"Oh, look who finally decided to show up," Oliver sneered.
I couldn't breathe—there was still no air in my lungs.
"Sorry, I had to schedule—"
"A date?" His brows arched, his voice dripping with mockery.
"How sweet. Who's the lucky guy?"
I opened my mouth, but he didn't let me speak.
"Let me guess. Jace. You two are dating now?"
"Are you done?" I asked, keeping my voice calm.
"We have an art project. That's why we're meeting after school."
I forced a deep breath. My chest rose at an alarming rate. My stomach curled tight, as if pierced by an arrow.
"And anyway, we're just friends," I shrugged. "Though I do wonder—why do you care so much? Are you jealous ?"
Oliver turned to the window, his tone cold as ever.
"Don't flatter yourself. I don't see why you waste your time on him. Even as a friend."
He waved his hand dismissively. But for a fleeting moment, his eyes flickered—like he'd almost lost something in what he didn't say.
Why did it hit me so hard? It was just teasing—just mockery.
But part of me wanted him to care—not to judge.
Maybe it wasn't hate. Perhaps it was fear. Or jealousy.
Maybe he didn't know what to do with it.
I rolled my eyes, pretending it didn't hurt. But my heart tightened anyway.
I bit my lip. I'd better get used to this.
"Shall we start the lesson?" I asked.
"Yes, but before that—" Oliver began—
—and Olsor appeared, stepping from nowhere, as if pulled from the shadows.
My breath caught. For a moment, I thought he was a ghost.
His power was the ability to control others by appearing suddenly.
"What's going on? Why are you here?" Oliver asked, startled.
"There was… an incident," I said with a serious expression, lifting my hand. The cut gleamed red.
"I couldn't move. A figure in a purple cloak cut me. The knife was already stained with blood… And then she vanished. It felt like a dream, but when I woke—"
"Maybe it was a dream. "Or perhaps it was sleep paralysis," Oliver interjected flatly.
I shot him a cold look. I'm not surprised.
"There's a cut," I whispered. "That's proof. If you'd let me finish."
He hesitated—then reached for my hand. His touch was cold. Too cold.
My heart didn't care. It hammered harder.
"And Sierra's always on your side," he muttered. "That's not proof."
We both turned to Olsor.
"The truth?" he said. "There are people in purple cloaks. They perform rituals. Especially on hybrids like you."
"You believe me?" I asked, clinging to hope.
"Not yet."
He drew out a necklace. The pendant featured Latin script and was carved with eyes—one large eye and three small ones. Artisans cut each from dark stones that sparkled like trapped stars.
"This glows red for lies. Blue for truth."
"Fine. Ask me." My palms were damp, but my voice stayed steady.
If it glowed red, it would ruin me. Not just here—inside myself.
What if it were all in my head? What if I couldn't trust myself?
Oliver's gaze locked onto me. His icy eyes dared me to slip.
"Did it happen?"
I met his stare.
"Yes."
Silence stretched. The pendant shimmered blue.
None of us spoke. Relief surged through me, causing my breath to shake.
"You're telling the truth," Olsor confirmed.
A shadow crossed Oliver's face. He looked at the stone too long—like he hated what it proved.
Then he turned away, shoulders stiff, something in him closing off.
I walked past him without a sound.
"So now what?" I asked Olsor.
"Now," he said, eyes sharp, "we talk."
He gestured toward a towering panther statue, its stone body veined with a soft, golden light. Its eyes glowed like embers, fangs bared in eternal attack.
As I stepped closer, the stone vibrated with a low hum. The statue shifted aside with a groan, revealing a shadowed entrance.
"Touch its nose," Oliver ordered.
Trap or test? My fingers trembled. But I touched it.
The statue moved. The air shuddered, sighing like something ancient had awakened.
We descended into cold stone halls. Moss. Echoes. The smell of memory itself.
A library. Hidden, endless. Books, artifacts, archives.
Even my breath felt heavier, like I had inhaled centuries.
"What is this place?" I whispered.
Oliver's voice was quieter, almost reverent.
"You only see what's in front of you. Not what lies beneath."
I rolled my eyes. "Seriously. It's a library. So why hide ordinary books?"
"They're not ordinary," Olsor said.
He opened an ancient tome to a faded page, pointing at a symbol.
"Seen this before? It's the seal of an organization we thought was long dead."
"The woman in the cloak—she's part of them. A secret council of humans and supernaturals. They call themselves Imprix. They were likely testing you. Trying to measure your power."
I scoffed. "They could've just talked to me. Run a test. Maybe treat me better than Oliver does."
Oliver's glare was sharp, but his voice softened against his will.
"You have no idea what you've walked into. This isn't a game. Start acting like it."
My throat tightened. They knew far more than I did.
And still… something in me wanted to stay. In the library. With Oliver. With the truth.
But I left without a word.
The cafeteria door swung open—and the world flipped back.
Light blazed. Voices clattered. Food smells lingered.
Normal. Arranged with precision.
Except me.
I spotted Jace alone at a table; I sat down. We talked.
I lied.
Another small lie. Another tear inside.
My body moved forward. But my mind stayed in the library.
The bell rang. The lesson began.
The hallway lights flickered.
And his voice—the echo of Oliver's warning—
It was louder than anything else.