A ghostly chill penetrated the hallway outside the infirmary, drilling into my bones with needle points. The sick, twisted part of me welcomed the cold because I knew it, could stick a label on its familiarity, when days ago I hadn't felt it at all, even though mine and everyone's breaths had caught in the air.

I ran the glove on my broken hand along my itchy scales on the other. Maybe my theory about the ghosts still being inside me held weight. Maybe I was haunted, and the ...