Holly moved before Nyla’s whisper finished echoing.
She slammed her palm onto the glowing blank square beneath Mara, while Orla grabbed the joined Bone Keys and twisted them like the world’s weirdest protractor. The classroom lights burst blue. Nyla’s hand froze inches from the cameras.
“No deletion without double confirmation,” Mr Tafadar barked, looking wildly pleased to have found a rule. “And I am the adult in charge of this absolute nonsense.”
Jude Pike, one of the loud boys, whispered, “Sir, that is genuinely your best line all year.”
“Detention for emotional commentary,” said Mr Tafadar.
Mara stared at the square. “It won’t take my name.”
“Then we don’t ask it nicely,” Holly said. Her heart battered her ribs. “We make it listen.”
⁂
The wall clock spun so fast its hands blurred. 11:58. 11:59. Midnight.
From Mara’s blazer pocket came a tiny cracked silver bell. Everyone went quiet, even the popular boys, even mean Kelda and Sorrel, who usually treated silence like an allergic reaction.
“I found it on my first day,” Mara said. “It steals what people hide.”
Nyla’s perfect smile twitched. “Don’t ring that.”
Orla lifted her chin. “That sounded exactly like something we should ring.”
Mara looked at Holly, and Holly nodded. It was Mara’s name. Mara’s choice.
Mara rang the bell.
The sound was small, cracked and silver, but the room split with light. Glowing moths poured from desks, bags, calculators and ceiling cameras. They fluttered around 9C, each one carrying a secret in a stolen voice.
“I fancy Bexley from 9A,” squeaked one moth in Nikhil’s voice.
“I only act bored because fractions scare me,” buzzed another in Sorrel’s.
“I moved schools because Correction erased my brother,” whispered Nyla’s moth.
Nyla’s face emptied.
Mara stepped towards her. “That’s why you helped them?”
“They promised to put him back,” Nyla said, suddenly fourteen instead of terrifying. “I’m sorry.”
A huge moth rose from the cracked bell itself. It glowed black at the edges and spoke in Mara’s voice.
“I will give Holly and Orla to Correction before the final register closes.”
Mara staggered. “I haven’t done that.”
“Future secret,” Nyla breathed. “The bell stole one that hasn’t happened yet.”
Holly felt cold all over, but she still stepped between Mara and the class. “Then we change it.”
Mara reached for the moth.
The door opened.
⁂
The new caretaker stood there with his mop bucket and silent grey coat. He had never spoken before. Not during fire drills. Not when Jude stuck a compass in the ceiling tile. Not even when Mr Tafadar called him “Mr, erm, hello?” for six weeks.
He crossed the room and crushed the black-edged moth in his fist.
Light leaked between his fingers like dying glitter.
“Some futures must be killed before they hatch,” he whispered.
Mara made a tiny sound. Holly grabbed her hand before anyone else could.
The blank square beneath Mara flared.
On the whiteboard, letters wrote themselves at last: Mara Quell. Present.
The cameras snapped backwards. Nyla’s neck number went dark. Around the room, moths dissolved into warm dust, leaving 9C blinking, exposed and weirdly closer.
Mr Tafadar swallowed. “Excellent. Registration complete. Also, nobody mention my emergency whistle voice.”
Orla laughed shakily. Holly laughed too, because they were alive, Mara was real, and maths had officially become unmarkable.
Then the caretaker opened his crushed fist. In his palm lay one surviving silver wing, marked with tomorrow’s date.
He looked straight at Holly.
“You’re next on the register,” he said.
