Page 40

I quickly tore my eyes away, gathering my scattered belongings with trembling fingers as I prepared to leave for Ancient Enchantments class.

As I followed Bethany and Lydia, their voices began to filter through my distracted mind.

“You girls must’ve been terrified ,” Bethany whispered, her voice thick with regret. “I’m sorry Leander and I weren’t there with you.”

Lydia gave a small nod, her eyes glossy behind her glasses. “I’ve never witnessed death before,” she said quietly, like saying it aloud made it feel more real.

Bethany squeezed Lydia’s hand, firm and reassuring, before turning to me.

“Elvana… what do you think made those scratches?”

I blinked, the question barely registering. My mind was still lost in the images—the darkness, the cold, the blood.

“Hm? Oh—yeah. It was... definitely something. ”

Bethany and Lydia exchanged a glance—silent, worried—but didn’t press. They walked on ahead, leaving me with my thoughts echoing in the hush that followed.

Just as we stepped over the threshold into the hall, a hand caught my elbow—firm, steady. The touch pulled me back like a tether snapping taut, dragging me out of the spiral.

“ Little raven, I— ”

I turned, pulse thundering in my ears. Samael’s eyes locked onto mine—dark, sharp, unreadable.

They dragged up memories I didn’t want to revisit: the Saturnine Forest, the chill between us, the way his hand had grazed the small of my back like it belonged there.

That charged, breathless moment when he’d pulled me close with that same look in his eye—equal parts danger and desire.

And now he looked at me again. The same gaze. But something behind it had shifted.

Anger twisted in my chest, tangled with something far more fragile. I wasn’t ready to trust him—not with the way his presence unraveled me. Not when control was the only thing I still had.

“You have something to say?” I asked, voice low and edged in glass.

Lydia and Bethany stopped ahead of us, sensing the tension. Lydia’s expression was unreadable. Bethany’s had sharpened—half curious, half protective.

Samael straightened, the weight of their gazes pressing against him. But his attention never left me.

“Elvana…” His voice caught, softer now, uncertain in a way I’d never heard from him. “I know you’re angry with me. You should be. But—”

He paused. The hesitation wasn’t performative. It was real.

“This is different. This is worse than I thought.”

His eyes searched mine—no smugness, no smirk. Just something wary. Something worried.

And that was somehow worse.

I cut him off with a sharp, bitter laugh—too loud in the quiet corridor. It scraped against the walls like deflection dressed in bravado.

“ Don’t. ”

The word came out before I could soften it.“I don’t want your excuses, Samael. Or your half-formed apologies dressed up as confessions.”

Each syllable rang with more anger than I intended—and more regret than I wanted to admit. They clung to the space between us like smoke from a fire we never meant to start.

We stood in silence, the distant murmur of students barely audible beyond the corridor. The kind of silence that felt thick —crushing. Every unsaid word, every fractured truth, every time we’d chosen distance instead of honesty… it all lived here, between us.

Bethany and Lydia hovered only a few paces away—present, but silent. Watching. Their skepticism was palpable. They were ready to leap to my defense, and he knew it.

But Samael didn’t move.

His eyes didn’t harden.

He just looked at me —like he was seeing me now, really seeing me. And for once, not as an adversary.

“I only want to protect—” he began, voice low, hoarse with something too raw to name.

Then he stopped himself. Bit back the rest.

Because maybe he didn’t know what came next.

Because maybe he did.

I cut him off, voice steady but edged with something raw. “ Save it, Sam. ”

The name burned on my tongue.

“You know what you did—what you said. That’s not something I can just forget . Or pretend didn’t matter.”

His jaw tensed. I saw it—all of it—in the flicker of his eyes: remorse, desire, the reluctant weight of a guilt he hadn’t yet learned how to carry.

“ Little raven, ” he said softly. The words barely reached me. “I was reckless, yes. But I—”He faltered, searching for ground he couldn’t find.

“I want to show you that you can trust me.”

I exhaled, slow and uneven, trying to untangle the firestorm twisting inside me. Anger. Attraction. The memory of that night—the press of his body, the heat of his breath, the way he’d unraveled something in me I hadn’t known could break.

“I don’t trust you, Sam,” I said, each word sharp and clear. “Not now. Not ever. ”

His eyes flinched, just slightly—but I didn’t stop.

“You believed that I was a serpent,” I continued, stepping back. “That I hid my intentions behind seduction and silence.”

I pulled my arm from his hand in one clean, defiant motion. Straightened. Rebuilt.

“But I think it’s you who wears the mask, Samael.”

My voice dropped, deadly quiet.

“You’re the snake.”

The sincerity in his dark eyes made my skin prickle.

“There’s so much you don’t understand, Elvana. I—”

He faltered again, the words caught in that fragile space between apology and assertion.

“Look,” he said finally, “I’d like to walk you to class… if you’ll let me. But I’ll understand if you’d rather go alone.”

I hesitated.

A part of me—the reckless part, the one that chased shadows and secrets and the truth buried beneath them— wanted him to come. If only to keep unraveling the mystery threaded between us.

But another part, the scarred part, the part that still flinched at the memory of his touch, bristled at the offer.

I glanced toward Bethany and Lydia. Their presence grounded me.

When I turned back to Samael, my voice was calm but measured.

“I’m not alone. Beth and Lydia have Ancient Enchantments with me.”

His lips curved into something just shy of a smile—an attempt, perhaps, at levity.

“More the merrier, right ladies?” he asked, casting a glance in their direction, his voice edged with tentative charm.

Bethany and Lydia exchanged a glance—brief, silent, and unmistakably wary—before nodding in quiet agreement, their murmurs offering little warmth.

I turned back to Samael.

“Fine,” I said coldly, my voice steady and laced with ice.

“But don’t believe for a second that you’ve been forgiven.”

The silence that followed was sharper than any blade—and I let it linger.

Let him feel it.

With our group now united, we began our slow march toward the Ancient Enchantments classroom.

The corridors of the academy, usually vibrant with the murmur of daily life, felt especially silent in the wake of the Headmistress's decree and the haunting revelation of last night’s violence.

With my friends only a few paces ahead of us, we moved through dimly lit passageways, the chill of early morning clinging to our skin.

In the brief moments between each step, I could not help but feel the magnetic pull of Samael’s presence—complicated, infuriating, and, against my better judgment, strangely compelling.

Yet every time our eyes met, a silent battle of trust and defiance played out, the memory of his earlier touch a vivid reminder of the price of vulnerability.

As we neared the classroom, the heavy wooden doors of the Ancient Enchantments room creaked open, revealing the warm glow of candlelight and the murmured hum of conversations.

I paused at the threshold, glancing back over my shoulder.

There, at the end of the hall, I saw Vivienne step into view.

She had rounded the corner just as we were about to enter—a silent witness to our quiet exchange.

Her eyes flickered briefly to Samael; a scowl permanently imprinted on her full lips.

“Be safe, little raven.” Samael inclined his head in a subtle farewell as I stepped inside, the unspoken tension lingering like a fragile promise.

The moment was brief, but it etched itself deeply into my memory—a reminder that even in the midst of enforced silence and strict obedience, some truths, no matter how painful, refuse to be hidden away.

As we entered the classroom, Professor Blackwood was expertly preparing our next lesson at the front of the class.

The classroom, usually a haven of ancient knowledge and scholarly pursuits, felt different today—weighted with an unspoken heaviness that permeated the air like incense.

Professor Blackwood looked up as we walked to our seats, her elegant features composed but her eyes betraying a flicker of tension.

The silver bangles adorning her wrists clinked softly as she arranged crystals and ancient texts on her desk.

"Good morning, students," she greeted, her voice carrying the practiced calm of someone determined to maintain normalcy. "Please take your seats promptly. We have much to cover today."

I slid into my chair, feeling the weight of numerous stares on my back. Word had clearly spread about our discovery of Olivia's body. Whispers followed me like shadows, some curious, others accusatory. I caught fragments of hushed conversations.

—"...found the body,"—

—"...covered in blood,"—

—"...always in the wrong place"—

I felt my cheeks burn with unwanted attention.

Vivienne entered moments after us, her sandy waves cascading over her shoulders as she glided to her seat with practiced grace.

Her brown eyes caught mine for a fleeting second, sharp with suspicion and something else I could not quite read.

She settled in the row behind me, close enough that I could feel her gaze boring into the back of my skull.

"Today," Professor Blackwood announced, her voice cutting through the murmurs, "we will be studying ward enchantments." She paused, allowing the significance of her words to settle over the classroom. "There are many variations of wards throughout arcane history."