had.
Which should've been a warning sign.
Unfortunately, Heath was too tired to notice.
The human side of New Salem looked wrong.
Not because anything was actually different.
Because everything looked exactly the same.
People walked dogs.
Parents drove to work.
Store owners unlocked doors.
Kids carried backpacks.
A woman watered flowers outside a small house.
Everything looked normal.
Like the last twenty-four hours had never happened.
Like nobody had been arrested.
Like nobody was missing.
Like nobody cared.
The thought made Heath angry.
Or maybe he'd already been angry.
Honestly, he couldn't remember anymore.
His thoughts kept running in circles.
Holt in jail.
Jackie missing.
Holt in jail.
Jackie missing.
Holt—
Jackie—
Holt—
Jackie—
The thoughts repeated so often that they no longer felt like thoughts.
Just background noise.
His phone vibrated.
Hope immediately surged through him.
He grabbed it.
Maybe Holt.
Maybe Jackie.
Maybe somebody had finally found something.
Instead—
Frankie.
The screen glowed.
He stared at it.
The phone continued ringing.
He watched it.
Watched her name.
Watched the little icon bounce.
Then shoved it back into his pocket.
The ringing stopped.
A few moments later it started again.
Frankie.
Again.
He ignored it.
Again.
Ignored.
Again.
Ignored.
Eventually the phone stopped.
The silence somehow felt worse.
Because he knew why she was calling.
She was worried.
Everybody was worried.
But worry wasn't helping.
Waiting wasn't helping.
Meetings weren't helping.
Adults weren't helping.
Holt was still in jail.
Jackie was still gone.
And everybody kept saying the same thing.
Be patient.
Trust the process.
Wait.
Wait.
Wait.
Funny how patience was always easier when it wasn't your family.
He kicked a loose pebble across the sidewalk.
It shattered against a curb.
Several pedestrians looked over.
He immediately lowered his hood.
The tiny flames escaping from underneath dimmed slightly.
Keep walking.
Don't stop.
Don't think.
Thinking wasn't helping anymore.
Thinking just made everything worse.
The police station was still several blocks away.
Every step toward it made the plan seem increasingly impossible.
The problem wasn't motivation.
The problem was that he still had absolutely no idea what he was doing.
Breaking somebody out of jail sounded amazing when he'd stormed out of detention.
Now?
Now he was actually approaching a jail.
Which turned out to be significantly more complicated.
The phone vibrated again.
Frankie.
Still Frankie.
Still calling.
Still trying.
He stared at the screen.
Then silenced the call.
His chest hurt afterward.
Not because he was rejecting her.
Because he knew she'd probably understand exactly what he was doing.
And that somehow felt worse.
He kept walking.
The station finally appeared at the end of the street.
Large brick building.
Flags.
Police cruisers.
Glass doors.
Authority.
The kind of place that looked permanent.
The kind of place that expected people to obey it.
Heath slowed.
A memory surfaced.
Jackson sitting alone during orientation week.
Quiet.
Awkward.
Trying not to draw attention to himself.
Heath hadn't spoken to him.
Hadn't offered him a seat.
Hadn't even really looked at him.
Why would he?
Jackson was just some nervous Normie in a school full of Monsters he'd only met a week before school started.
Despite them being family.
Then Deuce had invited Jackson over.
Just like that.
Simple.
Easy.
Like it wasn't a big deal.
And afterward Heath had realized he'd spent the entire conversation acting like Deuce.
Same jokes.
Same attitude.
Same confidence.
Trying to be cool.
Trying to be popular.
Trying to be somebody else.
The memory made his stomach twist.
Another memory followed.
A few days later.
Meeting Holt.
Loud.
Confident.
Impossible to ignore.
Everything Heath wished he was.
So naturally Heath had copied him too.
Copied the attitude.
Copied the confidence.
Copied the swagger.
Because that was easier than figuring out who Heath Burns actually was.
Then Jackson had laughed one day.
Told him something he'd never forget.
"You know you don't actually have to be somebody else, right?"
At the time Heath had rolled his eyes.
Told him to shut up.
Told him Holt was rubbing off on him.
Now?
Now the memory hurt.
Because Jackson had been right.
And Heath had never actually thanked him.
Never apologized.
Never admitted it.
His jaw tightened.
The police station grew larger.
Closer.
A fresh wave of anger rolled through him.
Not entirely because of Holt.
Not entirely because of Jackson.
Because of yesterday.
Because he couldn't stop replaying it.
The police grabbing Holt.
The shouting.
The accusations.
The handcuffs.
Then Jackson.
Same family.
Same age.
Different face.
Different reaction.
The memory felt like a splinter lodged in his brain.
Maybe there were details he hadn't seen.
Maybe there were things he didn't know.
Maybe.
But every time he remembered it—
The same conclusion appeared.
People saw what they expected to see.
Monster.
Human.
Dangerous.
Safe.
The labels changed everything.
The facts didn't seem to matter.
At least not from where Heath was standing.
A tiny voice in the back of his head suggested maybe exhaustion was making everything feel simpler than it really was.
He ignored it.
The voice sounded suspiciously reasonable.
Reasonable wasn't helping.
Reasonable hadn't gotten Holt out.
Reasonable hadn't found Jackson.
His flames flickered beneath the hood.
The air around him warmed.
A woman walking past frowned slightly.
He immediately shoved both hands into his pockets.
Easy.
Don't start a fire.
At least not accidentally.
Not now.
A group of officers exited the station.
Laughing.
Talking.
One complained about paperwork.
Another complained about coffee.
Normal people.
Ordinary people.
That bothered him more than it should have.
Because villains would've been easier.
Villains would've made sense.
Villains would've fit the story.
Instead they looked like anybody else.
Like neighbors.
Like teachers.
Like parents.
Like people who probably thought they were doing the right thing.
The contradiction made his head hurt.
Maybe they'd never questioned what happened.
Maybe they'd questioned everything.
Maybe they hadn't cared.
Maybe they had.
The possibilities kept changing every few minutes.
Heath wasn't entirely sure which version was real anymore.
He only knew one thing.
Holt was still behind bars.
And Jackson was still missing.
Everything else felt secondary.
The station sat across the street now.
Waiting.
For the first time all day, genuine doubt appeared.
Not enough to stop him.
Just enough to make him pause.
Because now he had to think about what happened next.
Step one.
Walk inside.
Okay.
Then what?
Demand answers?
Demand Holt?
Demand to see records?
Demand justice?
Demand common sense?
He had no idea.
The embarrassing truth was that he'd gotten this far entirely through momentum.
A voice in his head immediately supplied something Holt would've said.
Probably something sarcastic.
Something that would've made Heath laugh despite himself.
The thought hurt.
Because Holt wasn't here.
A few weeks ago Heath hadn't even known Holt existed.
A few more weeks ago he hadn't known Jackson existed either.
A few weeks ago he definitely hadn't known they were related to him.
Then Jackson had told him.
Casually.
Like it wasn't life-changing information.
Like announcing somebody was your cousin was normal.
Now Heath couldn't imagine life without either of them.
Which was weird.
And unfair.
And terrifying.
Because people weren't supposed to become family that fast.
Were they?
His eyes burned.
He rubbed them.
The station blurred for a second.
Then came back into focus.
Or maybe it didn't.
For a moment he thought he saw Holt sitting in the back seat of a police cruiser.
He blinked.
The cruiser was empty.
Right.
No sleep.
That was probably normal.
Probably.
Hopefully.
Maybe.
His thoughts felt slippery.
Like trying to grab smoke.
Every conclusion seemed completely certain until five seconds later when another conclusion replaced it.
The only thing that stayed constant was the anger.
That part remained.
Steady.
Reliable.
Burning.
He stared at the station.
Huge.
Official.
Intimidating.
Human.
Then squared his shoulders.
Maybe this was stupid.
Maybe this was reckless.
Maybe this was the worst idea he'd ever had.
But waiting hadn't brought Holt home.
Waiting hadn't found Jackson.
Waiting hadn't fixed anything.
So if nobody else was moving fast enough—
He would.
He pulled the hood lower.
Crossed the street.
And headed straight toward the police station.
Because somewhere inside that building was the closest thing he had to an answer.
And whether that answer wanted to be found or not—
Heath Burns was done waiting.
And so he ramped up his fire again, this time, engulfing his eyes.
🔥
The detention room at Monster High had never been quiet in a way that felt normal.
It was usually "quiet" in the way a soda bottle is quiet right before it explodes.
A kind of restrained chaos.
A room full of mansters and ghouls trying very hard not to be monsters.
Today, though, even that fragile balance was completely gone.
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead with a tired, uneven rhythm.
The desks were scratched.
The chalkboard still had Mr. Rotter's rules written in messy, overconfident handwriting.
And nobody was looking at it.
Nobody was really looking at anything.
Frankie Stein sat with her elbows on the desk, phone in hand, screen still glowing with Heath's name.
Still no answer.
Again.
She tried one more time anyway.
The call rang.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Voicemail.
Frankie lowered the phone slowly.
"…He's still not picking up."
Clawd Wolf shifted in his seat, ears low.
"That's like… not just 'busy' not picking up. Is it?"
Draculaura hugged her arms tighter around herself.
"Heath doesn't ignore calls. Even when he's mad. Especially when he's mad."
Abbey nodded once.
"Anger usually makes him more loud, not more gone."
Deuce leaned back in his chair, arms crossed.
"Yeah, and he's usually got like… zero chill about answering people. That's kind of his whole thing."
Cleo flicked her nails, but even she wasn't pretending to be bored anymore.
"This is the part where I would normally say 'he's probably fine,' but I have been listening to my instincts lately and they are screaming."
Ghoulia quietly held up her notebook.
NO HEATH = VERY BAD PLAN ENERGY
Lagoona frowned at it.
"I don't like that sentence."
"You're not supposed to," Clawd muttered.
From the front of the room, Mr. Rotter was still pacing in a circle like a tired security guard trying to remember why he was in the room.
"All right! Detention is still happening! Rules are still rules! No talking, no laughing, no—"
He stopped mid-sentence, squinting at Manny.
The stone-skinned student was slumped in his chair, one hand pressed to his shoulder.
"Ugh… okay, I think I actually need the nurse."
Frankie blinked.
"You don't say that lightly."
Manny groaned.
"I might've… overcommitted on the whole 'throwing a guy across the room' thing earlier."
Clawd winced.
"Yeah, that's usually a sign."
Mr. Rotter immediately straightened.
"Right! Fine! Manny, detention is hereby temporarily paused so you can go to the nurse and then report to Headmistress Bloodgood's office for… follow-up discussion!"
Manny pointed weakly.
"Follow-up discussion sounds like a threat."
"It is not a threat," Mr. Rotter said automatically.
Nobody believed him.
He gestured toward the door.
"Come on. Move. Carefully. Preferably without breaking more things."
Manny stood, wincing as he did.
As they left, the room shifted slightly.
Less structured.
More real.
Less "detention."
More "unsupervised disaster waiting to happen."
The door closed behind them.
And suddenly—
The silence felt bigger.
Frankie stared at it for a second.
Then stood up.
"I can't sit here."
Clawd blinked.
"Uh—Frankie? Rotter literally said—"
"I know what he said."
Draculaura sat up straighter.
"Frankie…"
Frankie turned toward all of them.
Her eyes were tired.
Not just tired like no sleep.
Tired like she'd been holding too many thoughts at once and they were starting to spill out.
"He's not answering us," she said.
"I know," Clawd said gently.
"And Holt is still in jail."
Silence.
"And Jackie is missing."
Abbey's jaw tightened slightly.
Frankie kept going.
"And Heath is out there alone right now doing something none of us can see."
Deuce frowned.
"That's… not a great combination."
"It's a terrible combination," Frankie corrected.
Cleo raised a brow.
"So your solution is what? We break out of detention and start a rescue mission?"
Frankie didn't hesitate.
"Yes."
That got everyone's attention.
Even Cleo blinked.
"…Okay, that was faster than I expected."
Frankie paced a step.
"I don't think he's just walking around upset. Heath doesn't do 'quiet upset.' He does 'set something on fire and then apologize later' upset."
Draculaura swallowed.
"That is… accurate."
Frankie looked down at her phone again.
Still nothing.
"No missed calls. No texts. No location. Nothing."
Clawd leaned forward.
"So… we find him?"
"Yes."
"And Holt?"
"Yes."
"And Jackie?"
Frankie nodded.
"Yes."
Ghoulia raised her notebook again:
THREE TARGETS. ONE VERY BAD DAY.
Lagoona sighed.
"That sounds like a mission statement."
Abbey stood slowly.
"I agree with Frankie."
Everyone turned toward her.
Abbey shrugged once.
"If we wait, we only hear after something already broke."
That landed heavier than anyone wanted.
Even Cleo didn't argue.
Toralei, who had been unusually quiet all detention, crossed her arms and looked away.
"…I didn't think it was gonna get this far."
Everyone turned.
That alone was enough to shock the room into silence.
Clawd blinked.
"…You're agreeing with us?"
Toralei rolled her eyes.
"Don't make it weird."
Frankie narrowed her eyes slightly.
"That's very un-Toralei of you."
"Yeah, well," Toralei muttered, kicking her chair leg lightly, "I didn't think the human cops were gonna go that far either."
That hit differently.
Nobody spoke for a second.
Not even Cleo.
Toralei clicked her tongue.
"I just thought it'd be like… scare them a little. Teach them a lesson. Not… whatever this is."
Her voice dropped slightly.
"And I definitely didn't think Heath would take it like this."
Frankie's expression softened just a bit.
"…None of us did."
Clawd stood up too now.
"So what? We just… leave?"
Draculaura nodded quickly.
"Yes. But responsibly."
Deuce blinked.
"That sounds fake."
"It is slightly fake," Draculaura admitted.
Abbey was already heading toward the door.
"Frankie is right. We go slow. We do not make it worse."
Cleo grabbed her bag.
"I refuse to accept that my day is now 'break into a human custody situation because my classmates are emotionally spiraling.'"
Ghoulia held up her notebook again:
TOO LATE
Cleo sighed.
"Yeah. That checks out."
Frankie looked around the room one more time.
"Heath didn't answer because something is wrong."
A pause.
"Holt is still in jail because something is wrong."
Another pause.
"And Jackie… we don't even know where Jackie is."
Clawd swallowed.
"…That's three wrong things."
Frankie nodded.
"And we fix at least one of them before it becomes four."
Nobody argued.
Not this time.
Even Toralei muttered, almost too quietly to hear:
"…Just don't make it worse."
Frankie nodded once.
"We won't."
But nobody looked fully convinced.
They moved toward the door.
One by one.
The hallway outside felt too bright.
Too normal.
Too school-like for what they were about to do.
Frankie stopped for half a second, glancing back at the empty detention room.
"Heath," she said quietly, almost to herself, "please just answer your phone…"
No answer came.
Of course it didn't.
And somewhere far away from Monster High—
Heath Burns was already too far gone to hear it anyway.