Lira woke with a loud gasp, her heart pounding like she'd been pulled from a bad dream.
The greenhouse's glass walls felt close, foggy with moisture, the air heavy with wet dirt and jasmine's sweet smell.
Her head ached, the vision of black fire, Morgan's bloody face, and the glowing words Il es despertus still sharp in her mind.
She gripped the gravel floor, fingers digging into the soil to feel real again.
"Calm down, Lira," Darel said, his hands steadying her shoulders. His face showed worry, his dark eyes wide as he looked at her.
"Breathe slow. In through your nose, out through your mouth. You okay."
Lira nodded, breathing shakily but calming a bit. Darel handed her a water bottle, his voice soft. "Drink this. Take it easy."
The cold water soothed her dry throat, but the scary images stayed—dead plants, screams, the academy burning, and strange writing on the wall. "What happened?" she asked, her voice rough.
Darel sat back, rubbing his neck. "You froze for twenty minutes, Lira. Your eyes were twitching, like you saw something bad. I tried calling you, shaking you—nothing. I thought it was your Chrono watch."
Lira's silver eyes met his, looking for tricks but seeing only care. "Maybe a vision," she said quietly. "It was bad, Darel."
He leaned closer. "What did you see? I'm not your enemy. I can help."
She shook her head, pulling away. "I can't trust you. You're a prefect, rank 8 for that matter. You're part of the academy."
Darel's face reddened, his eyes flashing. "That's not true. I'm not like any of them, trust me. If I was with them, you'd be in trouble already."
Lira stood, legs shaky, brushing dirt from her knees. "I'm sorry. I can't risk it."
Darel stood, angry. "Fine then. Sorry for caring." He walked out, boots crunching on gravel, the glass door slamming shut. Lira watched him go, her face worried, the jasmine's smell now sharp in her nose.
The quadrangle sprawled like an open wound in the heart of the academy, its cobblestone paths twisting through patches of green grass and ancient oak trees, their gnarled branches swaying in a restless wind.
The air carried a faint chill, tinged with the scent of damp earth and fading summer blooms.
At the far end, the clocktower loomed, its tall spire piercing a sky bruised with deep purple clouds, the brass face gleaming like an unblinking eye.
The hands ticked steadily, each click echoing across the open space, as if the tower itself was watching every step, every whisper, every secret in the academy.
Long shadows stretched across the ground, curling and twisting like the Ouroboros snakes carved into the stone walls, their shapes shifting as if alive.
Asher walked beside Rowan, his boots scuffing the uneven stones, his scars itching under his sleeve with a faint burn that hadn't stopped since Morgan's death. His dark eyes darted to the clocktower, its ticking louder in his ears than it should have been.
"Who are we meeting again?" he asked, his voice low, suspicion lacing every word.
Rowan shrugged, his usual wide grin smaller today. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, his shoulders hunched against the wind. "Some guy. Came up to me this morning, said he needed to talk to you—couldn't find you anywhere. Sounded Urgent."
Asher winced. "I'm done meeting strangers," he said, his voice sharp, almost biting. "Last time I did that, Morgan ended up dead. You know how that went."
Rowan let out a light laugh, but it sounded forced, echoing faintly off the stone paths. "Yeah, I know you snuck out to see him last night. And I know you didn't kill him."
Asher stopped walking, his eyes narrowing. "How are you so sure?" His voice was hard.
Rowan's grin widened, a spark of mischief in his eyes. "Even if you did, I'd help you hide the body. No questions, no problem. We'd bury it deep, maybe under these oaks." He gestured to the trees, his tone half-joking, half-serious.
Asher couldn't help a small smile, the tension in his shoulders easing just a bit. "You're a sicko. Like a big sicko."
Rowan laughed louder, the sound bouncing across the quadrangle, startling a bird from a nearby tree. "First rule of this messed-up place: don't trust anyone. Five years of chaos, and we're free. Just gotta hold on."
Asher glanced at the clocktower again, its hands pointing to late afternoon. "Let's survive the first three months," he said, his voice quieter now. "We get breaks, right? Like vacations?"
"Yeah," Rowan said, his tone dropping, eyes darkening as he looked at the tower. "But try running away, and the academy shows you what happens.
They reached a weathered stone bench tucked near the quadrangle's edge, where a boy sat waiting. His lip was bruised, a purple welt swelling under his mouth, and his eyes were puffy behind thick, scratched glasses. His clothes were rumpled, a tear in his sleeve, but he managed a small, shaky smile as Asher and Rowan approached.
"Asher? Rowan?" he said, standing awkwardly, his voice soft but clear. "I'm Theo."
They sat across from him on the bench, the stone cold through Asher's jeans. "You wanted to talk to me?" Asher asked, leaning forward, his scars still prickling.
Theo adjusted his glasses, his fingers trembling slightly. "If Asher's okay with it, you can stay, Rowan."
"He's fine with it," Rowan said, crossing his arms with a smirk.
Asher rolled his eyes, his voice dry. "I didn't say that."
Rowan's grin didn't budge. "You didn't need to, was never going to leave anyway."
Theo's smile faded, his bruised lip twitching as he glanced nervously at the clocktower, its shadow creeping closer. "It's concerning Morgan's death. What I've got to say sounds crazy, but… we need to go to my dorm. I have something to show you."
Asher frowned, his stomach knotting. "Why can't you tell us here?"
Theo's eyes darted around the quadrangle, where a few students lingered in the distance, their voices faint. "Too many people watching," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "The clocktower… it sees everything. Trust me, it's safer in my dorm."
The prefect room was a dark, solemn space, its stone walls lit only by the flickering glow of candles set in iron holders.
The Ouroboros symbol—a snake eating its tail—was carved above the fireplace, its curves glinting in the firelight, as if alive. The heavy wooden table at the center held twelve chairs, each etched with a number from 0 to 11.
Gaius sat at the head, his hands clasped so tightly his knuckles were white, his face heavy with worry, his dark eyes staring at the table's polished surface.
The wood reflected the candlelight, but to Gaius, it seemed to reflect Morgan's absence, a hollow space where his friend's laughter used to be.
Alice entered quietly, a stack of folders tucked under her arm, her footsteps muffled on the thick crimson carpet.
She paused, noticing Gaius's hunched shoulders, the way his jaw tightened as if holding back a storm. "Morgan's death hurt me," she said softly, her voice trembling slightly, like a string about to snap. "It's like a knife in my chest. Nobody saw it coming."
Gaius didn't look up, his hands gripping harder, his nails digging into his palms. The silence was heavy, broken only by the faint crackle of the fire and the distant tick of the clocktower outside.
Alice set the folders on the table, her fingers lingering on the top one as she opened it, revealing neat stacks of paper. "He gave up being deputy for me, you know," she said, her voice quieter now, thick with memory. "I think about it every day.
Morgan was the best of us—stubborn, always breaking rules, sneaking into the library after hours, but his..."
"Enough," Gaius said, his voice low but sharp, cutting through the air like a blade.
The room trembled for a moment, a strange glitch in the air, like the Chronothite hum had skipped a beat.
The candles flickered wildly, casting jagged shadows on the walls. Gaius lifted his eyes to hers, sharp and cold, like daggers forged in grief. Alice stepped back, her breath catching, surprise flashing across her face.
She swallowed, her voice barely above a whisper. "You loved him, didn't you?"
Gaius's expression softened, but only slightly, his eyes still hard. "Not like that," he said, his voice firm but heavy. "He didn't deserve to die."
He glanced at the folders, his tone shifting to something colder, more controlled. "What are those?"
Alice steadied herself, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Last year's reports—events, schedules, and students who got culled," she said, her voice steady now.
"Morgan's wake is tonight. Are you going?"
"No." Gaius stood abruptly, his chair
scraping against the floor, the sound harsh in the quiet room.
"Why not?" Alice asked, her voice rising slightly, but he didn't answer. He walked to the door, his steps heavy, purposeful.
As he passed, Alice noticed his hand bleeding, a thin line of red seeping from a fresh cut on his palm, the skin raw from the room's strange glitch.
The door closed behind him with a dull thud, leaving Alice alone with the folders, the empty chairs, and the weight of his silence.