The air had definitely cooled since earlier, with the golden haze of sunset now transforming into the deeper hues of early evening.
I wasn't really going anywhere specific just meandering through the quieter hallways of the academy. Most students had already left, leaving behind only the faint echoes of laughter drifting from distant classrooms.
That's when I spotted her.
Ellie.
She was just stepping out of the records office, balancing another stack of files against her chest. She wore a different cardigan this time, buttoned up neatly, and her hair was tied back loosely, as if she'd been at it for a while.
The hallway was narrow here, the kind where two people passing by had to turn sideways to avoid bumping shoulders.
From the opposite end, a small group of girls approached—three of them, still in uniform but with their ties loosened and top buttons undone, exuding a casual authority. They were chatting quietly, a soft ripple of laughter flowing between them.
Ellie kept her gaze down as they got closer. Her pace didn't change, but I noticed her grip on the files tighten.
They reached her.
A gentle bump. Too soft to be an accident, yet too casual to be outright hostile.
Her files slipped, several sheets fanning out onto the polished floor.
"Oh—sorry!" one of the girls said, her tone dripping with insincerity. She bent down—just enough to seem helpful—and handed Ellie a single sheet, completely ignoring the rest scattered around her feet.
The others didn't stop walking, though one of them glanced back over her shoulder with the faintest smirk. I could see them whispering something too low for me to catch.
But Ellie heard it. I could tell by the way her shoulders stiffened for just a brief moment.
She knelt quickly, gathering the papers herself, tucking them back into the stack without looking at the girls again.
By the time she stood up, they were already gone.
She didn't notice me lurking in the shadow of the archway, just watching.
Ellie's face was a perfect mask almost too perfect. No hint of irritation, no trace of sadness, nothing that gave away what she was feeling. She simply adjusted the files cradled in her arms and continued down the hall, her steps steady and deliberate.
But as she walked beneath the light streaming through the window, I caught a glimpse of it again — that faint discoloration on her wrist, barely noticeable before it vanished beneath her sleeve.
I stayed put, my gaze following her until she turned the corner.
…
Later, as I made my way back to the dorms through the courtyard, something caught my eye near the bench where we had sat earlier that day. A single piece of paper, fluttering against the leg of the bench in the breeze.
I bent down to pick it up.
At first glance, it looked like just another part of the student record forms — nothing special. But the corner was crumpled, as if someone had stepped on it. The name at the top wasn't Ellie's.
Still, I tucked it into my pocket.
Not for the information.
Just as a reminder.
Because the next time I encountered those girls, I'd be paying much closer attention.
The next day, I spotted her in the library.
She was nestled in one of the far corners, where the tall shelves blocked most of the light streaming in from the windows. It was a peaceful spot — the kind of quiet that felt intentional, not just a coincidence.
Ellie had a notebook open in front of her, a pen resting idly in her fingers. But she wasn't writing; she was just staring at the page, her eyes drifting off into space.
I approached slowly, making sure my footsteps were soft against the carpet.
"You're either lost in thought," I said, "or crafting the longest love letter in the academy's history."
Her head snapped up, her eyes blinking in mild surprise before she managed a small smile. "Not quite. I'm just trying to work on an essay, but… I'm not really getting anywhere."
"Writer's block?"
She tilted her head slightly. "Something like that."
I gestured toward the seat across from her. "Mind if I join you?"
She hesitated for just a moment, then nodded.
As I got closer, I noticed a faint shadow under her right eye, subtle enough that most people would overlook it. The oversized cardigan she wore today had its sleeves pulled low over her hands.
"Do you always hide out in this corner?" I asked casually, glancing at the books surrounding us.
"Not always," she replied. "But it's quiet here. Fewer distractions."
"Or fewer people," I added.
That made her pause her pen tapping for a moment, but she kept her eyes on the notebook. "…I guess that too."
I leaned back in my chair. "The girls from yesterday. You know them?"
Her pen stopped moving completely this time. She didn't look up. "…They're in my year. We've… talked before."
"Talked," I echoed. "That's one way to put it."
Her lips pressed together in the faintest line, but she didn't say anything. Instead, she flipped to a fresh page in her notebook and started writing — or at least pretending to.
"Ellie," I said, keeping my tone light and playful, "I notice things. You should know that by now."
She glanced at me for a brief moment, then looked back down. "Maybe I don't want to be noticed."
I took a moment to really look at her. "That's fair. But just because you don't want the spotlight doesn't mean you're invisible."
Her hand froze mid-sentence, and I could see something shift in her expression—a blend of defensiveness and something deeper that I couldn't quite identify.
I figured it was best not to press her. Instead, I leaned in and grabbed one of her books. "Alright, literature girl, let's see this essay. Maybe I can lend a hand."
Her eyes narrowed slightly, suspicion flickering there, but I noticed her shoulders relaxed just a bit. "…Fine. But don't judge me."
"I'll only critique your taste in poetry," I replied with a grin.
She almost laughed—almost—and slid the notebook my way.
As I scanned her handwriting, two things struck me:
First—Ellie Reid was way sharper than she let on.
Second—whatever was happening with her, she was putting in a lot of effort to keep it hidden.
That meant I'd have to dig even deeper to uncover the truth.
Two days later, I saw her again—but not where I thought I would.
It was late afternoon in the city district just outside the gates of Saint Halstead. Students typically didn't wander this far unless they had errands, dates, or a craving for overpriced coffee.
I was leaning against the window of a bookstore, casually watching the foot traffic, when I spotted her across the street.
Ellie.
She wasn't in her uniform. Instead, she wore a baggy hoodie and black jeans—no cardigan, no neat skirt. Her hood was up, casting a shadow over most of her face, even though it was warm out.
And she wasn't alone.
Three other girls were with her near the entrance of a café—the same ones I'd seen laughing in the courtyard.
From my vantage point, their smiles didn't seem friendly at all.
One of them stepped closer, gripping Ellie's arm. To an outsider, it looked casual, but I could see the tension in Ellie's stance.
Another girl leaned in, whispering something that made Ellie's gaze drop to the pavement.
Then, as if on cue, they... all laughed.
But it wasn't the kind of laugh you could join in on. It was the kind you had to endure.
Ellie stayed silent.
I could've just stood there, pretending I didn't notice. I told myself it wasn't my business — that girls like her didn't need someone like me to step in.
But my legs had other ideas.
By the time I made it across the street, the girls had already gone into the café, dragging Ellie along with them. Through the glass, I spotted her at a corner table, shoulders hunched, eyes glued to her hands while the others chatted away as if she wasn't even there.
I didn't go in. Not just yet.
Instead, I leaned against the lamppost outside, watching.
Minutes ticked by. Drinks were ordered. The girls scrolled through their phones, occasionally tossing a comment Ellie's way. Sometimes she nodded. Other times, she just stared blankly.
Then one of them slid her drink across the table toward Ellie — only to tip it just enough to send a thin stream of iced coffee spilling onto Ellie's notebook.
Her eyes went wide, hands flying to save the pages. The girl laughed, brushing it off like it was no big deal.
But it was.
Ellie mouthed something — maybe an apology — and reached for napkins.
My fingers curled into fists.
I stayed right where I was.
Charging in now would definitely draw attention, and if there's one thing I've learned about this kind of situation, it's that predators get nastier when you shine a light on them.
So, I just observed. I memorized faces. I noticed how Ellie's hands shook a bit as she tried to keep writing.
When they finally left, she didn't glance up even once as she stepped out onto the street.
I didn't follow her. Not just yet.
But the image of her in that café — small, quiet, resilient — was etched in my mind.
She thought no one was watching.
She was mistaken.
The next day, Saint Halstead's courtyard was alive with the usual late-morning buzz.
I was heading to the library, hands tucked in my pockets, when I spotted them — the same three girls from the café. They were leaning against the stone balustrade by the fountain, laughing about something on one of their phones.
No sign of Ellie.
I wasn't looking for trouble, but sometimes it finds you anyway.
As I walked by, one of them stepped back without looking — right into me.
Her heel caught my shoe.
"Watch it," she snapped, turning around sharply. Her voice had just enough sweetness to sound polite to anyone nearby, but there was a sharpness beneath it.
I tilted my head, meeting her gaze with a relaxed expression. "You walked into me."
She blinked, clearly thrown off by someone not immediately apologizing. "Excuse me?"
"You're excused," I replied flatly, stepping around her.
That got a muffled laugh from one of the other girls, but it was the kind that only added to the irritation instead of easing it.
"Hey," the first girl called after me. "You're that new guy, right? Black-something?"
I paused, half-turning. "Blackthorne."
Her smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "Right. You've been hanging around Ellie a lot lately, haven't you?"
There it was — a little jab, casual on the surface, but sharp if you knew how to listen.
"Not really," I said. "We just bumped into each other once."
Her gaze lingered on me as if she was trying to figure me out.
It was Saturday, and Saint Halstead Academy felt eerily empty. Most students had either dashed off to the city for the weekend or had barricaded themselves in their dorms, armed with snacks and a marathon of streaming ahead of them.
I was caught in the middle of deciding whether to spend the day doing absolutely nothing or finding a quiet spot when my phone buzzed.
Ellie: Are you busy?
Me: Not really.
Ellie: Want to escape for a bit?
No explanation. No details. Just a simple invitation.
I paused for maybe half a second before responding.
Me: Where to?
Ellie: You'll find out.
An hour later, I was leaning against the black metal railing outside the south gate, waiting. For once, I wasn't in my academy uniform.
Instead, I had on a black cashmere turtleneck beneath a tailored charcoal overcoat. Dark trousers and polished leather boots that gleamed like mirrors. A watch that probably cost more than some people's cars — but with the brand logo discreetly removed. The kind of outfit that whispered wealth rather than flaunting it.
The style my family favored — subtle, yet unmistakably high-end.
Ellie showed up soon after, wearing a cream knit sweater tucked into a pleated skirt, with a long beige coat draped over her shoulders. Her hair was down today, and the wind kept teasing the ends.
"You… look great," she said with a slight smile as she approached.
I raised an eyebrow. "And here I thought we were keeping it casual."
"We are," she replied, falling into step beside me. "But casual for you seems to mean stepping out of a fashion magazine."
The "mystery destination" turned out to be a cozy little book café nestled between two antique shops on the quieter side of the city. The air was filled with the faint aroma of coffee and old books, and the warm lighting gave it a welcoming, lived-in vibe.
We snagged a table by the window. She ordered a chai latte; I opted for black coffee.
"You come here often?" I asked, leaning back in my chair.
"Not really," she admitted. "It's one of those places that I've always meant to try."
I totally got what she was saying.
We chatted about everything and nothing at all—her favorite books, my vague hints about the "old neighborhoods" I used to live in (carefully skirting around the reasons I was there), and little observations about the folks strolling by outside.
At one point, she reached for her cup and winced just a bit, her sleeve sliding up enough to show a fresh mark on her wrist.
She caught me noticing and quickly pulled her sleeve back down.
I didn't say anything. But I tucked that away in my mind.
After our coffee, we strolled through the antique shops. She took her time looking at old books and knickknacks, chuckling softly when I made a deadpan remark about the ridiculous prices on some of the stuff.
"You're really hard to read sometimes," she said as we stepped out of the third shop.
"That's intentional," I shot back without thinking.
She gave me a look like she wanted to say something deeper—something weighty—but then she let it go.
Instead, she offered a faint smile and said, "You know… if you keep dressing like that, people might get the wrong idea."
"What idea?" I asked, genuinely curious.
"That this is a date."
I nearly laughed. "Is it?"
She turned her gaze away, pretending to examine a shop window. "Maybe."
I decided to let it slide.
But as we headed back to the academy, I noticed her stealing glances at me more than once, a small, cautious smile playing on her lips.
And for the first time, I found myself wondering if she had invited me out for more than just some company.