The First Test

The library had been a test. She knew that now. And she had passed.

The next morning, a slip of paper was folded neatly inside her book when she arrived for her next class. The handwriting was elegant, deliberate.

Midnight. The East Wing.

No signature. None needed.

Aelys stared at it, heart pounding. She knew who it was from. And she knew, without question, that whatever this was—it was just beginning.

Midnight came slowly. The hours stretched, thick with anticipation, each second winding tighter around her nerves. She spent the evening pacing her room, books open but unread, fingers twisting the edges of the note until it was soft and worn.

The East Wing. She had never been inside. Students whispered about it—how it was reserved for the faculty, for research so delicate or dangerous it couldn't be kept in the main archives. Some said it was where the oldest texts were housed, books written in dead languages, their ink soaked with secrets that had ruined men. Others claimed it was merely a relic of the past, a forgotten part of Ravensgate's history that no one bothered to explore anymore.

She knew better than to believe in rumors. But she also knew better than to ignore them completely.

At five minutes to midnight, she slipped out of her dormitory, the cool air biting at her skin. The campus was quiet, the only sounds the distant echo of wind through stone corridors and the occasional hoot of an owl perched somewhere in the towers above.

The East Wing was a looming structure, connected to the main building but separated by a vast courtyard. It had no grand entrance, no welcoming doorway—just a single arched passage, almost hidden between two ivy-choked walls. She hesitated at the threshold, her pulse steady but strong, before stepping inside.

The hallway was dark, lined with stone pillars that cast deep shadows. The scent of parchment and aged leather filled the air, mingling with something sharper—something metallic. She moved forward, her footsteps soft against the marble, until she reached a door at the very end.

It was slightly ajar.

She didn't knock.

Inside, the room was dimly lit, candles flickering along towering bookshelves. And at the center, standing beside a desk strewn with open texts, was Evander Wolfe.

He looked up as she entered, his gaze catching hers in the low light. His waistcoat was gone, his sleeves rolled up as before, exposing forearms dusted with ink. A quill rested between his fingers, the tip still wet, and he regarded her with that same unreadable expression—half amusement, half calculation.

"You came."

Aelys tilted her chin slightly. "You left me a note."

His lips curved. "I did."

She took a step closer. "And?"

Evander set the quill down, the ink pooling on the parchment beside him. "And now we begin."

She waited, heart steady, hands loose at her sides. "What is this, exactly?"

He gestured to the chair across from him. "Sit."

She didn't move.

His gaze sharpened, the flickering candlelight carving shadows across his features. "Aelys."

A thread of something dangerous laced the way he said her name—just enough to make her breath hitch, to send a whisper of something forbidden curling through her veins.

She sat.

Evander leaned forward, folding his hands atop the desk. "Tell me, what do you know about The Ivory Pact?"

She kept her face blank. "Only what people whisper about it."

"Which is?"

"That it's a myth. That it's something professors pass down to scare students who ask too many questions."

His lips twitched. "You don't actually believe that."

She exhaled slowly. "No. I don't."

"Good." He pushed a book toward her. It was old—older than any she had ever seen. The cover was cracked, the leather worn thin from centuries of use. The pages were gilded at the edges, their script inked in a deep, rich black that had not faded.

"The Pact," he said, his voice softer now. "Is real."

She traced a finger along the spine, the weight of it pressing into her palm. "And you want me to read it?"

"I want you to understand it."

She looked up at him. "Why me?"

A pause. Then—

"Because you don't scare easily."

The candlelight flickered. Outside, the wind howled through the East Wing's empty corridors. Aelys swallowed, steadying herself, then flipped the book open to the first page.

The words greeted her in a language she did not recognize. But beneath the ink, beneath the elegant script, she felt something stir.

Something watching.

Evander leaned back, studying her carefully. "You have until dawn."

Hours passed, the candle burning low as Aelys pored over the text. The letters danced before her eyes, foreign yet familiar, teasing the edge of recognition. Some words glowed faintly when she traced them with her fingertips, the ink humming against her skin.

She lost track of time, immersed in the book's impossible pull. At some point, Evander had moved, pacing behind her, his presence a low, steady pressure against her awareness. When she finally looked up, her eyes met his.

"Figured anything out yet?" he murmured, his voice softer now, edged with something like curiosity.

Aelys swallowed. "It's not just a book."

"No." His gaze darkened. "It's a key."

A chill traced down her spine. "To what?"

Evander tilted his head, watching her like a puzzle he wasn't quite sure how to solve. "That, Miss Aelys, is what we're going to find out."

She didn't realize how close he had gotten until then. The air between them was thin, crackling with something unsaid, something coiled too tightly to be ignored. Her pulse drummed against her skin.

He smirked, as if he could hear it.

The moment broke when the candle guttered low, shadows shifting across the room. He straightened, stepping back. "Enough for tonight. You'll come back tomorrow."

Aelys didn't argue. Didn't question.

She just nodded, slipping the book closed.

Tomorrow.

Whatever this was—it was far from over.

Aelys didn't sleep that night.

She had left the East Wing just before dawn, the sky turning an ink-stained blue as the first slivers of sunlight crept over Ravensgate's gothic spires. The air was cold, biting through the thin fabric of her sweater, but she barely felt it. The weight of the book still pressed against her memory, the scent of aged leather and old ink lingering on her fingertips.

She should have been exhausted.

Instead, she was wired.

She had spent hours deciphering passages that shouldn't have made sense, feeling the script shift beneath her fingertips as if it were alive. The symbols on the page didn't just sit there—they moved when she wasn't looking directly at them. She had felt them breathing, changing, whispering.

And Evander had just watched her.

He had sat across from her in that dimly lit room, eyes half-lidded with something between amusement and calculation, watching her struggle, watching her react.

She didn't know what irritated her more—the fact that she couldn't break the book's secret in one night, or the fact that he seemed to expect that.

That he already knew something she didn't.

That he wanted her to chase it.

The next night.

She didn't hesitate this time.

When the clock struck midnight, she was already moving—this time, she had questions.

The East Wing was even darker than the night before. The air inside the hidden passage was cold, thick with something ancient. Aelys could feel it wrapping around her as she stepped into the candlelit room once more.

Evander was already waiting.

This time, he wasn't sitting.

He stood near the shelves, his fingers lazily flipping through another book, his stance almost bored, as if he had expected her to return all along.

"Punctual," he mused without looking up.

"I assume that's what you wanted."

A hint of a smirk. "I like my students obedient."

Aelys bristled. "I'm not your student."

"Not officially." His gaze lifted to hers then, gray eyes glinting like steel. "But here? In this room? You'll listen to me."

She clenched her jaw. "Is that so?"

Evander stepped closer, slow, deliberate, the flickering light casting long shadows across his features. "Tell me, Aelys," he murmured, his voice almost lazy, "do you know the difference between curiosity and recklessness?"

She refused to step back.

"Enlighten me."

He leaned in just slightly—not touching, not yet, but close enough that she could feel the weight of his presence, the heat beneath his cool exterior.

"Curiosity," he said, his voice soft, almost coaxing, "is when you want to know."

His fingers brushed the table beside them. Just a whisper of movement.

"Recklessness…" His voice deepened, his smirk sharpening. "Is when you don't care what it costs."

Aelys swallowed.

The tension in the room was thick, curling around her ribs like a slow, deliberate tightening. The air felt hot, despite the cold stone walls, despite the midnight hour.

She held his gaze, refusing to let him see the way her pulse jumped against her throat.

"Maybe I don't."

Evander's expression flickered—something dark, something approving.

Then, just as quickly, he stepped back.

"Then let's begin."

He tested her that night.

Not with words. Not with books.

With silence.

With presence.

With the slow, creeping weight of expectation.

Aelys had spent the first hour trying to focus on the text before her, but she could feel him watching her. The scrape of a chair as he shifted. The quiet inhale as he sipped his tea. The slow, deliberate way he waited—for her to break first.

It was a game.

She knew it.

She hated it.

She refused to lose.

So she ignored him. Kept her gaze locked on the pages, tracing the ink, trying to force sense out of nonsense. The script still shifted, the words still moved, but this time—this time, she was determined.

She felt the first ripple of something clicking just before dawn.

A connection. A pattern.

Something hidden beneath the ink, something layered.

Aelys inhaled sharply, her finger pressing against the margin, excitement sparking in her chest—

"You found something."

His voice was quiet, right behind her.

She stiffened.

She hadn't heard him move.

His breath was near her ear, his presence close enough that she felt the heat of his body at her back, just inches away.

Aelys forced herself to keep her breathing steady. "I think so."

Evander's fingers ghosted along the edge of the book, not touching hers, but close enough.

"Good," he murmured.

A beat of silence.

Then—

"What does it say?"

She swallowed, her pulse hammering.

And she read.

The words left her lips before she could think.

Ancient. Soft. Like something slipping through the cracks of the world.

The room changed.

A flicker of movement, candlelight warping. The air thickened, pressing down on her skin.

Aelys' breath caught—she had felt this before. In the book. When the words had watched her.

But now—

Now, they were listening.

Evander's fingers brushed her wrist, barely there, just a test.

"Keep reading."

Aelys hesitated.

Something deep in her gut told her that this was a line. A threshold.

Once she crossed it—there was no undoing it.

She looked up at him.

Evander didn't smile.

Didn't push.

He just waited.

She could say no.

She knew that.

She knew he would let her go, if she did.

But she also knew—

He would be disappointed.

And that, somehow, was worse.

So Aelys took a breath.

And she kept reading.

The ink on the pages shifted, and something in the room answered.

A low hum, deep beneath the floor.

A crack in the candlelight, shadows bending.

Her heartbeat slammed in her chest.

Evander was still, his expression unreadable.

But Aelys swore she saw it—

The smallest flicker of something in his gaze.

Something dark.

Something pleased.

Aelys felt the weight of the words the moment they left her mouth.

The hum beneath the floor deepened, the air pressing heavier against her skin. The candlelight didn't just flicker—it stretched, as though the flames were reaching for something unseen, something beyond the room.

Evander hadn't moved.

But she could feel him watching.

The shift in energy was subtle, but undeniable. A presence curling at the edge of her consciousness. The book was listening.

Something else was, too.

Aelys' fingers trembled slightly against the pages, though she willed them still.

She had expected something to happen when she spoke the words aloud. But this—this was different.

She felt unsteady, like she was balancing on the edge of something vast and yawning, a precipice that had no bottom.

She forced her voice steady. "What is this?"

Evander exhaled softly, as if pleased.

"A threshold," he murmured. "And you just stepped over it."

Aelys swallowed hard.

Her skin tingled as though the very air around her had shifted, as if the atmosphere itself had grown aware of her presence.

"I told you," he continued, watching her with measured patience, "it's not just a book. It's a key."

Aelys lifted her gaze, pulse still too fast. "To what?"

Evander leaned forward slightly, the corner of his mouth curling in something that wasn't quite a smirk—something quieter, more dangerous.

"To knowledge."

His fingers trailed idly along the desk beside him, a slow, deliberate movement.

"To power."

Aelys wasn't sure why her breath hitched.

Maybe it was the way he said it.

Maybe it was the fact that she could feel it now—a thrumming, something ancient and waiting, as if the room itself had shifted just to accommodate the words she had spoken.

Evander held her gaze. "Do you regret it?"

Aelys clenched her jaw, shoving down the way her stomach twisted.

"No."

His smirk sharpened. "Good."

The air snapped around them, the unseen energy retreating—pulling back into the pages of the book like water sliding away from the shore. The room settled. The candlelight returned to normal.

And Aelys…

She suddenly felt cold.

As if something had just let go of her.

She blinked, exhaling a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

Evander tilted his head, studying her with something new in his expression.

Approval.

Satisfaction.

And something else.

Something waiting.

"You'll come back tomorrow," he said, as if it were a statement, not a question.

Aelys hated how easily he assumed things.

But she hated even more that he was right.

She would come back.

Because this was no longer just a test.

This was something else entirely.

And she wasn't about to walk away now.