Alone

  The forest surrounding the outer parts of the campus grounds were home to the most beautiful coniferous trees. Legends claimed they weren’t just trees, but living conduits of magic itself, their roots woven into the fabric of the school’s very foundation. Not only did they serve as natural beauty, but the trees themselves were an embodiment of the magic that fueled the school. One could feel the energy altering the soul after taking a short stroll through the branches. They whispered to each other in ways only the most attuned could hear.

  Claire never knew if she believed that. Yet, walking among them, she felt it. The crisp scent of purifying pine filled the air, curling through the branches like unseen fingers. A hush settled over the forest, not eerie, but calm. Deep. Alive.

  She hadn’t planned to come here, but something pulled her forward. Then she saw it.

  A dark turquoise pool, its surface smooth as glass, framed by obsidian-black rocks. The water pulsed with a soft hum, like the echo of a distant song only she could hear. Home.

  Claire didn’t hesitate. She stepped forward, and the water welcomed her.

  The moment her foot broke the surface, her body remembered. With each step, her muscles loosened, her weight shifting in ways it shouldn’t on land. Her skin tingled—not in fear, but in recognition.

  Her legs gave way. Not in weakness, but in return. The smooth, silk-like veil of her cerulean tail unfurled beneath her, stretching in the current, weightless and right. Her toes were gone, replaced by a delicate fin that swayed like it had always been there.

  She floated, her body light, whole.

  It had been weeks since she last felt like this. Since she last felt herself. The school’s artificial pool never had this effect. The chemicals made her itch, the water felt flat, dead. But here—here, she belonged.

  Claire exhaled, letting the salty water wash over her.

  Snap! A sharp crack of a twig.

  Her body reacted before her mind caught up. She twisted, diving down, her tail slicing through the water.

  Below the surface, everything was quiet. She hovered just beneath the rippling barrier, looking up through Snell’s Window, the way water bent the world above.

  A figure stood at the bank. The slanted light caught on platinum blond hair, too bright, too perfect. A hand hovered over the water.

  "Ascenda."

  The spell hit the surface like a punch. A violent geyser of bubbles erupted around her, forcing her upward. The water churned, dragging her against her will.

  Claire broke through, gasping. She barely had time to blink before she saw him. Niccolo Quire.

  The golden light hit him at an angle, casting him in an almost ethereal glow, like something otherworldly and out of place.

  His smirk widened. "Nice tail, Fishsticks."

  Claire inhaled sharply, snapping her tail behind her, just out of view. "What’s it to you?" she shot back, her voice flat.

  Nick shrugged, fiddling with the ring on his finger. "Nothing. Just saying. Volk will have your head for going outside the wards."

  She arched a brow. "Well, you’re out here too."

  For half a second, he hesitated. Then his expression closed off. Without another word, he turned, striding back toward the academy.

  Claire expected him to look back.

  He didn’t. Nick told himself he didn’t care if she followed.

  But still, he half hoped she would.

  Hurdling over the ivy gated walls, Nick moved through the academy grounds like a shadow, his expression unreadable, his presence a disruption waiting to happen. His pace didn’t slow as he shoved past Lily and Abelle on the front lawn, barely sparing them a glance.

  "Out of my way, you two."

  Abelle staggered back, frowning at the back of his retreating figure. “Okay… That’s new. Normally, he’d hex us just for existing near him.”

  Lily steadied herself, brushing invisible dust off her sleeve. “Maybe you should go talk to him.”

  Abelle scoffed. “And maybe that’s a terrible idea.” But her eyes lingered on the direction he went. Nick was always up to something. That much was a given. His entire personality was drama incarnate. If he wasn’t starting a fight, he was sulking over one. If he wasn’t playing mind games, he was picking a new enemy. Abelle knewthis. It was just who he was. But for some reason, this time felt different. She sighed. “Although…”

  Lily glanced at her. “We should see what he’s up to?”

  Abelle exhaled through her nose. “We should see what he’s up to.”

  With a subtle flick of her wrist, she wrapped a bending light charm around them. The air shimmered for half a second before settling into nothingness.

  They moved quickly, following Nick through the lesser-used corridors of the academy, where the old limestone walls still stood untouched by the invasive wood paneling. The further they went, the more the air shifted, thickening with an unnamed tension.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Finally, Nick came to a stop. The wall before him looked ordinary, just another stretch of timeworn stone. But Abelle had been here before. She knew there were no doors, no windows, nothing but the hushed echoes of an abandoned hallway.

  So when Nick pressed a hand to the stone and whispered something under his breath, she barely stopped herself from gasping. The wall rippled. A black mist seeped from its cracks, curling into the shape of a doorway. And without hesitation, Nick stepped through. His body vanished into the shadows.

  Lily’s breath hitched. “Did he just—?”

  Abelle dispelled their invisibility charm. “You saw it too,” she muttered. She strode forward, pressing her fingers against the misty threshold. The air stung, as if it didn’t want her there. But Abelle wasn’t in the habit of letting things stop her. She turned the ghostly handle. The door creaked open.

  Lily hesitated. “Are we sure about this?”

  “We followed him this far.” Abelle stepped through first.

  Lily swallowed, then followed her inside, closing the door softly behind them.

  A wave of cold, damp air pressed against their skin, thick with the stench of sulfur and something rotten.

  “Ugh.” Abelle wrinkled her nose. “This place is disgusting.”

  The room was cluttered with vials, flasks, and old books, their pages curling from age. Shelves lined the walls, filled with things that shouldn’t be here—preserved specimens, dark stains that looked like dried ink or blood, and a cauldron with something that still moved inside.

  Lily shuddered. “It looks like an old lab.”

  “More like a place someone doesn’t want people finding.” Abelle ran her fingers over a shelf of neatly labeled potions. Her stomach twisted. She had been right about Nick being up to something. But what the hell was this?

  Lily, meanwhile, moved cautiously through the space, trailing her fingers along the dust-covered table. Her fingertips brushed against a vial of thick, black tar. She froze.

  The substance quivered. Then a drop leaked onto her skin. It was warm. Sticky, like saltwater taffy left in the sun. Her stomach twisted, but before she could react—SLAM.

  The door behind them snapped shut.

  Lily jumped, inhaling sharply.

  “What?” Abelle spun, hands immediately running along the now solid wall. No door. No mist. Just stone.“That’s not good.”

  Lily swallowed hard, her hand curling against her palm where the black tar clung to her skin. She felt fine. But for some reason, her body felt just a little too warm.

  Abelle pressed her fingers against the cold wall. “I think I can get it back.”

  The faculty lounge smelled like coffee and old parchment, the low hum of conversation filling the space as professors gathered around the remains of the Casting Club’s bake sale fudge.

  It was 2 PM, and as per tradition, the weekly Saturday faculty meeting was wrapping up.

  For most of the staff, these meetings were an excuse to gossip about students, grumble about grading, and snag free food before the weekend. The actual discussions? Barely relevant.

  Professor Ednill licked a crumb off his thumb. “This fudge was incredible, Hannah.” He patted his stomach in satisfaction. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to part with the recipe?”

  Ms. Stewart gave him a tight-lipped smile. “I didn’t make it,” she admitted. “The Casting Club did.”

  She glanced at the tag near the plastic wrap, reading aloud: "Made by… Thomas Reed."

  Professor Keltore chuckled, licking the last traces of chocolate from his fingertips. “That Reed fellow might not be any good at astrology, but damn, he can bake.”

  Volk leaned back in his chair, waving the faculty toward the door. “Well, as you’ve all heard, the wards are back up and fully reinforced. Nothing like the other week should be happening again anytime soon.” He smiled. “Enjoy the rest of your weekend.”

  The professors filed out, a herd of academics shuffling through the empty halls, ready to head home.

  But one voice cut through the chatter. “Professor Keltore! Wait!” Elora ran down the corridor, her breath sharp, a packet of papers gripped tightly in her hand.

  Keltore sighed, stepping to the side as she skidded to a stop. “Just because it’s the weekend, Elora Cole, does not mean you can run in the halls.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah—” she waved off his scolding, still catching her breath. “Listen. I did some digging.”

  Keltore pinched the bridge of his nose. “Tell me you didn’t—”

  “I did.” She shoved the papers into his hands.

  Professor Keltore flipped through the pages, eyebrows raising slightly as he took in the handwritten notes, newspaper clippings, and printouts.

  He should’ve been concerned. Elora Cole? Doing research? The same Elora Cole who handed in every assignment late, if at all? The one who made up essays on the spot and barely passed his class by the skin of her teeth? And now here she was—tracking down student records, piecing together old documents, cross-referencing files. It was so out of character it made his head hurt.

  “Elora,” he started, flipping to a copy of an old student record. “How did you—”

  “Process of elimination.” She shrugged, playing it off like she hadn’t just spent the last 48 hours holed up in the library. As if she hadn’t gone down a research rabbit hole so deep she forgot to eat dinner last night.

  She wasn’t doing this because she was worried about Rita. She wasn’t doing this because she cared about security breaches or ward failures or school safety. No, she was doing this because of Claire.

  Claire, who had been the one to act first during the attack. Claire, who had seen through the Arctic Moss. Claire, who had unlocked some special moment with Mystic, who Elora had known way longer. Everyone was so impressed with her. The new girl.

  Elora hated the way it made her feel—like she was suddenly replaceable. Like she wasn’t important. Like if she didn’t prove her worth, she’d be pushed to the sidelines of her own life.

  So she threw herself into something before Claire could. If Claire had the instincts, then Elora would have the facts. If Claire had the quick thinking, then Elora would have the knowledge. She’d prove to herself that she was always going to be better.

  Elora flipped to a section in her notes, pointing aggressively. “See? There’s no record of Rita’s graduation. No report cards from junior or senior year. Nothing.”

  Keltore’s expression darkened. “Elora,” he said carefully. “Accessing the student archive room is strictly prohibited.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, but look. There’s something off about this. Why isn’t anyone looking into it?”

  Keltore closed the file, handing it back. “Because, Volk already assured us that the situation has been handled.”

  Elora stared at him. “You actually believe that?”

  He sighed, rubbing his temples. His headache wasn’t going away. “Elora,” he said, tiredly but not unkindly. “I know you must have questions. And maybe you’re even a little worried—”

  “I’m not worried,” she snapped, too quickly.

  Keltore raised an eyebrow.

  Elora swallowed. Softer now, she muttered, “I’m not worried. I’m just… curious.”

  Keltore studied her for a long moment.

  She held his gaze, unflinching.

  Finally, he exhaled, rubbing at the crease between his brows. “I am proud of you, Elora.”

  Her breath hitched. “What?”

  “For this research.” He nodded toward the file. “If only you put this much effort into your actual assignments.”

  She huffed, frustrated. “Fine, whatever, let’s cut to the chase. What was the spell you used on her?”

  Keltore tensed. “Elora,” he warned.

  “What?” She crossed her arms. “I want to know. In case something like that happens again.”

  “It is none of your concern what spell I may or may not have used that day.”

  “That’s a really convenient way of saying you’re hiding something.”

  He sighed. “Elora—”

  “You know what? Forget it.” She shoved the papers into her bag. “I’ll figure it out myself.”

  Keltore didn’t stop her as she turned sharply on her heel, stalking down the hallway. He only watched until she disappeared from sight. Then his fingers went to his temples again, pressing hard. His headache was getting worse.