First wictim

The bell rang for the mid-morning break. Chairs scraped, voices exploded, and the usual chaos of 3B spilled into the corridor. Ralf stayed seated for a moment, watching the tide of bodies flow past his desk. Nobody looked at him. Perfect.

He slipped the ring under the sleeve of his hoodie so only the black stone peeked out, then stood up. His heart was hammering, but his face stayed blank, the same loser expression everyone expected. He shuffled toward the door, head down, shoulders rounded, the invisible boy.

Kinga was at her locker, laughing with Wiktoria and Natalia, flipping her long blonde hair the way she always did when she knew half the class was watching. She wore the short pleated skirt that got her sent to the principal at least once a month and the tight white shirt that made teachers pretend they didn’t notice.

Ralf moved along the wall, just another shadow. When he was two steps behind her, the crowd shifted; for three seconds nobody was looking their way. He leaned in, close enough to smell her vanilla perfume, and whispered, barely a breath against her ear.

“Leave school right now. Go to the little bridge on the forest path behind the park. Hide underneath it and wait for my next instructions. Don’t let anyone see you. Don’t tell anyone. Go.”

The words were soft, almost tender, but the ring burned cold against his skin as the command left his lips.

Kinga froze mid-laugh. Her eyes widened, pupils blown huge with sudden terror, but her body was already moving. She slammed her locker shut, shoved her phone into her bag without looking, and walked (not ran, she couldn’t run, the ring wouldn’t let her draw attention) straight toward the side exit that nobody used because the door squeaked like a dying animal.

Wiktoria called after her, confused. “Kinga? We’re going to the kiosk, come on…”

Kinga didn’t turn around. Didn’t answer. Just pushed through the door and disappeared.

Ralf stepped back into the stream of students, hands in his pockets, and drifted toward the math classroom. Nobody had noticed a thing.

He sat down in his usual seat in the back row, opened his notebook, and waited for the bell to ring again. Under the desk, his fingers stroked the black stone, slow and affectionate.

Twenty-six days, twenty-three hours, and about fifteen minutes left.

He was just getting started.