Page 43

THE MORNING DAWNED GRAY,

a bruised sky pressing down on the campus like a heavy shroud. A persistent drizzle, a weeping sky, mirrored the somber mood clinging to the students.

The energy was muted, the usual boisterous chatter replaced by hushed whispers and nervous glances. Sleep had become a luxury, stolen in fragmented bursts, the fear a constant companion.

The rain had not stopped for three days.

It wasn't a storm—not quite—but the skies had stayed a sickly shade of pewter, choked with heavy clouds that loomed like bruises above the academy's spires.

It drizzled without rest, a soft, endless curtain of water that seeped into the cracks of stone walkways, soaked through uniforms, and made even the bravest students keep their heads down and hoods up as they shuffled from class to class.

The once-lively campus of Auragon Academy had grown quieter since the murders. Conversations had dulled to whispers, laughter had become an endangered species, and the weight of unspoken fears hung thick in the damp air.

The weather seemed to mourn with them, mimicking their sluggish footsteps and sleepless nights with skies that refused to brighten.

Even the trees—usually proud and tall this time of year—drooped under the persistent downpour, leaves dripping like teardrops into the mud. The world felt suspended in grayscale.

But change, it seemed, arrived in the most ridiculous of forms.

A bright, glittery poster flapped against the walls of the east corridor, pinned poorly to the noticeboard and tugged loose by the damp wind.

Its obnoxiously cheerful colours stood in sharp contrast to the somber surroundings: bubblegum pink, electric blue, and metallic gold blazoned across the parchment like the announcement didn't care someone had died.

"AURAGON X DIAGON BALL — ONE NIGHT ONLY!" it declared, in exaggerated cursive letters.

"Is this a joke?" Aisha muttered, squinting up at the announcement as the group of girls came to a halt just below it.

"Nope..!" Julia replied, sounding almost too defeated to be sarcastic. "Unfortunately, this is very, very real."

Y/N tilted her head to the side, lips pursed as she read through the finer details.

"They're encouraging interspecies mingling again.. 'A night of unity under the stars'" she read aloud, snorting. "Right—because sequins and glitter glue will fix trauma?"

Still, they didn't move away from the poster. Nor did anyone else.

Students had begun to pause in clusters to read it, eyes wide and skeptical, but intrigued. It was almost laughable in its absurdity—and yet, there was something oddly comforting about it. Like a rope being lowered into their collective darkness, glittery and ridiculous, but a rope nonetheless.

And people needed something to talk about—anything—other than blood in the corridors or curfews tightening like nooses.

Y/N folded her arms, squinting as another gust of wind rippled the corner of the poster. "You think people will actually go?"

"Yeah." Aisha answered grimly. "They'll go, because we all want to feel normal again. Even if it's fake."

"Especially if it's fake.." Julia murmured.

Their walk to class resumed under a quieter kind of silence—less bleak than before, if only slightly. But it didn't last long.

Just before they reached the courtyard, a flash of familiar blonde hair and winged liner caught Y/N's eye. She blinked once, then twice—and stopped dead in her tracks. "Cressida?"

The other girls halted beside her, heads turning sharply.

And sure enough, across the courtyard, half-hidden beneath a shelter from the rain; stood beside what looked like a vampire girl group, was the very girl who'd vanished without warning weeks ago.

Her steps were small, hesitant, like she was unsure of her own right to be there.

"Aish—" Julia started.

Aisha didn't wait. She stormed forward before any of them could speak, boots splashing in shallow puddles as she made a beeline for the girl.

Y/N and Julia hurried to follow, wind tugging at their coats.

Cressida turned, startled by the sudden confrontation—but her expression, rather than defensive or aloof, was weary. Her eyes were lined with exhaustion, her lips pale and chapped. She looked older somehow, like she'd aged a year in just a month.

"Where the hell have you been?" Aisha demanded, not bothering to soften the edge in her voice.

Cressida flinched. "I..I didn't mean to disappear like that. I'm sorry?"

"You could've said something," Y/N added quietly, not accusing, but undeniably hurt. "We thought something had happened to you."

The apology in Cressida's eyes deepened.

"I know. I just—the girls suggested to stay with them in their dorm, for safety.

Everyone is thinking the same thing about us vampire right now, I didn't want us mingling to get suspicion brought onto you guys as well.

It wasn't personal. I missed you. All of you. "

There was a beat of silence as the rain trickled down around them.

"You could've texted." Aisha snapped, but even she sounded tired now. Her anger was brittle, not blazing.

Cressida's shoulders slumped. "I minimised any contact. They were scared it would trigger another thing to talk about."

The girls said nothing.

Because deep down, beneath the frustration and betrayal, they understood. Segregation had driven all of them apart—emotionally, physically, politically. Cressida was just another casualty of the Academy's new regime. She had been protecting herself and them in the only way she knew how.

Julia was the first to move. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms tightly around Cressida, rain soaking into both of their coats. After a heartbeat, Aisha sighed and followed suit.

Y/N lingered a little longer, then nodded, just once. "We're glad you're back."

Cressida smiled faintly, a ghost of her usual spark. "So.. I hear there's a dance?"

? ★ ?

The girls parted ways soon after, and Y/N found herself walking alone down a quieter hallway, her boots echoing softly against the stone. Her next class wasn't mandatory—it was her optional elective: Art.

A refuge, really.

She entered the studio with a small sigh of relief, the warm air inside prickling her skin as she peeled off her damp jacket. The space smelled like wet paint and old charcoal, the windows fogged with condensation. Easels were already arranged in pairs, blank canvases waiting like unopened gifts.

"Find a partner!" the art teacher called, clapping her hands. "One artist, one muse! Let's create something beautiful despite the rain!"

Y/N blinked.

She didn't know anyone in this class. Not really. Most were from different sectors, or different years altogether. She hovered awkwardly near the back, clutching her sketchbook, unsure whether to approach someone or simply wait out the awkwardness.

And then—"Would you look at that. You're in my class?"

Her spine straightened instantly. She turned, already recognising the voice.

His silver-blue eyes glinted with mischief, but not cruelty. He looked...tired too, maybe, but less guarded than usual. Azul stood behind her, paintbrush tucked behind his ear, smiling softly as if the last time they really interacted he pinned her against a wall.

"I—didn't know you did art," she said dumbly.

"I didn't know you did either." He stepped closer, gesturing to the empty easel beside hers. "Partners?"

She nodded—perhaps a little too quickly—and they sat. The silence stretched thin for a moment, neither quite knowing what to say.

"So," Azul said finally, adjusting his canvas. "Do you want to be the artist or the muse?"

Y/N blinked, caught off guard by the sudden question. "You...paint?"

"Only when I'm trying to impress someone," he said, tone light. "Relax—I'll paint. You just sit there and look mysterious."

She rolled her eyes but couldn't fight the small smile tugging at her lips. The awkwardness began to thaw, slowly, like frost melting off a windowpane.

They worked quietly for a few minutes—Azul sketching her outline with surprising focus, while Y/N simply observed him from the stool, chin resting in her palm.

There was something oddly calming about him in this setting.

The usual arrogance in his posture had faded, replaced by an easy rhythm of brush strokes and occasional glances.

"So," he said eventually, without looking up. "Are you going to the ball?"

She blinked. "What?"

"The ridiculous one," he clarified. "Auragon X Diagon. Where we all pretend to like each other."

She huffed a laugh. "I haven't decided."

"Do you have a date?" Azul finally looked up, eyes sharp and thoughtful.

"I don't exactly have bachelors lined up ready for this type of situation."

"Well, if you did...would it be anyone I know?"

There was something almost casual in his voice—but not quite. Y/N tilted her head, thinking.

Calixto, haven't spoken to him in a while..

Y/N felt her cheeks flush again. "Maybe not." she admitted softly. "It's just a dance, right? Nothing to get too excited about."

But Azul's gaze flickered up from the canvas, his dark eyes meeting hers with an intensity that made her breath catch in her throat.

The charcoal pencil lay forgotten in his hand.

"Is it?" he murmured, the question hanging in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning.

"Well it's not like you need a date." he said breezily, returning to his canvas.

Y/N shook her head, smiling despite herself. "Yeah. It's not like I'll have to choose someone."