The hallway was a blur of fluorescent lights and the distant, rhythmic thud of lockers closing, but as Bella approached the heavy, grey door of the janitor's closet, the world seemed to narrow down to a single, jagged sound. It was a sob—muffled, ragged, and thick with a misery that didn’t belong in a place this cold.
Bella stood frozen, her hand hovering inches from the handle. Her first instinct was to walk away. In this school, a closed door usually meant a trap, and a crying girl was often the bait. But the sound came again, a gasping, pained intake of breath that made Bella’s own chest ache.
She took a breath, steeled her nerves, and pulled the door open.
The smell of industrial bleach and damp mops hit her instantly, but it was the sight inside that made her breath hitch. Sophia,
