The classroom was emptying in a trickle of chatter and footsteps, but Gabriel didn't move. He stayed rooted in his seat, his hand gripping the desk so tightly his knuckles were white. He had been waiting for this moment—waiting for the last student to shuffle out, for the creak of the door shutting behind them, leaving him alone with her.
Miss Aveline.
She stood at the front of the classroom, erasing the board with slow, deliberate strokes. The chalk dust seemed to linger in the air longer than it should have, floating like smoke. She didn't glance at him, though he knew she was perfectly aware he hadn't left.
His chest rose and fell rapidly, anger and dread battling inside him. For weeks, he had watched her circle Gemma like a predator, questions disguised as lessons, riddles hidden in ordinary words. She pushed, prodded, twisted—always at her. Always at Gemma.
"Miss Aveline," Gabriel's voice cracked but he forced it steady. "What do you want from my sister?"
The chalk paused mid-stroke. For a moment, the silence was so deep he could hear his own pulse thundering in his ears. Then, slowly, she placed the chalk down on the tray. She turned—not quickly, but with the grace of someone certain they were being watched.
Her eyes met his.
They were not cruel, not soft, not even mocking. They were knowing.
"What I want," she murmured, stepping closer, "is not mine to take."
Gabriel's fists clenched. "Stop playing games. Stop dragging Gemma into—whatever this is. Leave her alone."
Aveline tilted her head, lips curving in something that was not quite a smile. "If you wish to know, Gabriel… ask her. She carries the answer in her silence."
The words slid under his skin like ice. He wanted to scream, to shake her, to demand she explain herself. But she only looked at him with that faint, terrible calm.
Something inside him snapped. He lunged forward, hand shooting out to grab her arm.
But before he could touch her, the lights above flickered violently.
The fluorescent bulbs buzzed, dimmed, then flared with a blinding pulse. Shadows on the walls stretched long and jagged, like claws. For a split second, the room seemed to breathe—the walls expanding, then contracting. Gabriel's heart stuttered, panic slamming into him like a fist.
Aveline hadn't moved. She was standing inches away now, her arm still in reach, yet she might as well have been miles distant. The shadows writhed between them, curling around her figure as though shielding her.
"Careful," she whispered, her voice strangely doubled, as if spoken both in his ear and far across the room. "You're not ready to hear the truth."
Gabriel stumbled backward, his shoulder hitting a desk. His throat tightened. For one sickening instant, he thought he saw—behind Aveline, in the corner of the room—another shape. A tall figure, indistinct, its outline warped by the flickering light. Watching. Silent.
The lights stabilized with a loud pop.
And the figure was gone.
Miss Aveline calmly picked up the chalk again, as though nothing had happened. "Run along now, Gabriel. You'll be late for your next class."
Her tone was mild, almost kindly. But her eyes—her eyes glimmered like something that had seen too much.
Gabriel forced himself out of the room, his pulse hammering. He didn't stop moving until he was halfway down the corridor. His breath came in ragged gasps.
What was she?
And what in God's name did Gemma know?