Page 37

Leander nodded, his copper hair taking on an almost ethereal quality in the moonlight.

“I've memorized the layout,” he murmured, leaning close enough that I could feel his breath warm against my ear.

“Three rows of ancient history, past the enchanted weapons section, then left at mythological beasts.”

The vastness of Blackbloom Library stretched before us—a labyrinth of knowledge where shadows pooled in corners deep enough to swallow unwary students whole.

Rows upon rows of towering bookshelves climbed toward the vaulted ceiling, their contents whispering secrets to those who were patient enough to listen.

The eastern wing lay at the farthest end, rarely frequented even during daylight hours.

We moved in practiced formation, keeping low and close to the shelves.

Lydia led, her keen eyes scanning for any sign of movement.

I followed, with Bethany and Leander bringing up the rear, watching our backs.

Our footfalls were muffled by the plush, midnight-blue carpet that ran the length of the main aisle.

Leander’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Julian told me Vivienne’s been having nightmares. Wakes up screaming about shadows that breathe.”

I turned toward him, brow raised. “Since when are you and Julian on speaking terms?”

There was a pause, then a shrug I could barely make out in the dark. “Since Divinations paired us last week. He’s not so bad when Samael’s not around. Actually seems kind of… friendly.”

As we turned the corner, I caught a flicker of movement from the corner of my eye—a shadow moving against shadow. My heart stuttered in my chest.

“Wait,” I whispered, grabbing Leander.

The shadow solidified, materializing into a tall, slender figure that seemed to glide rather than walk between the towering bookshelves.

My breath caught in my throat as the pale moonlight illuminated Professor Crowe's distinguished features, his silver hair gleaming like polished metal against his rich, dark skin.

His crescent moon spectacles caught the light, momentarily obscuring his eyes behind twin discs of reflected moonbeams.

We froze, caught like deer before a hunter, our bodies tensing as one.

The professor’s deep-set eyes widened slightly behind his glasses—the only indication of surprise at finding students prowling the library well past curfew.

For a heartbeat that stretched into eternity, we remained locked in this tableau of mutual shock.

“Miss Vale,” he said, his voice unnaturally soft, almost hollow. “Miss Westcott. Mr. Sterling. Miss Sloane.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

I could hear the blood rushing in my ears, feel the Raven’s Echo growing warm against my skin.

Professor Crowe’s usual composure seemed fractured somehow—there was a tremor in his hands that I had never witnessed before, and behind his spectacles, his eyes darted from shadow to shadow as if tracking invisible movements.

“Hello,” he finally offered, the word hanging awkwardly between us. It was not the stern reprimand I expected, nor the disappointed lecture about curfew violations. Just that single word, delivered with an inflection that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

His gaze lingered on me for a moment too long, dropping briefly to the amulet at my throat before sweeping over the others. His eyes appeared lost, though something passed across his features—recognition? Fear? Whatever it was, it vanished before I could decipher it.

“Professor,” I began, but he raised a hand to silence me, shaking his head almost imperceptibly.

“The library speaks to those who listen,” he said cryptically, his voice barely above a whisper. “Though not all voices should be heeded, Miss Vale. Remember that.”

Without another word, he dipped his chin in a curt nod and continued past us, his flowing robes whispering against the carpet. He moved with purpose toward the main doors, never once looking back.

“Did that just happen?” Leander breathed, the words barely shaping the air.

Lydia’s grip tightened on my arm, her fingernails digging sharp crescents into my skin.

“Did you see his eyes?” she whispered. “They looked… different.”

I stared after Professor Crowe’s retreating figure, the cold knot in my stomach pulling tighter with every step he took away from us.

“He knew exactly where we were going,” I murmured. “The eastern wing. He came from there.”

“Should we turn back?” Leander asked, uncertainty flickering across his features.

The Raven’s Echo pressed silent against my chest—no whispers, no warnings. Just weight.

“No,” I said, firmer now, turning toward the corridor ahead. “If anything, this confirms we’re on the right path. Crowe’s always known more than he says.”

And tonight, I intended to find out why.

We resumed our cautious progress, the encounter with Professor Crowe hanging over us like a storm cloud. As we approached the eastern corridor, the atmosphere shifted palpably.

We moved through the eastern corridor in silence, the weight of Professor Crowe’s parting words and the intensity of his gaze lingering in my thoughts.

The cool stone walls seemed to absorb our hesitant footsteps, and the only sound was the soft, measured tapping of our boots against the flagstones.

The air grew denser as we neared the alcove, and every flicker of light from the sconces cast distorted shadows that danced along the walls like ghostly guardians.

The corridor stretched before us, its walls lined with ancient portraits and faded murals that whispered of secrets long past. I pressed my hand against the cold stone, feeling the faint hum of magic that thrummed beneath the surface—a reminder that this place was more than just bricks and mortar.

Each step felt laden with meaning, as though every footfall was a question asked of the silent night. Leander and Bethany flanked me, and Lydia hovered ever so close. Our small group moved as one, united by our shared resolve to uncover the truth behind the riddle.

At length, we arrived at the mosaic alcove, a secluded niche tucked away behind a heavy wooden door. The floor here was a shifting tapestry of colored stones, laid out in intricate patterns that seemed to pulse softly in the dim light.

The mosaic was unlike any decoration I had seen before—its design was deliberately ambiguous, as if meant to mirror the very mysteries we were trying to solve. Faint traces of magic shimmered just beneath the surface, casting wavering reflections that hinted at hidden depths.

For a moment, we stood in a tight circle before the mosaic. I could feel my pulse quicken, not entirely from fear but from the thrill of possibility.

My gaze drifted over the patterns—the delicate interweaving of shapes that mimicked symbols of power and protection. Every line, every fragment of colored stone, seemed imbued with a secret language that only the most perceptive could decipher.

I leaned in, hoping to catch even the smallest clue, when suddenly a chill ran down my spine.

It was then that the Raven’s Echo stirred against my consciousness—a subtle, insidious whisper that curled around my thoughts like smoke.

I could barely make out its voice, but it carried a familiar taunting cadence.

“Elvana”, it hissed, the sound both mocking and seductive, “ do you not see? The silence you seek here is but an empty promise.”

I froze, my heart hammering as I strained to focus on the ethereal voice. The others had fallen silent, their eyes fixed on the mosaic as if expecting it to divulge its long-guarded secret at any moment.

Lydia’s grip on my arm tightened, and Leander’s gaze darted nervously to the shadowed corners of the alcove. Bethany’s eyes, though determined, betrayed a hint of uncertainty.

The Raven’s Echo continued, its tone laced with bitter amusement. You search in vain, child of secrets. This alcove is nothing more than a hollow echo of what you desire.

I shivered, trying to ground myself in the reality of the mosaic beneath my fingertips. Why are you speaking in riddles? The question stirred within me, but the Echo did not answer directly; it merely hummed, as if in response to a question unspoken.

I crouched beside a particularly intricate section of the mosaic, my fingers brushing over the cool, smooth stone. The pattern here seemed to shift subtly, as though alive, rearranging itself when I wasn’t looking.

My breath caught. Could it be a clue? I leaned closer, letting the silence of the alcove wrap around me, urging me to decipher the hidden language of the stones. Yet even as I concentrated, the Raven’s Echo weaved its taunts into my thoughts again.

“ Look closer, Elvana. Look and learn that your efforts are but whispers against an impenetrable wall, it mused. What is the sound of silence when it fails to reveal the path?”

The words were both a challenge and a lament, and I felt my determination waver for an instant. I glanced over at Lydia, whose eyes were filled with concern, and at Leander and Bethany, who seemed to be bracing themselves for something I couldn’t yet name.

Taking a deep breath, I steadied my trembling hand.

This must be it, I thought. The map led us here, did it not?

I traced a line along one of the mosaic’s intricate curves, searching for an indication—a seam, a shift, a faint glow.

But nothing stirred; the stones remained stubbornly mute, their hidden message locked away behind layers of time and neglect.

The silence in the alcove was almost oppressive. I could feel it, a tangible presence that seemed to weigh on my very soul. The Raven’s Echo, ever present in the recesses of my mind, whispered again, its voice now edged with derision.