We need to talk

There were whispers in the walls.

Seraphina wasn't imagining it. The deeper into Eryndale she walked, the more she could feel it like the ancient stones of the academy themselves were holding their breath, waiting for something. Waiting for her.

The hallway stretched before her like a dream turned nightmare: dimly lit by floating candles, lined with towering archways, and utterly silent. Too silent.

She should've gone back to her room after leaving the gardens, but something had pulled her to the west wing instead a part of the academy that students often avoided. It wasn't off-limits. But it might as well have been.

Some said that part of the academy was haunted. Others said it was where students disappeared when they broke rules too severe to forgive. No one really knew what was true. But Seraphina wasn't scared of secrets.

She was made of them.

A cold breeze brushed the back of her neck, and she turned sharply. No one was there.

Except....

"You really have no sense of self-preservation, do you?"

She exhaled in frustration. "Of course you'd be here."

Damian Blackwood emerged from the shadows, his dark uniform blending into the stone like he belonged to the building itself. Eyes like obsidian emotionless, unreadable met hers without blinking.

"You're the one who keeps showing up," she muttered, refusing to back down even as the air around him turned colder. "Are you stalking me now?"

He said nothing, only stared at her for a long, heavy second.

"You shouldn't be here," he said finally.

She crossed her arms. "But you can be?"

He stepped closer, the space between them dissolving until she had to tilt her chin up to meet his eyes.

"I don't follow rules," he said. "But you? You're still new. You have no idea what this place really is."

Seraphina's throat tightened. There was something behind his words something real. Not just his usual I'm-so-mysterious tone. Fear? Warning?

"So tell me, Blackwood," she said softly, "what is this place really?"

He hesitated, and for a split second, his mask cracked. Just enough. Just for her.

But before he could answer, a gust of wind slammed the door behind them shut.

They both turned.

Seraphina's heart thudded once.

Then again.

Something was watching them.

And Damian looked genuinely alarmed. That scared her more than anything.

He grabbed her wrist. "We need to go. Now."

They didn't stop running until they were out of the west wing and back into the moonlit hallway leading to the student common rooms.

Damian released her hand the moment they were safe, but Seraphina didn't move. Her pulse was wild.

"What the hell was that?" she demanded.

He looked away, jaw tight. "You don't want to know."

Wrong answer.

She stepped into his space, anger simmering. "Damian, I just followed you through a cursed hallway, got locked in with some invisible force breathing down our necks, and now you want to give me the silent treatment? Tell me. Now."

His gaze snapped to hers. The intensity in his eyes made her breath catch.

"If I tell you," he said quietly, "you won't be able to pretend this place is just another academy. You'll start seeing it for what it really is."

She held her ground. "Try me."

He stared at her for a long moment, then exhaled slowly.

"This place was built over the ruins of an ancient order witches, necromancers, beings that even the Council fears. They were sealed beneath Eryndale centuries ago. And sometimes... something leaks through."

Seraphina blinked.

"That was a leak?"

Damian smirked humorlessly. "A whisper. A memory, maybe. The real things don't come unless they're invited."

She didn't speak for a while.

Then: "And you brought me here knowing that?"

He glanced at her, expression unreadable. "No. I followed you."

She opened her mouth to argue, but the sound of footsteps behind them cut her off.

Of course.

Jasper.

Leaning casually against the hallway wall like he hadn't just appeared out of nowhere.

"Wasn't sure if I should interrupt," he said lazily. "But then again, it's not every night I see our resident ice prince dragging a girl through the shadows."

Seraphina narrowed her eyes. "Were you following us too?"

"Maybe." He gave her a wicked grin. "Or maybe I just have a sixth sense for trouble. And sugar, you're glowing with it tonight."

She rolled her eyes. "You're insufferable."

"And yet you keep talking to me." He stepped closer, eyes flickering over her face like he was memorizing it. "Careful, Caldwell. Keep looking at me like that, and I'll start thinking you want me."

Damian stepped between them so fast she barely caught it.

Jasper didn't flinch. He only smiled, slow and dangerous.

"You going to babysit her all night, Blackwood?" he asked coolly.

Seraphina stepped in before Damian could respond. "I don't need babysitting. I need sleep."

Damian's voice was cold. "Stay out of the west wing."

Jasper winked. "Oh, she'll stay out—unless she wants to break the rules again."

Seraphina turned on her heel. She wasn't doing this tonight. She wasn't about to be the tug rope in some invisible pissing contest. Let them smolder and brood and glare. She had bigger things to focus on.

Like figuring out why she'd started feeling things she shouldn't. Power prickling at her fingertips. Visions in her dreams. Whispers when no one was around.

And the growing suspicion that she was more than just human.

That night, sleep didn't come easy.

She tossed and turned, tangled in silk sheets, mind racing. Her window was open, the breeze cool against her skin. The moonlight poured in, silver and soft, tracing the lines of her bare legs as she stretched out.

Her thoughts drifted, unwillingly, to Jasper his hot breath against her neck, the way he'd looked at her like he wanted to tear her apart with his teeth.

And then to Damian silent, cold, but burning in his own way. Like he was holding back something terrifying and beautiful all at once.

And even Lucian.

The professor with the ancient eyes who hadn't looked at another student the way he looked at her. Like she reminded him of something.... or someone.

A knock on her door jolted her upright.

She pulled her robe around her and padded barefoot to the door. She expected Mira.

She did not expect Lucian.

He stood there, in the middle of the night, still dressed in his black button-up shirt, sleeves rolled, his tie loose around his throat. He smelled like sandalwood and dark magic.

"Professor?"

His voice was velvet. "We need to talk."