Page 15

Why do I care so much about Vivienne's opinion?

Samael Norwood was nothing more than a brooding, enigmatic presence—someone who just happened to interpret my tea leaves.

Yet, the memory of his piercing gaze and the fleeting touch of his fingers on mine stirred There was something in me I kept trying to ignore—something that pulled despite every warning bell in my head.

“Samael Norwood is a beautiful, egotistical jerk,” I whispered, as if saying it aloud might dull the sting of whatever this was. “Samael Norwood is—”

My words faltered.

Outside the window, a lone figure moved through the shadows of the Herbology gardens. The moon caught just enough light to outline the tousled dark hair… the unmistakable sweep of tattooed arms.

“—outside the dormitories,” I finished, breath catching. “Alone.”

My heart wavered between intrigue and caution. Without much contemplation, my decision was made. I was going to follow him.

I pulled on my boots and headed for the hall. I needed to know what he was doing out there after curfew. By the gods, this was probably the most reckless decision I had ever made—but if Samael was connected to these disappearances in any way, I needed to know.

I hurried down the stairs of the dormitory as quickly as I could manage, driven by a heady mix of curiosity and determination. Was it truly Samael I had seen outside, or was my imagination spinning wild tales?

By the time I reached the bottom, I was dizzy from the constant spiraling descent and paused a moment to regain my balance, my breaths shallow and sharp.

The corridors were eerily empty at this late hour, and the thought of being discovered sent a flicker of anxiety through me, but it wasn’t enough to stop my feet from moving. Peeking my head out the dormitory door,

I scanned the courtyard for any sign of life. It was nearly 11:00 p.m.—far past curfew. There would surely be consequences if I was caught by one of the professors or, worse, by Grimrose herself.

I crept close to the walls, sticking to the shadows as I followed the pathway that led behind the dormitories.

Samael had been near the Herbology gardens when I’d seen him from my window.

He could be absolutely anywhere by now, and doubt gnawed at the edges of my resolve.

Why am I doing this? What do I hope to find?

Yet the image of Samael’s solitary figure lingered in my mind, tugging me forward with invisible threads.

As I passed beneath the gnarled archway near the gardens, the amulet seemed to stir. At first, I thought it was just my racing heart, but then I heard it—a soft, insistent whisper, like wind over ancient stone.

"Beware the shadows, for the hunter may become the hunted," it murmured, its voice almost lost beneath the crunch of gravel under my cautious steps.

I paused, my pulse quickening with each silent step into the dark. The cryptic warning sent shivers through me.

The crunch of gravel underfoot blended with the soft hum of the amulet. Despite the overwhelming quiet, I didn’t feel alone at all.

The cool night air was filled with the scent of damp earth and impending rain, the wind teasing strands of hair into my eyes as I moved.

With the Herbology gardens now in view, I made the split decision to go left toward the library, my pulse quickening with each measured step into the dark.

Now, standing at the threshold of the Blackbloom Library, I hesitated. The Gaspeite Sea seemed to whisper, its waves rolling despite the still air. Something about the murmuring called to me, like a half-remembered lullaby from childhood.

“Curious choice for an evening stroll.”

I whirled around, heart leaping into my throat.

Professor Coldwell stood a few paces behind me, his charcoal cloak melting into the darkness like smoke.

The torchlight barely touched him, and yet his silver-streaked hair gleamed with unsettling clarity.

His face was all sharp lines and shadow, every angle made more severe by the way his eyes fixed on me—like he was seeing more than I knew I was showing.

“Professor,” I managed, forcing my breath to even out. “I was just—”

“Disobeying Headmistress Grimrose’s very clear orders?”

His voice was low, almost conversational, and somehow that made it worse. “I expected better judgment from you, Miss Vale.”

I swallowed hard, scrambling for something believable. “I thought I saw someone,” I said. “Someone who shouldn’t be outside after curfew.”

One of his brows lifted, though his expression remained unreadable. “And instead of informing a faculty member, you wandered into the dark alone?”

“I...” The lie faltered under the weight of his gaze. “I was worried. With everything happening—the disappearances—”

“Worried,” he repeated, stepping closer. The word hung in the air like a test.

The amulet at my throat pulsed with warmth, a quiet warning I tried not to show.

“Such a noble instinct,” he said, his tone delicate and edged. “Concern for your fellow students. Or is it curiosity that pulls you from your bed at night?”

My cheeks flushed. I couldn’t read his expression—there was too much calm, too much stillness. Like a surface undisturbed, hiding a current beneath.

“And this… figure,” he continued. “Was it truly someone outside? Or perhaps something your imagination summoned from the stories you've been feeding it?”

His voice darkened just slightly on the last word, not angry, not accusing— interested .

I hesitated. Mentioning Samael felt like a betrayal, though I wasn’t sure why.

“I’m not certain,” I said quietly. “Just… a shadow, really.”

“Shadows can be deceiving,” Coldwell murmured, his gaze dropping—too deliberately—to the pendant at my throat. “Especially at Drakestone.”

The way he looked at it sent a chill down my spine. Not idle curiosity. Recognition.

“Your amulet,” he said suddenly, tone sharper now. “Family heirloom?”

My fingers curled protectively around the raven-shaped pendant. “Yes, sir.”

“May I?”

He extended a gloved hand, palm up, perfectly still.

Every instinct screamed no. But refusing felt like stepping off a ledge. Slowly, I slipped the chain over my head and placed it in his hand, careful not to let our skin meet.

Professor Coldwell lifted the amulet to the moonlight. It caught the silver glow with an almost living gleam—and for a moment, I could swear it pulsed in his grip, like it recognized him.

“Fascinating,” he murmured, his voice softer now. “Very old magic. Very… specific magic.”

His eyes found mine, gleaming with something unreadable. Hunger, maybe. Or memory.

“Do you know what it does, Miss Vale?”

I kept my voice measured. “It’s been passed down through generations. My mother said it would protect me.”

“Did she, now?”

His lips curled into a smile—thin, cold, untouched by warmth.

“A charming promise. Protection always comes at a cost.”

“I should return to my dormitory,” I said, forcing my voice to stay even.

“Indeed, you should.”

He gestured down the path with a long-fingered hand, and that’s when I saw it—an unfamiliar tattoo curling along the inside of his wrist. A sigil. Intricate. Shifting slightly as if inked in something alive. The moment I looked at it too long, it seemed to settle, like it had noticed me staring.

“I’ll escort you back,” he added, his tone too smooth. “These are dangerous times to wander alone.”

We walked in silence, but his presence beside me pressed close—calculated, heavy. Coldwell was known for being demanding in class, razor-sharp in his expectations. But here, in the dark, he felt different.

Older. Hungrier.

“You have potential, Miss Vale,” he said at last, his voice low but certain. “Raw talent most students never touch. It would be a shame to see it squandered.”

“Squandered, Professor?” I asked, careful.

“On distractions. Late-night wanderings. Certain… associations.”

His words were precise, but the meaning behind them wasn’t subtle. I felt the warning buried in the compliment.

We reached the dormitory entrance, and only then did I allow myself to breathe a little deeper.

“Thank you for walking me back,” I said quietly.

He inclined his head, the motion exact. Controlled. “One more thing, Miss Vale.”

I met his gaze. In the low torchlight, his eyes gleamed—not warmly, not cruelly—just… watchful.

“Magical Combat,” he said. “Pay attention. The defensive incantations I’ll be teaching soon may prove more necessary than you realize.”

With that cryptic warning, he turned and melted into the shadows, his cloak billowing behind him like wings.

I hadn’t managed to find Samael. Instead, I’d nearly faced the repercussions Headmistress Grimrose had in store for students caught wandering past curfew. In a way, I suppose I was fortunate not to have encountered whatever was abducting students from the Drakestone campus.

Feeling defeated, I returned to my room, hoping that tonight the gods would grant me a restful sleep.