Monster High felt wrong.
Not "a skeleton got loose in the hallway again" wrong.
Not "someone turned the cafeteria soup sentient" wrong.
Not even "Draculaura tried to microwave glitter again" wrong.
This was quieter.
Heavier.
Like the whole school had been holding its breath since last night and forgot how to exhale.
The halls didn't buzz the way they usually did. No overlapping gossip, no laughter bouncing off lockers, no dramatic entrances that made everyone turn their heads.
Just fragments of conversation. Short. Uneasy. Cut off halfway like nobody trusted their own voice to finish a thought.
And almost nobody who had been in New Salem the night before had slept.
Not properly.
Some had tried.
Most had failed.
A few had just stared at their ceilings until morning decided for them.
⏳
Heath Burns gave up on sleep somewhere around 4:12 a.m.
Not that he was counting.
Okay—he was definitely counting.
He was sitting on the edge of his bed, still in the same clothes from the night before, like moving might somehow make things more real than they already were.
His room smelled faintly of smoke.
Usually that was his fault.
Today it was just his body reacting to everything his brain refused to process.
Tiny bursts of flame flickered around his hands whenever his thoughts hit the same loop again.
Holt.
The human side of New Salem.
Police lights.
Frankie screaming his name.
The sound of a door slamming shut.
He stared at his phone like it might start talking back.
It didn't.
The screen was a graveyard of messages.
Frankie.
Clawd.
Draculaura.
Abbey.
Ghoulia (mostly symbols and frantic scribbles translated into: WE NEED INFO NOW).
Nobody had answers.
Nobody knew where Holt lived.
Nobody had his parents contact.
Nobody even had a backup emergency number.
Because nobody ever thought they'd need one.
That realization sat in Heath's chest like a stone.
Holt wasn't just "that DJ guy who made everything louder."
He wasn't just "the loud one with the grin."
He wasn't even just Heath's other flame from another name like Jackie was despite them all being cousins.
He was their friend.
Their freshman classmate.
Their problem.
Their responsibility.
Their idiot.
Their family.
And now—
He was in a human jail.
Alone.
Heath swallowed hard.
His flames flickered blue for half a second before snapping back.
"Damn it…" he muttered.
His voice cracked on the last word.
The room stayed silent.
That somehow made it worse.
Because there was no one to distract him from it.
No joke to cut tension.
No Holt voice in his head making things lighter.
Just the thought.
Again.
And again.
And again.
⏳
Elsewhere, nobody was doing better.
Draculaura had spent most of the night curled up under blankets she didn't actually sleep under.
Clawd hadn't slept at all.
Frankie had tried seventeen different "rescue Holt" plans before realizing every single one would probably end with more arrests.
Abbey sat by her window until sunrise, arms folded, jaw tight.
Ghoulia filled half a notebook with diagrams, timelines, and arrows pointing to one conclusion she kept underlining harder each time:
WE DON'T KNOW ENOUGH
Which was the most terrifying conclusion of all.
Because it meant anything could've happened.
And no one would know.
⏳
By 7:00 a.m., Monster High looked like it was running on fumes.
Students clustered in uneven groups near the entrance.
Nobody was joking.
Nobody was performing.
Even the usual chaos had gone quiet in a way that felt unnatural.
Frankie arrived first among their group, carrying a drink she clearly didn't need and probably wasn't drinking.
Dark circles sat under her eyes like bruises.
Clawd followed, expression tight, hands shoved in his pockets like he was trying to hold himself together physically.
Draculaura floated in slightly behind them, slower than usual, like gravity had changed its mind about her.
They all stopped when they saw each other.
A beat.
Then—
"You look terrible," Clawd said.
"Thanks," Frankie replied automatically.
"You too."
"Thanks."
Draculaura tilted her head.
"You both look like something crawled out of a crypt and slept on your faces."
"Thanks," they said in unison.
A pause.
Three exhausted sighs at the same time.
Clawd broke first.
"Nobody slept?"
"Nope."
"No."
"Not even close."
"Cool," Clawd muttered. "Love that for us."
Heath showed up a moment later.
And immediately the mood dropped another level.
Not because he looked different.
Because he looked worse in a way that didn't match him.
No grin.
No sarcasm.
No dramatic entrance.
Just exhaustion and flickering firelight that couldn't decide what color it wanted to be.
"Heath?" Frankie asked softly.
"I'm fine."
Nobody believed that.
Heath rubbed his face hard.
"…Okay, that's a lie."
"Massive lie," Clawd confirmed.
"Yeah," Heath muttered. "Huge lie."
Nobody pushed further.
Because they all understood.
Too well.
Abbey joined them last, silently handing Heath a bottle of water without saying anything.
He took it.
"Thanks."
She nodded once.
That was her version of "I understand."
And for a moment, nobody spoke.
Because there wasn't anything new to say.
Only the same fear, looping.
⏳
"We'll figure it out," Frankie said finally.
Silence answered her.
"We have to," she added. "He didn't do anything wrong."
"I know," Draculaura whispered.
"They can't just keep him," Frankie said again, sharper this time.
"I know."
"He didn't—"
"I know."
Clawd exhaled slowly.
"We should talk to Headmistress Bloodgood."
"We will," Frankie said immediately. "As soon as classes start."
"And then what?" Clawd asked.
Nobody answered.
Because that was still the problem.
And still the answer.
Nobody knew.
⏳
As more students arrived, the atmosphere only thickened.
Deuce.
Lagoona.
Operetta.
Cleo.
Even Toralei, who looked like she'd rather bite her own tail off than admit something was wrong.
Every conversation sounded the same.
"Any news?"
"No."
"Did anyone hear anything?"
"No."
"Where's Holt?"
"No one knows."
"Jackson?"
Pause.
"No one's seen him either."
That last one always landed wrong.
Heavier than the others.
But nobody had time to unpack it.
Not yet.
⏳
Eventually Heath pulled out his phone again.
Frankie noticed immediately.
"Still trying?"
"Yeah," he said quietly.
"Any answer?"
"No."
He stared at the screen like it had betrayed him personally.
Then paused.
"…Weird question."
That alone made everyone tense.
Clawd narrowed his eyes.
"What?"
Heath frowned.
"Has anybody seen Jackie?"
Blank stares.
Frankie blinked.
"What?"
"Jackson," Heath clarified quickly. "Jackie. You know."
Draculaura's expression shifted slightly.
"Oh, right sorry, it's just... everything."
Clawd followed.
"Oh."
Abbey slowly echoed.
"…Oh."
The silence that followed was different.
Not empty.
Dropping.
Because suddenly—
Everyone remembered.
Frankie spoke first, voice low.
"…No."
Clawd shook his head.
"No."
Draculaura swallowed.
"No."
Abbey frowned.
"…No."
Heath's grip tightened on his phone.
"Not since last night?"
Nobody answered fast enough.
That was the answer.
⏳
Frankie's face went pale.
"Oh no."
Clawd stiffened.
"Wait."
Draculaura looked genuinely shaken now.
"Wait…"
Heath already started dialing.
His hands weren't steady anymore.
The phone rang.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Everyone stood still.
Please pick up.
Please pick up.
Please—
Voicemail.
Heath tried again instantly.
Voicemail.
Again.
Voicemail.
Again.
Voicemail.
"No," Heath whispered.
"No, no, no—"
Frankie stepped closer.
"Heath—"
"He's not answering," he snapped, louder than intended.
Silence hit immediately.
Abbey spoke carefully.
"He may be okay."
"But what if he isn't?" Heath shot back.
Nobody had an answer.
Because suddenly they were all thinking the same thing.
Last known location:
The catacombs.
The chase.
The separation.
And after that—
Nothing.
Frankie's voice broke.
"Oh my spark…"
Clawd's ears lowered.
Draculaura covered her mouth.
Even Toralei stopped pretending not to care.
Because the realization wasn't subtle anymore.
It was undeniable.
One empty seat had already been bad enough.
Now there were two.
And nobody knew where either of them were...
⏳
The morning bell rang.
Nobody moved.
Nobody cared.
The sound echoed across the front courtyard and seemed to disappear into the tension hanging over the group.
Normally, Heath would've made some joke.
Something about school being a prison.
Something about first period being cruel and unusual punishment.
Something stupid.
Something normal.
But nothing about this felt normal.
His phone was still in his hand.
Jackson's contact still open.
The call screen still sitting there.
Unanswered.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Voicemail.
Voicemail.
Voicemail.
His thumb hovered over the call button.
Pressed it.
Ringing.
Everybody watched.
Nobody spoke.
The call ended.
Voicemail.
Again.
The flames around Heath's hair sputtered violently.
"Come on," he muttered.
His voice sounded strange.
Thin.
Tight.
"Come on, Jackie."
No answer.
His stomach twisted.
A horrible feeling was growing inside his chest.
The kind that ignored logic.
The kind that didn't care about facts.
The kind that whispered every awful possibility it could imagine.
Maybe Jackson lost his phone.
Maybe he was asleep.
Maybe he got grounded.
Maybe—
Maybe something happened.
Heath immediately hated the thought.
"No."
The word escaped before he could stop it.
"No."
Abbey frowned.
"Heath—"
"He would've answered."
The sentence came out too fast.
"He always answers."
Frankie exchanged a worried glance with Clawd.
"Heath—"
"He always answers."
His fingers tightened around the phone.
The screen trembled.
At first nobody noticed.
Then Frankie did.
His hand was shaking.
Badly.
"Heath."
The fire elemental looked up.
His eyes were wide.
Far too wide.
Like he was looking at something nobody else could see.
"Holt got arrested."
Nobody interrupted.
"He got arrested."
His voice cracked.
"And Jackie disappeared."
The courtyard seemed to go silent.
"Heath," Clawd said carefully.
"We don't know that."
"But we don't know anything!"
The words exploded out of him.
Students nearby turned their heads.
Heath didn't even notice.
"We don't know where Holt is!"
His breathing was uneven now.
"We don't know where Jackie is!"
His grip tightened.
"We don't know if Holt's okay!"
His voice broke.
"We don't know if Jackie got home!"
Another breath.
Too fast.
Too sharp.
"We don't know anything!"
The phone nearly slipped from his fingers.
Abbey stepped closer.
"Heath."
"I should've stayed with them."
The words came tumbling out.
Raw.
Messy.
Honest.
"I should've stayed with them."
"That not your fault."
"I KNOW!"
The shout echoed across the courtyard.
Instantly, Heath looked horrified.
Not at Abbey.
At himself.
Purple sparks flickered at the corners of his eyes.
"I'm sorry."
His voice sounded small.
Broken.
"I just..."
He swallowed hard.
His chest hurt.
Everything hurt.
The sunlight felt wrong.
The school felt wrong.
The courtyard felt wrong.
Nothing felt real anymore.
"I should've done something."
The purple sparks grew brighter.
Then—
A single glowing tear slid down his cheek.
Not water.
Fire.
Violet flame.
It hissed softly as it fell.
Frankie's eyes widened.
Clawd looked away.
Draculaura covered her mouth.
Nobody said anything.
Because elemental tears were rare.
And everybody knew what they meant.
Another purple tear followed the first.
Then another.
Heath didn't seem to notice.
Or maybe he couldn't stop them.
"We all wanted to do something," Frankie said quietly.
"That wasn't enough."
Frankie opened her mouth.
Then closed it.
Because she didn't know what to say.
Because part of her agreed.
They'd gone there to stop things from getting worse.
And somehow everything had gotten worse anyway.
"What if they're hurt?"
Nobody answered.
"What if Holt's hurt?"
Silence.
"What if Jackie—"
The sentence died.
He couldn't finish it.
Wouldn't finish it.
The thought itself was too horrible.
The purple tears kept falling.
Little streaks of violet fire trailing down his face.
"What if they're alone?"
His voice was barely audible now.
"What if they think nobody's looking for them?"
"Heath."
Abbey's voice was gentle.
"What if Jackie thinks we forgot him?"
Nobody knew how to answer that.
And suddenly that thought seemed unbearable.
"What if Holt thinks we're just moving on without him?"
His shoulders shook once.
Then again.
The phone was trembling so hard now he nearly dropped it.
Abbey stepped directly in front of him.
Not blocking him.
Just there.
A solid presence.
Something steady.
"Heath."
For a moment he actually looked at her.
Really looked.
Abbey folded her arms.
"You know Jackie."
He blinked.
"You know Holt."
Another blink.
"They would be very annoyed if you collapsed before helping find them."
A tiny sound escaped Clawd.
Almost a laugh.
Almost.
Heath stared.
Abbey continued.
"Especially Holt."
That earned the faintest twitch at the corner of Heath's mouth.
A tiny one.
Gone almost immediately.
But it was there.
Frankie stepped forward.
"We're gonna find them."
Heath looked at her.
Frankie looked exhausted.
Terrified.
Like she was holding herself together with duct tape and optimism.
But she still sounded certain.
"We're finding Holt."
She glanced toward the school.
"And we're finding Jackie."
Draculaura nodded immediately.
"Together."
Clawd nodded too.
"Nobody gets left behind."
Even Toralei muttered:
"Yeah."
Like admitting she cared physically hurt.
Ghoulia scribbled furiously before holding up her notebook.
FIND THEM FIRST.
FREAK OUT LATER.
That actually got a few weak smiles.
Even Heath's.
Tiny.
Fragile.
But real.
He looked around at all of them.
Frankie.
Clawd.
Abbey.
Draculaura.
Ghoulia.
His friends.
His family.
And suddenly he realized something.
They were scared too.
Every single one of them.
Maybe not as loudly.
Maybe not the same way.
But they were scared.
Because Holt was gone.
Because Jackie was gone.
Because nobody knew what had happened.
And because nobody wanted to imagine the worst.
The morning bell rang again.
Still nobody moved.
Still nobody cared.
Because somewhere out there, one of their friends was sitting in a jail cell.
And another had vanished without a trace.
And until they found both of them—
Monster High wasn't going to feel right again...