Page 48

Julia trailed behind Aisha like a reluctant ghost, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, grumbling as they wandered deeper into the half-lit library.

"This is how horror films start," she whispered, casting a suspicious glance at the flickering candelabra overhead. "One brown girl and one white girl, alone, after curfew. Aish, if something tries to murder us tonight, I'm haunting you first!"

"I told you, Jules, you didn't have to come. Also, I think that's the plot to 'Scary Movie', so I think we're safe. For now..." Aisha muttered, arms crossed and Julia's blanket draped dramatically over her shoulders.

"I wasn't staying with Y/N in that room with a literal standoff happening. I had to give her space. This is called being a supportive best friend."

"In the middle of a storm. In the middle of a dark, haunted-ass library?" Aisha hissed, ducking as a shadow from the rafters creaked. "I swear I just saw something move."

"You always think something moves. It's probably a moth. Or a ghost. Or a moth ghost."

The two girls tiptoed deeper into the main wing of the Auragon library, which at night was an entirely different creature. Gone was the warmth of daylight streaming through stained glass or the usual hum of distant whispers.

Now, the aisles stretched like ribs into the dark. Shelves groaned as the temperature dropped, and the lanterns flickered low with too much drama for Julia's liking. "Why did you even need to come here again?" Julia whispered.

"I forgot my laptop charger," Aisha muttered. "And you followed me."

Julia glared. "Because, like I said—"

The library groaned with age, every wooden board and ancient hinge echoing in the cavernous silence. Rows of dust-heavy books loomed on either side like quiet sentinels.

Both girls froze.

Far above, rain tapped faintly against the stained-glass skylight, too soft to drown the sudden, gurgling sound that sliced through the silence like a knife through silk.

Julia reached out blindly, grabbing Aisha's arm and yanking her closer. "Tell me that was you."

"Julia, if I could make that sound, I wouldn't be failing vocal performance."

The sound came again—wet, strained, like something alive and struggling. A muffled choke. Then a scrape; something dragging. Neither girl moved. Then, in synchronised dread, they slowly began edging toward the noise.

Together, trembling but stubborn, they crept toward the far corner of the library, where the older history and bloodline archives were kept, half-forgotten and dust-choked.

Aisha grabbed a heavy dictionary from a nearby shelf like a weapon.

Julia held up her phone light like a cross.

"I think I see something...!" Julia whispered.

They edged closer, past stacks of rotting manuscripts and a broken book cart, toward a low wooden table that had clearly been dragged from its usual place. The noise stopped. Just silence now.

And then—

"Hey?"

A deep voice cut through the dark, too loud in the silence, and both girls shrieked in unison, Aisha's dictionary flying dramatically through the air and thudding against a bookshelf.

A figure stepped out from the shadowed corner like a horror movie villain, blinking at them with the kind of expression someone might reserve for startled squirrels.

Marcus caught the book against his chest with a grunt, blinking calmly at them as if he hadn't just nearly been murdered by literature.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" Julia shouted, clutching her chest. "Are you trying to give us a stroke?!"

Aisha pointed accusingly. "Who the hell hangs out in the history aisle alone after dark?!"

Marcus just chuckled, holding up a few worn books. "I have my mock history exam next week? Some of us study."

"Oh, you study?" Julia narrowed her eyes. "I thought you downloaded knowledge through aura."

"Dumbass, he's a student council..." Aisha rolled her eyes.

A soft smile touched his lips, but his eyes held no light, only a profound stillness, as he gripped the book. The deep maroon leather cover, old and fraying, caught the light, revealing gold lettering that barely clung to the spine.

"That's a ratty-looking thing." Julia frowned. "They make you use actual ancient texts for history?"

Marcus's eyes gleamed, just for a second. "It's a—family thing."

The girls exchanged a look.

Then Marcus turned, humming under his breath, and walked toward the exit like nothing strange had just happened. The moment he passed through the threshold and disappeared around the corner, the temperature seemed to drop again.

? ★ ?

But within the library's forgotten wing, swallowed by the deepest shadows, lay a horror the girls had narrowly missed.

His face was a grotesque mask of terror, eyes wide and unseeing, lips tinted a shocking blue. A savage, crescent-shaped wound tore at his neck, as if he'd been both mauled and strangled.

His skin, now drained of all colour, stretched taut over... broken fangs.A body slumped against a shelf, stark in the gloom.

? ★ ?

The silence was thick.

It had been for the last forty-three minutes.

Y/N sat near the centre desk, arms folded, chin resting on her hand, doodling light circles onto her detention paper.

Silas lounged at the desk beside her, tapping his pen against the wood like a metronome. Adrian sat across from them, posture stiff, boots planted firmly on the ground like he might leap up and bolt at any moment.

No one spoke.

Not even the teacher—who had left the moment they'd all sat down, mumbling something about "copies" before vanishing. That was over half an hour ago.

The air inside the room was unusually warm; not in a comforting way, but more like being trapped in a car with the windows shut.

Y/N could feel both boys watching her—but never at the same time.

When she glanced left at Silas, his head would tilt slightly, a half-smile playing on his lips like he was trying to unnerve her. When she looked right toward Adrian, his eyes were always elsewhere, but his fingers twitched like he was fighting the urge to say something.

She cleared her throat.

"So.. this is fun," she muttered.

Silas smirked.

Adrian blinked.

"Miss L/N."

Y/N flinched. She hadn't heard the door open.

Azul stepped inside, holding a stack of papers. His silver hair gleamed under the harsh light. "Headmaster asked me to drop these off, Mr Clark—" He paused when he saw the room and saw who was there.

Silas arched a brow. "We having a class reunion now?"

Before anyone could answer, the door opened again—and in came Calixto.

Y/N straightened, eyes wide. The room shifted.

Calixto took one step inside, then stopped. His eyes flicked over each of them—Adrian, Silas, Azul—before landing on her.

The tension pulled taut.

Azul was the first to speak. "Didn't realise we were all invited."

"I'm here for the headmistress's note.." Calixto said quietly. "She told me to—"

"She told you?" Silas interrupted, tone mocking. "Or you just decided to sniff your way here? Like some people.."

"You need to shut those fangs up." Adrian grumbled, lifting his head from his arm.

Calixto didn't rise to the unspoken challenge hanging heavy in the air, a palpable weight pressing down on everyone in the room. But Y/N, her gaze sharper than she knew, noticed the rigid clench of his jaw, the subtle tremor that ran through the muscle there.

It spoke of a powerful, tightly leashed restraint, a barely contained ferocity that thrilled and unnerved her simultaneously.

A vacuum seemed to suck all sound from the space.

No one moved a muscle, no one dared to draw a breath. The silence was not peaceful; it was a taut, humming wire strung between them, vibrating with unspoken threats and unreleased tension.

Every eye, it felt, was on her, waiting for the break.

The air grew so thick with unspoken challenges and simmering aggression that Y/N's own chest felt tight.

Enough.

With a sudden, decisive burst of will, she shot to her feet, her chair protesting loudly with a harsh screech as it scraped backward against the polished floor. The sound ripped through the suffocating quiet like a physical tear.

"Okay" she announced, her voice cutting through the heavy atmosphere, perhaps a touch sharper than she intended. "That's enough weird testosterone for one room. Seriously, I'm going to go find Mr Clark."

A low, appreciative chuckle rumbled from Azul, breaking the last vestiges of the tension.

His eyes, dark and knowing, met Y/N's with an almost conspiratorial amusement.

"Agreed," he murmured, the single word carrying the weight of shared relief and a mutual understanding of the absurd display they'd just witnessed.

"What, cause she needs you to carry her around?" Silas raised a brow. "Sit your ass down Y/N before we get into more trouble in case he returns while you're gone. I've got records to uphold."

She paused before slowly retreating to her chair, a silent surrender which caught her off guard.

The five of them remained suspended for another beat, like actors caught mid-scene, frozen in a tableau, waiting for the director's imperative to break character.

Their gazes, previously locked in charged silence, now flickered, unsure where to settle, how to re-engage with the mundane after such a raw, primal display.

Y/N's fingers, almost unconsciously, curled slightly into the soft fabric of her skirt at her side. It was a subtle gesture, a slight clenching that betrayed the nervous energy humming beneath her skin, the unexpected responsibility settling heavy on her shoulders.

She hadn't meant to be the unwilling, accidental center of whatever this strange, powerful dynamic was. She'd merely wanted to navigate her own existence, yet somehow, these four formidable, dangerous men had started spinning in an increasingly tight, unpredictable orbit around her.

Here they were, pulled into a new, unforeseen gravitational field she had inadvertently generated.

They were no longer operating under the old, familiar laws of their individual worlds—but despite the disorienting shift, they seemed utterly unable to pull away from her magnetic pull, caught in a cosmic dance she hadn't choreographed.