The pale morning light once again broke over the Ohio ridge, filtering through the damp pine needles and casting thin, gray slants across the newly restored third-floor dorm room.
The heavy pine bed bunks were back in their original positions, the chalk lines and candle wax scrubbed clean from the linoleum, and the shattered acoustic blocks hidden away inside a locker. In the corner, Molly was laid on a low mattress, wrapped tightly in her blanket, still completely unconscious. Her breathing was steady but her skin carried that distinct, marble-pale sheen of a fledgling in cold suspension. On her left ring finger, the carved silver band caught the daylight, gleaming with a subtle, hidden ward.
A quiet tap echoed against the doorframe, and Fiona stepped inside, her jacket pulled tight against the morning draft. She looked at the neatly arranged room, her eyes lingering for a fraction of a second on Molly before settling on Lira, who sat on the edge of a study desk with her right hand wrapped tightly in a thick linen bandage to conceal the freshly etched tattoo of the scales.
"You called me up here before the morning role call" Fiona said, her voice in a low whisper as she closed the heavy oak door.
"The quad is still taped off. The guards are claiming a minor sinkhole collapsed the lower drainage."
"It wasn't a sinkhole," Lira said flatly, leaning forward. She unwrapped the linen tape just enough to reveal the black, ink-like calibrations etched into her skin. "I happen to use a summoning circle last night to stabilize Molly's daylight transition. A spectre came through— an old witch who gave us the spell for the ring, but she bound me to a contract. We have exactly half a month to find a 'dying lamb trapped in a pit' and pull it out. If we fail, I lose my sight for fifteen days or years."
Fiona knelt by the desk, her brow furrowing as her sharp eyes analyzed the fifteen distinct lines and the shallow bowl etched beneath the scale.
"A lamb in a pit... It's an old-world metaphor, Lira. In local folklore across the county line, 'the pit' usually refers to the abandoned stone ridge or limestone quarry shafts along the eastern ridge, or worse, the subterranean containment vaults beneath the old blocks. As for the 'lamb'—it could be a literal sacrifice, or an uncorrupted host someone locked away."
Fiona then turns her attention away from the sleeping Molly and shifted her sharp gaze toward Rein, who was still sitting muted in the corner, her fingers twitching against her knees.
"Rein right?," Fiona asked, her voice dropping into a bit firm.with a low tone. "What really happened out in the brush last night before we got there? Who was the cause of all this?"
Rein flinched slightly at the question, the lingering confusion of the ghost's words—the Death Bringer—paralyzing her tongue. She remained silent, unable to form a coherent answer.
Seeing Rein's state, Claire stepped forward to bridge the gap. "I didn't get his name, but I can show you," Claire said softly. She pulled a pad of drawing paper and a charcoal pencil from the desk, sitting down flat on the floor.
Claire closed her eyes, letting out a slow breath as she forced her mind to recall everything that had transpired under the foggy oak canopy. She replayed the exact sequence: the heavy thud of his boots, the sharp smell of the silver syringe, the vibration of the iron pipe whistling through the air, and the gravelly rumble of his voice at the hospital triage desk.
As every physical sensation and micro-vibration reeled through her memory, her hands began to move across the paper with unthinkable speed.
Dark, heavy charcoal lines rapidly took shape. First came the broad, square jawline, then the thick neck, the deep-set bloodshot eyes, and the distinct, raw knuckles. Within moments, the sketch of Bill was rendered with terrifying accuracy.
"It's him," Claire said, her eyes snapping open as she stared at the drawing. "He was the one attacking Caleb and the boys in the woods. But what makes this completely insane is that twenty minutes later, I saw him walking into the local hospital's emergency wing as Doctor Curt—an invited assistant surgeon. A hospital surgeon acting like a serial stalker in the woods is beyond suspicious."
She paused, looking over at Rein. "At least Professor Julian, Doctor Adams, and Doctor Gadhi are stationed at the facility now. If he tries anything inside the wards, they're right there."
Hearing the names of the three established professionals being present around the medical wing gave the silent Rein a small, subtle flicker of hope, her rigid posture eased.
Fiona leaned down, her eyes locking onto the charcoal portrait with her brow furrowing. "I know this man," she murmured, taking the pad into her hands.
"I saw him near the lower commercial strip a few days ago while I was out with Ryan and Damon. He runs a tailor shop down on the old brick lane."
Before she could finish her sentence, Fiona suddenly gasped, her hands flying to her temples.
A sudden, splitting headache tore through her skull with blinding intensity.
Her vision blurred, blacking out the dormitory room as a vivid, uninvited psychic impression flooded her mind. In her head, she clearly saw the lower commercial street: Clara, the second-year humanities student, walking straight through the glass door of Gumb's Custom Tailoring, completely oblivious.
She saw the heavy rolls of dark tweed, the measuring tape, and then—most vividly of all—Bill's cold, grim smile as he stepped toward the girl with his chalk.
Fiona stumbled back against the desk, her breathing heavy as the vision snapped shut. "He's got her," she panted, her face going pale. "Clara... she just walked into his shop. Right now."
Lira looked at her a bit confused as she didn't know who it was.
" The girl he was with...we saw them, it's her, Clara. Something bad is about to happen" Fiona added.