Call

Nicholas woke to the sound of birdsong, which should have been soothing. Instead, it grated against his nerves, pulling him out of a fitful sleep. His shoulder throbbed, the ache radiated through his body and there was very little he could do about it. He groaned, squinting at the sunlight filtering through the thin curtains of the dormitory window.

Across the room, Clyde swept up books and papers. The desk was cluttered with the remnants of ash from the burnt paper smeared across the surface. Candle wax stuck to the table, infusing into the paint on the table, making it impossible to remove without damage being done.

Clyde shot him a glance, his face riddled with disapproval. "You’ve made a mess," he said.

Nicholas didn’t respond. He watched as Clyde gathered his things and stormed out, the door slamming shut behind him. The room fell silent again, but the tension lingered, heavy and oppressive.