The morning after the storm broke differently than anyone expected.
The sky above Nevermore was pale, almost deceptively calm. A thin layer of mist drifted lazily above the treetops, and the courtyard smelled of wet grass and earth. Students moved in clusters, their conversations low and urgent. For a moment, there was an illusion of peace—but the tension under the surface was suffocating.
Because everyone had woken up to the news: another student was missing.
The Assembly
The great hall was filled to bursting, louder than the day before. The long tables creaked under the weight of restless bodies, but no one touched the untouched trays of breakfast food. Every student looked on edge, eyes darting toward the doors as if Marcus Talbot might suddenly walk in, laughing at the cruel joke.
But the doors remained closed.
At the front, Principal Helena Grieve stood taller than the rest, her suit crisp, her dark hair pinned in a neat knot. She exuded composure, but her jaw was set too tightly, and her eyes betrayed the strain of the morning.
She raised her hand. The room fell into a nervous silence.
"This morning," she began, her voice measured and cool, "Marcus Talbot did not return to his dormitory. A search has been initiated. He has not yet been found."
Gasps and mutters broke out immediately.
"Oh my God…"
"Not again—"
"That's two now!"
A girl at the far end began to cry, her hands trembling as she covered her mouth.
Bianca rose abruptly from her seat, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her sharp tone cut through the noise. "That's two students in two days. And we're just supposed to sit here? Pretend everything's fine?"
Grieve's gaze flicked to her. For a brief moment, her composure cracked; her eyes were tired, shadowed. But her voice was steady. "What I will tell you is this: whoever is responsible feeds on chaos. Panic will only make their task easier."
"That's assuming they're not one of us," a boy's voice shouted from the back.
The silence that followed was instant and heavy. Every student's eyes darted toward one another. Suspicion seeped into the air like poison.
And then a new voice rose above the fear—soft, clear, and chillingly calm.
"Then the predator is exactly where it belongs."
Every head turned toward Wednesday Addams.
She sat perfectly still at her table, her posture straight, her pale hands folded neatly in front of her. Her face was unreadable, her eyes dark, but her words had struck something raw.
The crowd shifted uneasily. Some flinched, others stared at her with wide eyes.
Enid turned toward her, her face pale. Her voice cracked. "Wednesday… why would you say something like that?"
Wednesday slowly turned her head, her lips curving into the faintest shadow of a smile. "Because nothing is more terrifying than knowing the monster is sitting at your table."
A shiver ran through the room.
Dr. Grieve's gaze fixed on her, unreadable. "Miss Addams," she said, her voice smooth but firm, "if you know something, now is the time to share it."
Wednesday met her eyes without flinching. "I don't know anything. I simply… observe."
Her words floated in the silence. Calm. Cold. Inevitable.
Enid looked down at her lap, her hands shaking. For the first time since she'd met her roommate, she wasn't sure if Wednesday was being cryptic—or confessing.
The Typewriter
That evening, the halls were hushed. The usual laughter and chatter of students was gone, replaced with whispers and hurried footsteps. Dormitory doors slammed earlier than usual, and shadows in the corners felt longer, sharper.
In her room, Enid sat on her bed, hugging her knees to her chest. Her wolf-like instincts screamed at her—danger, wrongness, something in the dark you can't fight.
The only sound breaking the silence was the steady clicking of Wednesday's typewriter.
Enid's gaze flicked toward the desk. Her stomach twisted tighter with each strike of the keys. She finally forced her voice to break the quiet.
You're writing again." Her words shook. "Is it about… them?"
Wednesday didn't look up. Her fingers moved swiftly, mechanical, as if the story were already formed in her head and her hands were just catching up.
Enid slid off her bed, hesitant, but curiosity and fear pulled her forward. She leaned slightly over the desk, just enough to catch a glimpse of the page.
Her breath hitched.
The boy vanished beneath the trees. His shoes were found near the stream, neatly placed, as if he had stepped out of them willingly. His body would not be seen again. His final scream belonged only to the dark.
Enid stumbled back, her heart hammering. Her hands shook violently. "Wednesday… this is Marcus. You're writing about Marcus!"
Wednesday paused her typing. Slowly, she looked up, her expression eerily calm. "Yes."
Enid's voice cracked, panic bubbling up. "How—how do you know this? Did you… did you see something? Did you—"
Wednesday's eyes held hers, dark and steady. "I don't see things. I understand them. The world leaves patterns, Enid. Most people are too blind to notice."
Tears blurred Enid's vision. Her breathing came faster, shallow, uneven. "You wrote this before they even told us. Before anyone knew! You knew!"
Wednesday rose from her chair, stepping toward her slowly. Her expression never shifted. "Perhaps."
Enid backed up until her legs hit her bed. Her voice trembled. "That's not normal, Wednesday. That's… that's not right."
Wednesday tilted her head, her lips curling just slightly. "Normal is a disease. I would never want to catch it."
Enid's heart slammed against her ribs. She wanted to scream, to run, but her feet wouldn't move. All she could do was stare at the girl in front of her—the girl who might not be a savior this time, but something far worse.
The Search
At dawn, lanterns bobbed in the fog as a search party moved through the woods. Teachers led the way, their expressions grim. Students followed reluctantly, clutching each other's arms, their breaths fogging in the cold air.
The trees loomed above them, skeletal and silent. Every snap of a branch, every rustle of leaves made the group flinch.
Xavier walked near the back, his sketchbook tucked under his arm. But his eyes weren't on the trees—they were on Wednesday.
She moved calmly near the front, her posture straight, her eyes scanning the ground as if she were simply taking a stroll. She looked untouched by fear.
And that terrified him more than anything else.
"Wednesday," he called softly, his voice rough. "Why are you so calm? Don't you care that people are disappearing?"
She didn't turn. Her voice floated back to him, flat and clear. "I care. Just not the way you want me to."
Xavier's jaw tightened. "It's like you knew. Like you knew this would happen."
Wednesday finally turned her head slightly, her dark eyes meeting his. "Perhaps I did."
Before he could snap back, a teacher at the front shouted.
Everyone rushed forward.
On the muddy bank of the stream lay a pair of shoes. Marcus's shoes. Neatly placed side by side, as though set down with care.
A wave of horror rippled through the group. A girl began sobbing. Someone muttered a prayer.
Enid clutched her chest, her breathing shallow. She couldn't stop the tears from spilling down her face. Her eyes flicked toward Wednesday, who stood still, silent, her pale face calm, unreadable.
Xavier stepped closer to her, his voice low, fierce. "You knew this, didn't you?"
Wednesday's gaze slid to him, her expression unchanged. "You give me too much credit."
"No," he said, his voice trembling with anger. "I don't give you enough."
Enid turned sharply, her eyes red with tears. "Stop it! Both of you!"
But the silence that followed was heavier than their words. Because deep down, a seed of suspicion had been planted in everyone who had seen Wednesday that day.
The Smile
By nightfall, the search ended. Marcus's body had not been found. The shoes were all that remained.
The dormitories locked down. Students huddled in groups, whispering frantically, their eyes wide, their voices trembling.
In her room, Enid curled beneath her blanket, hugging her pillow like a lifeline. She wanted to sleep, to shut out the fear, but her body wouldn't let her.
Across the room, Wednesday sat by the window, the moonlight painting her pale face in silver. Her gaze was fixed on the forest beyond.
The silence stretched, heavy and unbearable.
And then Wednesday's voice broke it—soft, almost like a lullaby.
"Two down."
Enid froze. Her blood turned cold. Slowly, she sat up, her eyes wide. "What… what did you just say?"
Wednesday turned her head. Her lips curved into a small, deliberate smile.
Not the smile of a friend.
Not even the smile of a detective.
But the smile of a predator.
And in that moment, Enid finally understood:
Wednesday Addams wasn't just connected to the darkness.
She was the darkness.