Page 9

T he night pressed heavy against my skin, thick with the scent of old stone and petrichor. The fog had settled deeper now, curling along the courtyard like restless spirits. The flicker of the gas lamps cast golden orbs through the mist that scarcely lit my path as I walked.

I should have been exhausted. My limbs ached, the night air bit against my skin, but my mind wouldn’t quiet.

It replayed the evening in painful fragments, the impossible gleam of Dante’s eyes, the shrill intonation of Verrine’s voice, the ritualistic way the Upper Sixth had moved through the dining hall in feathered costumes.

Nothing about this place made sense. Nothing about my parents sending me here made sense.

The guilt writhed in my gut at the thought of escaping, the thought of defying what they wanted for me.

But maybe they didn’t know how unhappy this place would make me.

Sometimes I felt like they hardly knew me, anyway. I had to do what was right for me.

It wasn’t just the fog and darkness that had my heart in my throat. It was the thought that my parents sending me here meant anything at all. That I was just… lost somewhere I didn’t belong.

I exhaled, shaking the swirling thoughts away as I crossed the threshold into one of the vast indoor corridors in the main building. The door groaned shut behind me, sealing out the damp chill.

Inside, the air was warm but heavy, thick with the scent of wax, parchment, and ancient books whose pages had been long forgotten. The sconces burned low, their flickering light casting spindly shadows across the arched ceiling.

I tried to move quickly, my bare legs cold in the night air.

I wanted nothing more than to slip back into Seraphim Tower quietly and speak to no one as I sunk beneath the sheets.

But something caught my eye, a sliver of golden light spilling across the stone.

I squinted my eyes to read the plaque on the outside of the door. Prefects Common Room.

Goosebumps prickled up my arms. A low murmur drifted through the opening, voices rising and falling in quiet conversation. I inched closer, the hairs on the back of my neck prickling.

Something inside me, some reckless, aching part of me that had always hated being kept in the dark, kept my feet rooted to the cold floor. There was something wrong with this place, and I needed to figure out what.

“Not long until the Dawning Ball,” a girl’s voice rang out, light and teasing. “Our last chance to celebrate together.” She paused. “For most of us.”

Laughter rippled through the room. I didn’t understand the joke. I leaned in, peering through the crack in the door.

The prefects sprawled across the long table, robes undone, wings discarded in careless heaps.

White feathers crumpled against the stone, dark fabric pooling like spilled ink.

I recognized two of them. Marcus poured a dark liquid, molasses-thick, from a bottle and passed it to Dorian.

Their eyes locked, and something unspoken passed between them.

“Ante Post,” Marcus murmured.

Dorian tipped his glass. “Ante Post.”

“You’re not drinking, Rosaline?” Marcus asked casually. Rosaline. That was the name of our other roommate.

“Of course not.” Rosaline spun a gold ring against her knuckle. “Have to keep focused for graduation.” Her laugh was gentle, like she was the only one in on the joke. “Once taken,” she said as she traced the curve of the ring. “Never returned.”

I froze. I’d seen those words etched above the dormitory stairwell. Surely the phrase wasn’t literal.

“Ros, feeling sentimental?” Marcus smirked.

“Hardly.” She held her hand to the candlelight. “I worked too hard to Ascend for it to mean nothing.” She rolled the ring again. “But if I don’t graduate, and this is all for nothing?—”

“Don’t talk like that,” Dorian said, voice clipped, an edge beneath the cool. “You’re a prefect. You’re Ascended. Your score’s one of the highest.”

Rosaline nodded, lips tight. “But isn’t it strange that not all of us will make it?” The echo of laughter died, the silence heavy.

“Not like it’s a surprise,” someone muttered out of view, a voice I didn’t recognize. A chair scraped.

“No,” Marcus agreed. “But you’d think they’d pretend to care.”

Dorian swirled his drink, restless to change the subject. He nodded between Marcus and Rosaline. “How is it for you guys? Being Ascended?”

Rosaline tapped her nails against the wood. “Our last training session with Godwin was canceled. Something about the Archangels.” Unease rippled. “I miss the Lower Sixth,” she said finally. “It was fun to play last year, to feel out which path to take. The stakes didn’t feel real then.”

The silence deepened. Then, a clink of ice as Dorian moved toward the main sofa.

“They were real,” Marcus warned. “We lost nearly half our year group to the Rift.” Lost? “But I suppose you’re right. If we thought that was bad, even fewer will survive graduation.” Survive? The way he said it didn’t sound hyperbolic.

“I hate the Spring Term. That’s when the sabotage sets in,” another male prefect I didn’t recognize spoke.

Rosaline rolled her eyes. “You sound like your brother.”

“Oscar is right.” Marcus didn’t flinch. “It’s tradition. As prefects, we’re targets.”

“Come off it, Marcus. Enough now,” Dorian drawled. His eyes lit up. “I’m still deciding who’ll Fall this year.”

Rosaline’s gaze swept the room. “Speaking of.” Her smile turned cutting. “What do we think of our newest addition?”

A chill threaded down my spine. Marcus gave a low laugh. “Arabella Davenant? Please. It won’t even be a choice.”

“She does have a certain… reputation,” Rosaline added.

Dorian didn’t smile. He let out a slow breath. “She won’t even fight it,” he murmured. “She’ll Fall. I’ll make sure of it.”

The room rang with laughter, heat prickling beneath my skin. I shifted, stumbling, and my foot nudged a loose stone. The scrape echoed like a gunshot.

“Did you hear that?” Panic clutched my chest. I bolted, feet slamming the stone, skin buzzing like static. Behind me, a chair scraped. A door slammed.

“Someone’s there!” Rosaline’s voice rang out. I didn’t stop running. Not until I was beneath my sheets, heart racing, lungs burning. Not until I was small again. Hidden.

Not all of us will make it. Ruby had said it too. Surely they didn’t mean that. I thought of the wings, discarded like masks. Of the laughter that faded too quickly. Of the words. Once taken, never returned.

I had underestimated this place, and I had no idea what happened to the ones who didn’t make it.

I had settled into a dreamless sleep, but the hand slammed over my mouth before I could scream. My body bucked, and my instinct kicked in too late. An arm banded around my waist, pulling me tight against something hard. No, someone.

I thrashed, heels scraping against stone, nails clawing at the grip on my face. The only sound was a low and urgent voice, a brush of lips against my ear. “ Don’t struggle .” Their grip tightened. “If they hear you—” I felt my knees go weak. “ We’re both dead .”