The lunch bell rang through the corridors, its echo rolling like a sigh through the stone halls. The morning's edge dulled into something heavier, like fatigue wrapped in silence. Thorn made her way toward the dining hall out of muscle memory, her hands buried deep in her cloak pockets. Her mind still churned with the echo of Maren's voice, the measured tone of someone trying not to say monster out loud. Like she was some half-feral thing the academy had agreed, for now, to not put down.
She pushed open the heavy oak doors. The noise hit first: clattering trays, laughter pitched too high to be real, the scrape of chairs, and the hum of tension trying to disguise itself as routine. The students were clawing for normalcy after the wolf attack. Eyes turned, flicked toward her, then away just as quickly.
Thorn scanned the room once and spotted him immediately. Xavier, standing awkwardly near the northern entrance, sketchbook tucked under his arm like a shield. He hovered by the doorway as if waiting for permission to exist there.
Thorn's lips twitched, amusement cutting through the fog of irritation that had been hanging over her all morning. "You're not an injured deer," she said dryly as she approached, "you can actually walk into the room."
That earned her a small, sheepish huff of a laugh. Half relief, and half disbelief.
Before he could answer, a voice cut through the noise. "Hey! Good, you're here!"
Pippa came barreling toward them, braid slipping loose, cheeks pink from the effort. She looked like she'd run halfway across campus, papers still clutched in one hand. She stopped in front of Thorn, panting a little, and then blinked when she noticed Xavier.
"Oh," she said, smile flickering with uncertainty before settling into something bright but cautious. "And you're… also here."
"Yeah," Thorn said, deadpan. "He does that sometimes."
Pippa rolled her eyes, already grabbing Thorn's sleeve to steer her toward the lunch line. "Well, come on. The table's Switzerland today. No drama, no hexes, just carbs."
Thorn shot her a look. "We're literally in Switzerland, Pippa."
"Exactly," Pippa said, undeterred. "Neutral territory."
Behind them, Xavier hesitated only a second before following, the smell of bread and iron and old magic curling through the air as they all grabbed their lunches and headed straight for their usual table.
Thorn and Pippa slid in side by side, the comfort of routine anchoring them in a place that had started to feel less and less stable. Xavier sat across from them, sketchbook placed on the table like a fourth presence, closed but never far from reach.
Thorn tore open the plastic-wrapped straw with her teeth and stabbed it cleanly into the blood pouch. "Any news on Danny?" she asked, voice quieter than usual.
Pippa's expression faltered. She poked at her food, the motion fidgety.
"Not really," she admitted. "I get a text every once in a while when Danny's awake enough to send one, but it's usually just a 'hey,' or 'still here.' They're keeping him sedated most of the time."
Xavier looked up from his plate, his spoonful of unseasoned mashed potatoes halfway to his mouth. "You think the school called his parents?"
Pippa blinked, startled by the question. "I mean, they must've, right? They'd have to."
Thorn's laugh came short, humorless. "Right," she said, leaning back in her chair. "Because Reichenbach's known for its honesty."
Pippa frowned, chewing on her lip. "You really think they wouldn't?"
Xavier's gaze met Thorn's across the table, an unspoken understanding passing between them. They didn't have to say it out loud; they both knew exactly how much the academy preferred its secrets neat and silent.
"Yeah," Thorn said finally, swirling the pouch absently in her hand. "I'm sure they called."
But her tone made it sound like the biggest lie in the room.
Thorn lifted the pouch and took a long pull. Warmth rushed to her tongue, and her throat closed.
It wasn't dramatic at first. A pinch, a catch.
Then a pull.
The warmth flipped to heat, to burn, to a crawling itch in Thorn's sinuses that detonated into fire. Thorn's eyes watered instantly. The metal tang warped into something acrid and wrong.
Her body knew it before she did.
She coughed, hard. The straw slipped from her mouth, crimson splashing into the crook of her elbow. She drew breath and got a threadbare scrap of air for it, a ragged sound that made Pippa's chair scrape back so fast it shrieked.
"Thorn?" Pippa's voice spiked, sharp with panic. "Thorn! Hey, look at me—"
Xavier didn't think. He was already up, chair scraping back, the world narrowing to the sound of her choking. He was already around the table, the pouch in his hand.
He brought it to his nose.
There. Ghost-soft but real: garlic oil.
A smear on a glove, a knife, a seal, just enough to kill someone like her.
"For fuck's sake…" His stomach dropped.
"Garlic," he said, louder now, voice cutting through the room's static chatter. "It's garlic!"
Thorn's pupils had blown wide, swallowing the green from her irises. Her breaths came in stuttering, shallow pulls that didn't reach her lungs. Her hands clawed for the edge of the table, trembling violently. The grey spreading under her skin looked wrong. Too fast, too deep.
"Thorn. Hey... hey, stay with me."
Her lips parted, but only a rasp came out, like her throat had turned to glass.
She swayed once.
Then folded.
Xavier lunged, catching her before she hit the stone. Her body was ice-cold in his arms, unnaturally heavy. He could feel the tremor running through her, like the aftershock of the resonance had burrowed beneath her skin and was now trying to crawl out.
"We'regoing to the infirmary," he said, though it came out more like a command to the universe than a plan.
Pippa was already on the other side, tiny but fierce, hands shaking as she cleared the way. "Excuse me! Move! Official business! She's allergic to your damn menu!"
Students scattered, some from the authority in her tone, most from the look on Thorn's face.
By the time they hit the central aisle, Thorn's knees buckled again, her body collapsing under its own weight. Xavier didn't think; he couldn't. He hooked his other arm beneath her legs and lifted.
A cradle carry. Desperate. Clumsy. Necessary.
Her head lolled against his shoulder, hair sticking to her sweat-damp skin. He could feel the faint, stuttering pulse in her neck against his collarbone. Weak, but there.
"Come on," he whispered under his breath, tightening his hold. "Don't do this to me."
The staff saw them halfway across the hall. Someone shouted for the nurse. Doors slammed open, the cold from the corridor hitting them like a slap.
Thorn barely stirred. The faintest sound escaped her, not a word. Just a soft, fractured noise. Her hand twitched once, then went still against his chest.
Xavier didn't stop moving. He didn't care that the floor blurred under him or that his arms shook with the effort of keeping her up.
He just ran.
The infirmary doors banged open, the sound echoing down the tiled corridor.
"Over here!" one of the nurses shouted, rushing from the room where the wolves from earlier had been taken. The moment she saw Thorn, her expression snapped from confusion to command. "Room three. move, move!"
Xavier laid Thorn down on the narrow cot, careful but quick. Her skin had gone nearly translucent, every vein standing out like faint blue ink. Her chest hitched shallowly, air wheezing in and out through a throat that barely seemed to move.
Two nurses descended instantly, efficient in their chaos. One checked her pulse with trembling fingers, while the other pulled open a drawer, scattering gauze, tubing, and vials across a metal tray. The smell of antiseptic hit like a wall.
"Blood contamination," the first nurse muttered, snapping on gloves. "Type match?"
"Half-vampiric, Half-Psychic." Pippa stammered, voice cracking. "I-it was garlic. Someone put garlic in the supply..."
"We know," the nurse said gently but firmly. "Step back, sweetheart. Let us work."
Xavier didn't move. He couldn't.
They slid an oxygen mask over Thorn's face, the plastic fogging with each ragged breath she managed. An IV line went in next. One nurse bracing Thorn's arm, the other sliding the needle home with the kind of practiced calm that only came from too many emergencies. Another cold bag of blood followed, clear tubing snaking down like a lifeline.
"Her body temperature's dropping. Get a heat wrap," one barked.
"She's still responding," the other countered, pressing a hand to Thorn's sternum. "Weak pulse, but it's there."
Pippa stood at the foot of the bed, eyes wide and glistening. "Please tell me we got her here in time," she whispered. Her voice cracked halfway through the sentence.
No one answered.
The nurses moved too fast to appear comfortable, let alone reassuring. Machines beeped. A blood bag hissed softly as it drained. Thorn's fingers twitched once against the sheet, then stilled.
Xavier's hand hovered over hers, hesitant, unsure if he should touch her. His throat burned with the metallic tang that still clung to her skin. He'd seen enough near-death looks before, but this was different.
She didn't look broken.
She looked gone, somewherefar away.
Pippa's breath hitched beside him. "She's gonna be okay, right?" she said, not really asking him. "She has to be."
The older nurse looked up briefly, her voice steady but quiet. "You did the right thing bringing her here. She's strong. That helps."
Strong.
Xavier swallowed hard and nodded, though the word didn't sound like comfort. He finally sat down beside the bed, elbows on his knees, eyes locked on Thorn's unmoving hand.
Pippa wiped her face, still shaking, her voice small. "You don't think this was an accident, do you? I mean—"her voice lowered with suspicion.
"No one else is having this allergic reaction."
Xavier didn't look away from Thorn when he answered.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "I know."
The infirmary had been silent for hours. The nurses had brought their attention to the wolves in the room over now that Thorn was stable.
Only the soft pulse of the heart monitor broke the quiet, its rhythm steady but faint, like a distant metronome keeping time with the dark.
The overhead lights had long since dimmed to a muted amber, painting everything in tired gold. The other beds were empty now, curtains drawn back, the smell of antiseptic and iron settling into the air like fog.
Xavier hadn't moved in hours. He sat in the hard chair beside Thorn's bed, elbows on his knees, fingers interlaced in front of his mouth. His sketchbook lay closed on the floor beside him, smudged with graphite and something darker.
Pippa had dozed off twice in the chair opposite, chin dropping against her chest each time, jerking awake only to check that Thorn was still breathing. When she stirred again, Xavier spoke softly.
"Go get some sleep," he said, voice rough from disuse.
Pippa blinked at him, dazed. "I'm fine."
"You're not. You've been here for hours."
"So have you."
"Yeah," he said with a faint shrug. "But you have had enough on your plate already with Danny. I'll stay."
Pippa hesitated, eyes flicking to Thorn's pale face. The IV, the oxygen mask, the faint tremor in her fingers, even in sleep. Finally, she nodded, standing with a quiet sniff.
"Text me if anything changes," she said, the words brittle.
"I will."
She lingered a heartbeat longer, then slipped out the door, leaving only the hum of the fluorescent lights and the faint rustle of night pressing against the windows.
Xavier exhaled slowly, leaning back in the chair. His whole body ached, his eyes grainy from exhaustion, but he didn't trust the silence enough to close them. Not yet.
He rubbed at the back of his neck, staring at the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of Thorn's chest.
For the first time since the chaos, she looked… fragile. The sharpness she carried, that constant readiness to bite back, had been stripped away, leaving something quieter beneath it. Something human.
He glanced at the clock. 2:47 a.m.
He almost didn't notice the first twitch. Thorn's fingers were curling slightly against the sheets, a subtle shift that made him sit up straighter. Then another, the faintest groan escaping her lips.
"Thorn?" he whispered.
Her brow furrowed, breath hitching as she tried to move. When her eyes finally opened, they were unfocused, glassy, gold washed to amber under the low light.
"Hey," he said quietly, relief slipping into his tone before he could hide it. "You're okay. You're safe."
She blinked slowly, then frowned at him, her voice a rasp. "That's… debatable."
The silence stretched between them again, heavier now but honest.
Xavier leaned back, studying her face. The pallor, the dark circles, the stubborn defiance that somehow made it through anyway. "You should rest," he said softly. "You're not invincible."
Her eyes drifted shut again, the ghost of a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Oh no," she started sarcastically.
"Don't tell the others. I've got a reputation to maintain."
He huffed, the smallest smile breaking through. "Yeah, wouldn't want to ruin that."
For a long while, neither of them spoke. The monitors ticked quietly, the world outside still and cold.
Xavier leaned his head back against the wall, eyelids heavy, and for the first time in two days, the air around them didn't hum with dread. Just the quiet, steady rhythm of someone who'd made it through the night.
"Where's Pippa?" she asked.
"I just convinced her to go back to the dorms. I should probably text her that you're awake,"
"Probably," Thorn groaned, shifting just enough to see him better. Xavier was already bent over his phone, thumbs moving fast, the faint blue light painting his face as he typed out a message to Pippa letting her know she was awake.
"She's probably asleep already," Xavier said softly, Thorn scoffing.
"You should go too, get some rest."
"Yeah, that's not going to happen."
His tone was final, quiet in a way that didn't invite argument. He didn't look at her when he said it. He just stared at the floor, hands clasped between his knees like he was holding something together.
Thorn's brow furrowed faintly. "You're an idiot," she murmured.
"Probably."
Silence again. The clock ticked. The lights buzzed faintly in their sockets, the sound almost hypnotic.
She shifted, wincing as she tried to sit up a little. The movement pulled at the IV line, and Xavier immediately straightened, one hand lifting in reflex.
"Don't—"
"I'm fine," she said, but her voice was thinner than she meant it to be.
He didn't argue; he just adjusted the pillow behind her so she wouldn't have to.
His touch was careful, practical, but she felt the steadiness in it. The warmth of someone who hadn't left her side for hours.
"Your version of 'fine' needs serious revision," he muttered.
Thorn huffed out something close to a laugh, though it cracked halfway through. "Yours too. You look like hell."
"Thanks."
"You're welcome."
Her eyes drifted over him. His wrinkled shirt, the smudged charcoal still faintly on his fingers, the tired set of his jaw. There was a kind of gravity in him she hadn't noticed before, something older than he should've been carrying.
"Why are you still here?" she asked finally. "I'm not exactly great company."
He shrugged. "Didn't feel right leaving."
"That's not an answer."
He rubbed at the bridge of his nose, the faintest smile tugging at his mouth. "Yeah, well. I'm not sure I have a better one."
The quiet settled again, heavy but not uncomfortable. Thorn's eyes softened as she studied him in the low light. The way exhaustion had dulled his edges, the way he still hadn't stopped watching the door, like something else might crawl through it.
"It wasn't an accident, Xavier..." she said softly, looking up at the boy who was still sitting next to her bed.
"I know."
"I think I know who did it."
"What?" Xavier's brows furrowed, his body moving closer to her. "Who?"
Thorn exhaled slowly, a faint, humorless laugh slipping out. "Marcellus."
Xavier blinked, disbelief flashing and then fading, because deep down, it made too much sense.
"I heard him," she continued, voice low.
"Yesterday. Told one of his little friends to 'keep Thorpe distracted.' Guess poisoning the vampire was part of the plan." She gave a dry, bitter chuckle and leaned her head back against the pillow, her voice rasping as she added,
"Consider Thorpe distracted."
Xavier's jaw tightened. He shook his head once, a sharp, controlled motion. "That son of a—"
"Don't," she interrupted softly, her eyelids heavy but her tone steady.
"He's not worth it."
"He tried to kill you," Xavier said, his voice low but vibrating with quiet anger. "That's more than worth it."
Thorn's lips quirked in something that might've been a smirk, but it didn't reach her eyes.
"Please, it'll take more than just some garlic to kill me."
He didn't laugh. He just stared at Thorn. The IV line taped to her arm, the blood drying faintly at the corner of her wrist, the slight tremor she couldn't quite hide when she shifted against the sheets.
"You could've died," he said quietly.
She looked at him again, and for a second, all the sharpness fell away. "Yeah, well, it wouldn't be the first time," she murmured.
Xavier's expression shifted, something pained and careful in his eyes. He wanted to ask. He didn't.
"Not tonight," she whispered, like she could feel the question coming.
"Fine," he said, his voice rough. "Tomorrow, then."
That earned him a faint huff of laughter, almost inaudible. "You're assuming there'll still be a tomorrow," Thorn muttered, eyes slipping shut.
"There will be," he said simply.
Thorn's breathing slowed, evening out into something steady but fragile.
The kind of exhaustion that came from too much pain, too much magic, too many nights like this one.
Xavier stayed where he was, elbows on his knees, eyes tracing the faint pulse in her wrist where the IV met her skin.
When he finally spoke again, it was barely more than a whisper. "He won't get away with it."
Thorn didn't answer, not right away. The faintest flicker of a smile ghosted across her lips before it disappeared again, swallowed by the sterile quiet of the infirmary. The monitor kept ticking beside her bed, steady and soft.
After a long pause, her voice broke the stillness. It was low, quiet, but not weak.
"Tell me about Nevermore."
Xavier blinked, caught off guard. He lifted his head slowly, like he wasn't sure he'd heard her right. "What?"
She didn't open her eyes, but the faint lift of her brow said enough. "You mentioned your friend. The one who set you up." Her voice was careful, not prying, just steady. "I want to know what happened. Maybe it can take me away from this shitty place for a bit."
For a moment, Xavier just stared at the floor. His thumb brushed absently over the edge of his sketchbook lying on the nightstand beside him, graphite still smudged into the grooves of his fingertips.
"I shouldn't," he muttered, mostly to himself. But the fight in his tone had gone flat. The exhaustion cracked open something that anger usually kept shut.
Thorn didn't say anything. She just waited, patient in the dark, the kind of stillness that felt like permission.
He leaned back in the chair, his voice barely above a whisper. "Her name was Wednesday. Wednesday Addams."
Thorn cracked one eye open at that, lips twitching faintly. "That's… a hell of a name."
"Rich coming from a vampire named Thorn," Xavier said, a humorless laugh catching in his throat.
"Fair enough."
"She was… different. Smart, sharp, impossible to ignore. Everyone else was terrified of her, but I thought she was—" Xavier stopped, searching for the word. "—real."
The word landed heavier than it should have, but Thorn didn't interrupt.
"She showed up at Nevermore and somehow managed to make everything orbit around her within a week; my ex-girlfriend couldn't stand it." Xavier continued, rubbing a hand over his face. "I wanted to help her, you know? She thought someone was killing people in the woods, and yeah, she wasn't wrong, but she didn't trust anyone. She even looked at me like I was part of the problem."
Thorn's gaze softened. "Were you?"
He shook his head slowly. "No. But it didn't matter. She found… 'evidence' in my shed. My sketches of the visions I was having, the drawings I couldn't stop making. She thought it proved I was the monster." His jaw tightened. "She turned it in to the police."
Thorn's breath caught softly, but she didn't speak.
"I don't think she meant to ruin my life," Xavier said after a moment, his voice quieter now, fraying at the edges. "She just... she wanted to be right more than she wanted to be careful. She planted the rest of the evidence in my shed, and the cops dragged me out in front of everyone. My father pulled me out the second they dropped the charges. Said I was embarrassing the family name."
The silence that followed was suffocating. The steady pulse of the monitor seemed louder in its stead.
Thorn's fingers shifted slightly against the blanket, like she was fighting the urge to reach out. "And you never talked to her again?" she asked.
Xavier hesitated, his throat working before he answered. "I gave her a phone before the end of the semester. We texted once."
Thorn's eyes opened fully now. "What did Wednesday say?"
He let out a slow, tired breath, his eyes unfocused. "That she was right in her assumptions, and there are no feelings in the truth."
Thorn frowned, sitting up a little despite the IV. "That's… cold."
"Yeah." His voice cracked slightly. "It was."
She studied him for a long moment, her gaze tracing the faint dark circles under his eyes, the raw honesty he hadn't meant to let slip. "You clearly cared about her," she said softly.
He didn't deny it. "Yeah," he admitted, voice barely audible. "I did. More than she ever deserved, probably."
Neither of them said anything after that. The silence between them wasn't empty, though; it was heavy with understanding.
Thorn's voice broke it gently. "Did you, you know, like her?"
Xavier nodded once, his jaw tightening. "Yeah, it was dumb, I know. I only seemed to get her attention when she thought I was the monster, but it was the most attention I had ever gotten."
Thorn exhaled through her nose, leaning her head back against the pillow. "Sounds pathetic,"
Xavier's voice was quiet, but there was no bitterness in it, just the dull ache of something old and unresolved. "It was," he said, staring down at his hands. "I thought if I could just prove myself to her. Prove that I was on her side, then maybe she'd… I don't know." He gave a small, humorless laugh. "Maybe she'd finally see me."
Thorn's lips twitched, not with mockery but with something that might've been sympathy, though she'd never admit it. "And did she?"
He hesitated. The silence stretched long enough to start hurting. "For a second," he said finally. "She came down to the station after they arrested me. She didn't say much, just that she knew it wasn't me. But then she looked at me… like she finally understood what she'd done."
The quiet that followed wasn't awkward; it was heavy. Like the air itself had settled around the truth of it.
Thorn's eyes traced his face and the shadows under his eyes. She noticed the way his shoulders still curled inward, carrying the weight of a place he'd escaped but never really left.
"And the worst part is," His voice cracked faintly on the words. "I still don't blame her for it."
Thorn frowned at that, her gaze sharpening. "You should."
He looked up, surprised.
"She hurt you," Thorn continued, her tone steady but fierce in that quiet way of hers. "Doesn't matter if she meant to or not. Intent doesn't erase the damage."
Xavier met her eyes, and for the first time, he didn't look like he was bracing for judgment. But he finally felt seen.
A corner of his mouth lifted, tired but real. "You're terrible at comfort."
"Not trying to be comforting," Thorn replied, sinking deeper into the pillow. "Just honest."
"That's worse."
"Probably." The faintest smile tugged at her mouth, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. She studied Xavier again, the boy who sat there with graphite still under his fingernails and a thousand untold stories written in the lines of his face.
"You still miss her," Thorn said quietly.
He didn't flinch. Didn't deny it. He just nodded once. "Sometimes," he admitted. "Not who she was, exactly. Just… who I thought she was."
Thorn looked away, her throat tight for reasons she didn't want to examine. "Yeah," she murmured. "I get that."
The monitor ticked softly beside them. Outside, rain tapped the windows in slow, rhythmic drips. The candle on the far table guttered low, flickering weakly against the sterile light.
When Xavier finally spoke again, his voice was low, almost lost in the hum of the machines. "I didn't tell you that because I wanted you to feel bad for me."
"I don't," Thorn said immediately, but her voice was gentler than before.
"I just… get it. What it's like when someone takes a piece of you and doesn't give it back."
Xavier's eyes lifted to hers, something quiet and raw passing between them. For the first time that night, neither looked away.
Thorn's voice softened to almost a whisper. "You deserved better, Xavier."
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. But the silence between them wasn't empty this time; it felt like recognition.