Chapter 8— The Rules Have Changed.

The infirmary smelled like medicinal herbs and sterile regret.

I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the muffled conversations outside. The soft beeping of the machines had become a lullaby I never wanted to hear again.

I was done.

Two weeks was too long. I wasn't a fragile doll I didn't need to be wrapped in bandages and watched over like some hopeless case.

With a slow inhale, I pushed myself up, wincing at the sharp ache in my ribs. My body protested, but my mind had already decided I was leaving.

The oversized infirmary gown was loose against my frame, making me feel even smaller. My clothes were folded neatly on the chair beside my bed. I reached for them, the fabric feeling foreign in my hands after weeks of inactivity.

As I stood up, my knees buckled slightly, but I gritted my teeth and held on. My head throbbed from the sudden movement, but I ignored it.

Then something cold slithered down my spine.

I froze.

It was faint, almost like a whisper. A soundless breath against my ear.

You shouldn't be here.

I turned fast.

Nothing.

Just the empty room, the white curtains swaying slightly as if someone had brushed past them.

I swallowed hard, brushing off the uneasy feeling. Hallucinations. That's all.

I grabbed my uniform, slipping into the familiar blazer, skirt, thigh-high socks and my hoodie. The moment I laced up my shoes, a strange sense of relief settled in my chest.

I was done being an invalid.

With a final glance at the empty bed, I swung the infirmary door open and stepped out.

I didn't look back.

The halls felt different.

Not because they had changed no, it was me.

I kept my head down, the hood of my sweatshirt pulled low, shielding my face as I walked toward my locker. It wasn't paranoia. It wasn't fear. It was the simple fact that I knew what was waiting.

The whispers. The stares.

I wasn't ready for it.

My footsteps echoed softly against the marble floors, the weight of the past two weeks pressing against my shoulders like a physical thing.

Then a blur of movement.

A presence.

Before I could react, "You really shouldn't be here."

I jumped, my heart slamming into my ribs as a voice whispered into my ear.

I whirled around, my body tensing,

And found Gideon grinning at me.

"What the hell?!" I hissed, shoving him lightly. "Do you want to get punched?"

He just chuckled, utterly unbothered. "Please. You can barely walk straight. A punch from you would feel like a butterfly landed on my face."

I glared. "Try me."

His green eyes gleamed with amusement. "I mean it, though. You should be resting."

I scoffed, opening my locker. "And miss all the fun? No thanks."

Gideon leaned against the metal doors beside me, arms crossed. "You call this fun? You're practically a walking ghost story now. Half the school thinks you're cursed. The other half thinks you made a deal with a demon to survive."

I snorted. "Oh yeah? And what do you think?"

He smirked. "I think you manipulated your way out of bed just to cause more trouble."

I gasped, mock-offended. "Me? Manipulative? Gideon, how dare you."

He laughed. "See? You're proving my point."

I couldn't help but grin. It was easy, this banter. Normal.

We started walking together toward class, his pace matching mine effortlessly.

I glanced around, taking in the increased security. Guards stationed at every entrance, their eyes trained and alert.

I wasn't surprised. The healer had already warned me about the heightened measures. Still, seeing it firsthand was… unsettling.

Gideon noticed my glance. "Yep. Welcome back to paranoia central."

I exhaled. "Great. Love that for me."

He grinned. "I was gonna visit you, you know."

I looked at him, surprised.

He shrugged. "Would've come sooner, but I had combat training."

I opened my mouth to respond then stopped walking.

Gideon frowned. "What?"

I turned to him, gripping his wrist.

"Teach me."

His brow furrowed. "Teach you what?"

I met his gaze, serious now. "Combat training."

His face immediately shifted. The easy amusement was gone, replaced by something more guarded.

"Mirabel.."

"I'm serious," I interrupted. "I need to know how to fight."

He hesitated, his jaw clenching slightly. "No."

I narrowed my eyes. "Why not?"

"Because you just spent two weeks unconscious, and you're still recovering."

"I'm fine."

He let out a short laugh. "You just almost fell over at your locker."

I scowled. "That was one time."

"No." He crossed his arms. "You need to heal first."

I exhaled, frustrated. "Gideon, I..."

"No."

His tone was final.

I clenched my fists, but before I could argue more, we arrived at my classroom.

Gideon smirked, ruffling my hair. "Try not to cause too much trouble, yeah?"

I swatted his hand away. "I hate you."

"Lies," he said, grinning. Then, with a lazy salute, he turned and headed toward his own class.

I exhaled, adjusting my bag. Fine. I'd let this go for now.

But I wasn't dropping it.

Not even close.

I turned toward the door and a hand landed on my shoulder.

I barely had time to react before I was pulled into the room.

"What the f**..."

Azazel.

Of course.

His grip was loose but firm, guiding me forward as if he had every right to drag me into class like this.

I immediately tried to shake him off. "Excuse you..."

He ignored me, grinning as he tugged my hoodie down.

I scowled. "Azazel, I swear.."

"Relax," he murmured, his voice low, amused. "I'm just making sure everyone sees that you're alive."

I glared up at him. "What, like some kind of trophy?"

He smirked. "Something like that."

I tried to push his arm off my shoulder.

Failed.

He was solid, all lazy strength and arrogance.

The class had definitely noticed.

Whispers spread like wildfire, eyes darting toward us, curious, amused, speculative.

I muttered under my breath, "Azazel, let go."

He just smiled, tilting his head slightly before leaning in.

Too close. Again.

I tried to move back, but he just pulled me closer by the shoulder, his breath warm against my ear.

His next words were low, teasing but there was something sharp beneath it.

"You know… you're quite impressive," he murmured, his tone almost thoughtful. "In just a day, everything became more interesting the moment Mirabel Rosan arrived."

My stomach tightened.

I wasn't sure if that was a compliment or a warning.

Maybe both.

He chuckled, finally pulling back, his expression far too entertained.

I scowled. "You're annoying."

"I've been told," he said, unbothered.

Before I could snap back, Hazel walked in.

She saw exactly what was happening.

And pretended not to.

Not a flicker of expression. Not a word.

She just took the front row seat, her posture perfect, her movements controlled.

Then her voice slid into my head.

"Your wound. Is it healing?"

I tensed.

Okay seriously she had to stop doing this.

Damn her.

I tried to respond out loud, but before I could..

"Don't bother. You still can't mind-speak."

Her tone was casual, almost amused.

I huffed silently.

And before I could figure out a way to actually respond, the professor walked in.

Mr. James Thompson.

The whispers in the class died instantly.

He stepped forward, his sharp gaze sweeping over the room.

Then his attention landed on me.

And the first thing he asked was

"Strange, isn't it?"

I blinked. "Huh?"

His lips curved slightly, his voice thoughtful.

"The way some people wake up after near-death… and others don't."

The class didn't react.

Nobody found the question strange.

Not even me.

I just answered without thinking.

"I guess I got lucky."

He nodded once, as if satisfied.

Then he turned back to the lesson.

The topic for today's lecture?

Supernatural Warfare: Historical Battles & Strategies.

Because of course.

I sat stiffly in my seat as Mr. James Thompson paced in front of the class, his sharp gaze sweeping over us like he was analyzing every reaction.

"The balance between realms," he began, "has always relied on control. Control of power. Control of knowledge. Control of who lives… and who doesn't."

I tapped my pen against my notebook, trying to focus, but my mind kept drifting. The way he'd looked at me earlier. The way he'd phrased that question.

Had I imagined it?

The class remained silent, absorbing his words.

Then Micheal spoke up from his seat near the window. "But history shows power isn't always about control. Sometimes, it's about fear."

Mr. Thompson turned toward him. "Ah. Fear." His lips curved slightly. "And what do you think, Mr. Malton? Is fear not a form of control?"

Micheal tilted his head slightly, calm as ever. "It is. But fear fades. Control doesn't."

A few students murmured in agreement.

I glanced toward Raphael, he was watching the discussion, unreadable, but his attention flickered toward me for a second.

I quickly looked away.

Mr. Thompson's gaze scanned the room. "Anyone else? Thoughts on power?"

Azazel stretched lazily beside me. "It's simple," he said, his voice smooth. "The strongest always win."

Mr. Thompson smirked. "A predictable answer, Mr. Morningstar."

Azazel grinned. "What can I say? I like to keep things honest."

The class chuckled, the tension lightening just a little.

But as I sat there, something unsettled lingered at the back of my mind.

Power. Fear. Control.

And the way Mr. Thompson kept looking at me.

After class.

I barely had time to breathe before Azazel grabbed my wrist.

"Hey..." I started, immediately protesting, trying to pull away.

"Come on," he said, his voice low but serious.

I narrowed my eyes. "And where exactly are we going?"

"You'll see."

I dug my heels in, trying to drag my hand back. "Azazel.."

His grip didn't budge.

Okay. No smirk, no teasing tone.

That was new.

I stared at him, realizing he wasn't joking.

"Let go," I muttered.

Instead of answering, he just started walking.

Dragging me with him.

I struggled, but it was pointless. He wasn't even trying and I couldn't break free.

"Whats your problem?!"

Footsteps behind us.

Hazel.

I glanced over my shoulder just as she glided past, completely unbothered, her expression as composed as ever.

Oh, great.

Now I was being kidnapped by both of them.

The Administrator's Office.

The moment we stepped inside, my confusion deepened.

Because Daniel and Raphael were already there.

Daniel sat near the window, calm as usual.

Raphael?

He was standing.

And the moment his gaze landed on Azazel's hand gripping my wrist…

His expression shifted.

It was small. Barely a flicker.

But I felt the tension coil in the air.

Azazel must have noticed, too.

Because of course he smirked.

Raphael's eyes darkened slightly, but he didn't say a word.

Hazel walked past all of us, settling onto the couch like a queen claiming her throne.

Azazel finally released my wrist, nudging me toward a seat.

I sat, my heartbeat still unsteady.

The silence thickened.

Then.

The door opened.

Mr. Kimper entered.

The office door clicked shut behind Mr. Kimper, sealing us inside.

The air shifted.

Less like a meeting, more like a courtroom.

I sat stiffly in my chair, my wrist still tingling from where Azazel had dragged me here without explanation.

Hazel sat poised on the couch, her posture perfect, like she was enjoying the show before it even began.

Daniel remained by the window, his sharp eyes scanning the room, his expression unreadable.

Azazel? He was too comfortable. Like none of this fazed him.

And then there was Raphael.

Still standing. Still tense.

Still watching.

I exhaled slowly.

"Alright," I muttered, crossing my arms. "Can someone tell me why I was practically kidnapped?"

Azazel smirked. "Technically, I escorted you."

I shot him a glare.

"Enough," Mr. Kimper said, stepping forward. His voice was calm but firm the kind that left no room for argument.

The room settled.

His gaze flicked to me. "How are you feeling, Miss Rosan?"

I hesitated. Of all the ways I thought this conversation would start, that wasn't one of them.

"…Fine?"

He studied me. "Good." A pause. "We need to talk."

I leaned back slightly. "About?"

"The night of the attack."

The room stilled.

My stomach twisted instinctively.

Kimper's gaze didn't waver. "You were the only victim that night. The only one injured."

I swallowed. "Lucky me."

Kimper didn't blink. "Or unlucky."

A silence stretched.

Then, finally Daniel spoke, his tone careful. "The security breach wasn't just a mistake."

I already knew that.

But hearing it said aloud? That hit differently.

Hazel's nails tapped lightly against the armrest. "They didn't just get in, Mirabel."

I turned to her.

She smiled slightly. Too amused. "They were after you."

I stiffened.

Raphael shifted slightly almost imperceptibly.

Azazel, on the other hand, just watched me. Waiting.

I forced myself to breathe.

Because I knew what Hazel was doing.

Waiting for a reaction.

For fear.

I laced my fingers together, keeping my expression neutral. "That's a bold assumption."

Hazel tilted her head, smirking now. "Is it?"

I didn't blink. "Yeah."

A flicker of something passed through her eyes disappointment, maybe? Like she was hoping I'd crack.

Too bad.

Kimper sighed, pulling the conversation back. "Whether it was targeted or not, the fact remains the demons shouldn't have been able to enter." His voice lowered slightly. "But someone let them in."

A statement.

Not a theory.

The weight of it settled into my chest.

"Who?" I asked.

Kimper's lips pressed together. "That's what we're here to find out."

I frowned. "And what do I have to do with that?"

The air shifted again.

Tension. A beat of hesitation.

Then Raphael spoke for the first time.

"You were the only one who survived their attack."

A simple sentence.

But it carried so much more than just the words.

I met his gaze.

Something unspoken flickered between us.

Hazel watched us both, her smirk barely there.

Daniel remained still.

Azazel exhaled, chuckling under his breath.

And Mr. Kimper?

He was waiting.

For something I wasn't sure I could give.

Answers.

But the problem was...

I didn't have them.

The silence in the office stretched too long.

I could feel all of them watching me waiting. Calculating.

Kimper leaned forward, his elbows resting on the desk. "Let's start simple." His voice was calm, measured. "What were you doing outside that night?"

I crossed my arms, my pulse steady. "Walking."

Hazel huffed a quiet laugh. "At that time of night?"

I flicked a glance at her. "Didn't know there was a curfew."

She smiled. "There isn't. But most people don't wander off alone, especially Forsaken."

My jaw tightened.

Of course, she'd throw that in.

Kimper's gaze sharpened slightly. "So you were just… out for a walk?"

I shrugged. "Had a rough night. Needed air."

That wasn't a lie.

I just left out the part where Hazel had pushed me to my limit.

Azazel tilted his head. "Rough night, huh? What, the party was too much for you?"

I shot him a flat look. "Yes, Azazel. The big scary party overwhelmed me, so I decided to take a midnight stroll. Alone. In the dark."

He smirked. "See? That sounds more believable."

I resisted the urge to kick him under the table.

Daniel finally spoke. "Did you see where they came from?"

My thoughts flickered back the way the demons emerged from the shadows, how they moved unnaturally fast.

I shook my head. "No. One second, I was alone. The next, they were just… there."

Kimper nodded, filing that away. "And how many were there?"

I exhaled. "Four."

Azazel hummed. "And you managed to survive four of them?"

There it was.

The thing they weren't saying outright.

The real reason I was sitting here.

I forced myself to stay calm.

"I ran," I said smoothly. "Didn't do a great job of it, considering one of them almost killed me."

Hazel's lips curled slightly. "Yes, but before that. The investigators found remains that shouldn't be there."

There it was.

The shift.

The thing they had been circling around.

Kimper leaned in slightly. "There were traces of dark magic at the scene."

My breath hitched.

I kept my face blank. "Okay?"

Kimper's gaze didn't waver. "Did you see anyone else that night?"

"No."

Hazel rested her chin on her palm, her blue eyes gleaming. "Did you use magic?"

I stiffened.

Raphael suddenly moved.

Not much just the slightest shift beside Daniel.

But I felt it.

Like he was waiting for my answer just as much as the rest of them.

I exhaled, my fists clenching under the table. "If I could use magic, don't you think I'd have used it before nearly dying?"

Hazel's eyes narrowed.

Daniel watched me carefully.

Azazel? He just looked entirely too amused.

Kimper held my stare a second longer.

Then he sat back.

For now.

But the weight in the room?

It didn't lift.

Because even if I had dodged some of the questions…

I knew they weren't done with me yet.

And worse?

I wasn't sure how much longer I could keep dodging the truth.