Merlin should've turned back.
Should've told them to return to their dorms, to keep their distance, to stop tightening the circle that thing kept leaning into.
But they didn't move away.
They moved closer.
And that—
that was exactly what the distortion responded to.
The hallway lights steadied, the mana went quiet, but the air felt wrong in a way Merlin couldn't describe. Not hostile. Not lurking. Not waiting for an opening.
Listening.
Elara touched his shoulder—lightly, the way she did when she wanted to anchor him without drawing attention to it.
"What is it doing?" she asked.
Merlin didn't trust himself to answer.
Not with words.
Not when he could feel the distortion humming like a second heartbeat beside his own—quiet, hungry, patient.
Nathan, sensing the tension but misunderstanding its cause, stepped forward with a grim grin.
"Then we just have to be unpredictable, right? If it's learning, we confuse it."
"That's a terrible idea," Armin muttered.
