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“Lastly…” she said, her tone shifting from instructive to reverent. “Blood of a Fae.”

A hush fell.

“One of the most powerful ingredients known to magic,” she said. “Used for bindings, curses, fate magic. A single drop can tether a soul. Too much?” She looked up. “Eternal servitude. Otherworldly debt. Death, or something far messier.”

She placed the vial back on its stand.

“Respect every ingredient you touch. Because one day, one of them won’t respect you back.”

Professor Thornbriar's emerald eyes swept across the classroom, pausing briefly on my face before continuing.

"These three ingredients are particularly relevant today because they symbolize the delicate balance between power and peril that exists in all magical practice. A lesson that, I’m told, was dramatically demonstrated in Professor Blackwood’s class earlier."

A ripple of whispers spread through the greenhouse. I felt heat rise to my cheeks as several students turned to stare at me.

"Which brings me to an important announcement," she continued, her voice taking on a more somber tone. "As some of you may have already heard, a bloodied student jacket was found outside the library this morning. It is believed the jacket belongs to Liam Musette."

The greenhouse fell completely silent. Even the plants seemed to still their gentle swaying, as if listening.

Lydia's hand shot into the air. "Professor, is there any connection between the disappearances? Any pattern that might help us understand what’s happening?"

Professor Thornbriar sighed, the sound soft and wistful—like wind threading through autumn leaves—as she turned away from the pot of glowing ingredients on her desk.

She clasped her hands lightly in front of her, the delicate star-shaped blossoms in her hair catching the light as her head dipped slightly in thought.

"Nothing conclusive, Miss Westcott," she said at last, her voice low and tempered with sorrow, as if she carried the weight of each unanswered question like stones in her robes. "Though both students were traveling alone when they were believed to be taken."

Her eyes swept across the greenhouse, lingering just a beat longer on a few empty chairs before returning to the table of ingredients.

A pause hung in the air, fragile as glass, before she straightened her spine and smoothed a hand over her moss-colored robes. Her tone shifted subtly—still gentle, but now with the calm decisiveness of someone reclaiming control.

"Now, let us return to today’s lesson," she continued, lifting a piece of chalk and gesturing to the parchment pinned behind her. "You will be working in pairs to analyze these ingredients and document their magical signatures— without direct handling."

She moved gracefully behind the demonstration table, adjusting a vial with careful fingers.

"Respect the magic," she added, her voice like silk drawn over stone. "It listens. Even when you think it’s sleeping."

As the class rearranged itself into pairs, I felt the weight of the amulet grow heavier against my skin. The whispers that had plagued me all morning had fallen silent, which somehow felt more ominous than their cryptic messages.

Lydia leaned in as we set up our workspace, her voice low. “Elle, do you think what happened in Ancient Enchantments today might be connected to the disappearances?”

I unrolled a sheet of protective parchment, deliberately ignoring the curious glances from the tables around us. “If you’re asking whether I think I’m personally responsible for students vanishing into thin air—no, Lydia. I don’t.”

“That’s not what I meant,” she snapped, just above a whisper. Her amber eyes flashed, rare heat in her expression. “I meant something’s wrong here. You know it. And your amulet started whispering right around the time Melanie disappeared.”

Her words struck a nerve. The timing was too close. I hadn’t wanted to admit that—not even to myself.

“You think it’s cursed too?” Leander asked, from across the bench, his tone casually grim.

I sighed, fingers tightening around the vial in my hand. “I don’t know what it is. But it seems to enjoy hinting at disaster just enough to keep me up at night—and then mocks me when I try to make sense of it.”

Lydia’s expression darkened as she studied me, her eyes narrowing in thought. She glanced briefly at Leander, then back at me, like she was calculating a move two steps ahead.

“You know,” she said slowly, voice edged with quiet certainty, “I think we should skip dinner tonight.”

I blinked. “Skip dinner?”

“It just… doesn’t feel right,” she continued, her tone low and deliberate. “We’re circling something big, Elle. And whatever happened in Ancient Enchantments—whatever’s happening with your amulet—none of it feels random.”

I raised an eyebrow. “So where do you suggest we go? The Blackbloom Library?”

Lydia nodded, serious now. “Before curfew, obviously. But if your family history has anything to do with the disappearances, that’s where we’ll find it.

Especially if the amulet’s tied to the Vale legacy.

There’s bound to be something in the restricted histories. We just need to know where to look.”

Her words held a strange kind of weight, a pull that made me want to go along with her suggestion, despite the risks. The unease gnawing at me only deepened, and my instincts told me that whatever was happening at Drakestone was far from ordinary.

“Alright,” I said at last, my voice barely more than a breath. “But we have to be careful. If something dangerous is happening, we can’t walk into it blind.”

Leander sighed through his nose but gave a small nod. “Fine. But we stay together. No wandering off into cursed corners without backup.”

“Deal,” Lydia said, her smile thin but determined.

And just like that, the plan was set—unspoken warnings hanging between us, but none of us willing to walk away. Not now. Not when the shadows were starting to move.

The three of us exchanged a glance, knowing this was more than just a late-night study session. Something was drawing us to the library—and I had a feeling we weren’t going to like what we found.