Rose found me during lunch the next day.
I remember because I was halfway through eating, staring down at my bowl like the food inside might suddenly explain everything that had been bothering me since the night before.
The cafeteria was loud with voices and clattering utensils, the kind of noise that usually made me feel safe—proof that nothing was wrong.
Rose didn't fit into that noise.
She stood at the edge of the room, pale, her hands clenched so tightly that her knuckles had gone white. Her eyes searched until they landed on me. When they did, something inside me tightened.
She tapped my shoulder.
"Hendry," she whispered. "Can we talk?"
I put my chopsticks down immediately.
We stepped out onto the balcony, the warm island air brushing against my face. I expected her to tell me something small—another strange question, another uneasy feeling.
Instead, her lips trembled.
"I can't find Mr. Koroma," she said.
The words didn't register at first.
"Maybe," I said slowly, choosing my words the way Mr. Koroma taught us to, "maybe he went into town? Or to the lab?"
She shook her head too fast. Panic flickered across her face.
"No. He never leaves without telling someone. And his room—"
She grabbed my wrist and pulled me inside before I could finish my thought.
The hallway felt longer than usual. Quieter. The sound of our footsteps echoed in a way that made me want to stop walking, but Rose didn't slow down.
She opened Mr. Koroma's door.
The room was wrong. Not just messy—but disturbed.
Books lay scattered across the floor, some torn, pages bent backward unnaturally. Papers were everywhere, as if someone had searched through them in a hurry. A drinking glass lay shattered near the desk, fragments glittering like tiny teeth.
I felt cold.
This wasn't the room of a man who had stepped out briefly. This was the room of someone who had been attacked.
Rose's fingers dug into my hand.
"We need to tell someone," I said.
We ran.
At the end of the hallway, we saw PrincipalJones talking to Dr. Anderson.
The sight of Dr. Anderson made my chest tighten instantly. He looked exactly the same as always—calm, relaxed, smiling like the island itself had shaped him.
"Sir!" I called out. "Principal Jones!"
He turned, confused by our urgency.
"What's going on?" he asked.
Before either of us could answer, Dr. Anderson stepped closer.
"What seems to be the matter?" he asked pleasantly.
Both Rose and I flinched.
Rose straightened her back. I could tell it took everything she had.
"We want to talk to our principal," she said firmly. "Alone."
Dr. Anderson studied her for a moment. His smile didn't fade—but something behind it shifted.
"Of course," he said. "No problem at all."
He walked away without another word.
Only then did I realize I had been holding my breath.
We took Principal Jones to Mr. Koroma's room.
His reaction mirrored ours—but sharper. His face drained of color as his eyes swept across the mess.
"what in the?" he murmured.
We told him everything we knew. That Mr. Koroma was missing. That he hadn't come to breakfast. That the room looked like this.
Principal Jones rubbed his forehead.
"Go back to the cafeteria," he said finally. "Eat something. I'll handle this."
I didn't want to leave.
Rose didn't either.
But he promised—promised—that they would find Mr. Koroma.
So we left.
Back in the cafeteria, the food tasted like nothing. As I ate, I felt it again—the sensation of being watched. Not from one place, but many. Like eyes hidden inside walls, behind doors, beneath the floor.
I prayed silently.
Please be okay, I thought. Please.
After breakfast, we were taken to the fields again.
Dr. Anderson wasn't there.
Instead, a different researcher introduced himself. Mr. Ken. He explained that Dr. Anderson had a meeting to attend.
Some of the students exchanged glances. I noticed a few shoulders relax.
Our lesson continued.
But my thoughts stayed with Mr. Koroma.
I leaned toward Rose. "Any news?"
She shook her head.
Then someone screamed.
It was Merry.
She pointed at one of the cassava plants.
"The root," she cried. "It's moving!"
We all froze.
Mr. Ken walked over calmly, laughing softly. "Don't be scared," he said. "It's just organisms in the soil."
Merry didn't look convinced.
Emma stepped forward to get a closer look—but Mr. Ken stopped him with a gentle hand.
"That's enough for today," he said. "Go wash up."
We obeyed.
As I walked away, my legs trembling, I glanced back.
The soil had shifted.
And what I saw wasn't a root.
It was a hand. With only three fingers.
Half-buried. Still. Covered in dirt.
On one finger was a green gem.
I paused.
It…was the same one Principal Jones wore.
Mr. Ken was looking at it.
And he was smiling.