Killed? I let out a breath that shook a little. “Right,” I said. “So, let me make sure I understand. You have a…secret network of monster-fighting boarding schools all over the world. You spy on police paperwork. And when some kid starts seeing monsters, you scoop them up and…what? Train them? Hide them?”

  “Both,” she said. “In different measures, depending on the child.”

  “And you want to do that with me.”

  “We want to give you the choice,” she said. “To stay where you are and pretend nothing has changed—dangerous, now that you can see what is real, especially if you slip up with the wrong people—or to come here, learn what you are, and how to thrive. Join a community of people like you, people who understand. And, yes, help us keep the rest of the world safe from what you saw that night on the street. Imagine how confusing and terrifying it must be for them, attacked by invisible threats. How helpless they are.”

  I looked at the stack of reports, at the neat loops of her handwriting on the pad. “My mom doesn’t know any of this,” I said.

  “Not yet,” she said. “That conversation will be…delicate. But we don’t make decisions about minors without parents. She will know this is an amazing opportunity and she would be a fool not to sign. What she won’t know is the greater truth. That would be…unfair to her. And unsafe for us.” She held my gaze. “You, however, will know exactly what’s being asked of you.”

  My head felt full and light at the same time. “This is insane,” I said.

  “It is,” she agreed. “But it’s also real. And it’s been real for a very long time.”

  Ms. Cho’s phone buzzed softly on the desk. She glanced at the screen, then picked it up.

  “Yes?” A pause. “Thank you, Patrick. We’ll be ready.”

  She set the phone down and looked at me. “Your mother is on her way back.”

  Somehow that made everything feel more real, like the spell was about to break and I’d either wake up or find out the rabbit hole had no bottom.

  “Before she comes in,” Ms. Cho said, voice losing even the hint of warmth, “there’s something I need you to understand.”

  My fingers tightened on the edge of the chair. “Okay.”

  “You do not discuss what we’ve talked about with other people,” she said. “Not classmates. Not teachers. Not the officer who filed that report. Not therapists or counselors. Not even extended family. Do you understand?”

  “For their safety,” I said automatically, thinking of a million movies where the person who knew too much doomed everyone else.

  “For theirs and for yours,” she said. “The fewer people who know, the fewer openings there are for panic. Or exploitation. This world has survived as long as it has because most people don’t know what stalks its edges. We intend to keep it that way.”

  Sketch’s face flashed across my mind—one brown eye, one blue, bent over his sketchbook. Your thing is my thing, he’d said. My throat tightened.

  “What about…” I started, then cut myself off. I could see Sketch’s name hanging in the air between us like a neon sign. “Never mind.”

  Ms. Cho’s gaze didn’t waver. “If there is someone you feel you absolutely must tell,” she said, “we can…discuss it. Later. Once you’re here. Once we understand the situation and the person.” Her tone made it clear “must” would be a very high bar. “Until then, you keep this to yourself. You are not crazy. You are not alone. But discretion is non-negotiable.”

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  I nodded, swallowing down the part of me that wanted to insist Sketch was different. “Got it.”

  A knock at the door saved me from having to say anything else. It opened a second later and Mom stepped in, cheeks pink from the cold or the walking or both. Her eyes were wider than when she’d left.

  “That pool,” she said under her breath as she sat. “You should see that pool.”

  “I’m sure she will,” Ms. Cho said smoothly. “If we all agree this is the right fit.”

  Mom gripped her purse strap with both hands. “It seems…amazing,” she said. “I mean, the labs, the library, the…everything. I kept thinking, kids really get to go here?”

  “They do,” Ms. Cho said. “And we’d like your daughter to be one of them.”

  My heart did a weird, double-beat stutter.

  “So,” Ms. Cho continued, shifting into a more formal tone, “to recap: Northbridge is prepared to offer Diana a full scholarship, covering tuition, fees, and all required materials. She may commute, and a shuttle stop will be added for you, or—if it’s her preference—she may choose to board.”

  Mom’s eyes flicked to me, then back. “We…could never afford any of this without—” She stopped, voice catching. “We’re very grateful.”

  “You don’t owe us gratitude,” Ms. Cho said. “You owe us an answer.” She folded her hands. “And we do have one more wrinkle to discuss.”

  Mom’s fingers tightened. “Wrinkle?”

  “Timing,” Ms. Cho said. “Normally, we enroll new students in the fall. Thankfully, the academic calendar is not yet midyear. It’s not too late for Diana to integrate. But given her…profile…we would prefer she begin as soon as possible.”

  “In the summer?” Mom asked, hope flickering back in. “That would give us time to—”

  “I mean Monday,” Ms. Cho said gently. “As in three days from now.”

  Silence landed with real weight.

  “Monday,” Mom repeated, like she was testing the word for sharp edges.

  “I realize that’s abrupt,” Ms. Cho said. “But you said yourself—you weren’t expecting any of this. If we wait until fall, that’s ten months during which Diana will be…unprotected. Unsupported, academically and otherwise. We’ve already lost enough time.”

  My chest went tight. “What about Patterson Ridge?” I blurted. “My teachers. The community service. I’m supposed to be at the park Tuesday and Thursday, the library Wednesday.”

  “We’ll coordinate with your current school and the city,” Ms. Cho said calmly. “Your record will show that you’re transferring to Northbridge under scholarship. The community service office will be notified. We have our own service requirements; we are not, I assure you, in the business of letting students sidestep consequences. You’ll finish your hours. Just under a different umbrella.”

  Mom frowned, her practical brain catching up. “You can just…do that?”

  “We’ve been doing this a long time, Mrs. Sinclair,” Ms. Cho said. “We have relationships with local agencies. We honor what’s been set in motion. We also recognize when a situation requires…expedited action.”

  Mom looked at me. “Honey,” she said softly. “What do you think?”

  Every answer felt both too big and too small. I thought of the rink wall, scrubbed clean. Of the frill, the shield-head, the jewel-bright creature on Patrick’s shoulder. Of the way the winged lizards had pinged off the classroom light while everyone else only saw a flicker. Of Northbridge’s pool and labs and walking paths and kids who moved like this was their planet.

  “I…” My voice came out rough. I cleared my throat. “I don’t want to leave my friends in the middle of the year.” Jess’s laugh. Mara’s texts. Sketch’s presence. “But I also don’t—want this opportunity to disappear.” I met Mom’s eyes. “I don’t know if I can handle this school and all it means, but if it can help me…”

  Mom’s hand found mine on the arm of the chair and squeezed. Her grip trembled just a little. “Then we do it now,” she said, surprising me. She turned back to Ms. Cho. “Monday is fine.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked, half to her, half to myself.

  She looked at me like she’d already made the decision in the car before we pulled in. “If this is where you belong,” she said, voice steady, “waiting isn’t going to make it easier. It’s just going to make it harder to leave.”

  Ms. Cho nodded once, as if this was the answer she’d expected. “We’ll start with a placement day Monday,” she said. “Assess Diana’s current levels, introduce her to a student guide, make sure she has what she needs. If all goes well, Tuesday she joins classes fully. We’ll send over the transfer paperwork tonight.”

  She pulled a slim folder from her drawer—this one with our name already clipped to the front—and set it on the desk.

  “Welcome to Northbridge, Diana,” she said. “The hard part starts now.”