Wednesday slipped soundlessly into Rowan's room.
She sifted through drawers, overturned notebooks, and examined every spine on the shelf—yet the book from her vision remained conspicuously absent.
Her eyes drifted back to the image seared into her mind: Rowan clutching a leather-bound tome, its strange sigil glowing faintly. A bookshelf. Not his bookshelf. Somewhere else. Somewhere she hadn't yet searched.
Wednesday pivoted toward the door, ready to move on—
The knob rattled.
She dropped to the floor and slid under the bed before the sound even faded.
The door creaked open, and in came Xavier and Bianca, mid-argument, too wrapped up in themselves to notice the raven-haired girl tucked under the bed.
Bianca's voice cut through the silence first—cool, sharp, almost bored.
"Seriously, Xavier, what do you even see in her?"
Xavier sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You mean Wednesday?"
Bianca scoffed. "Who else? Tragic goth girl. Funeral-parlor fashion sense. Permanent scowl. It's not exactly subtle."
"Maybe," he muttered, "because she hasn't tried to manipulate me."
Bianca's jaw tightened. "I make one mistake, and you act like I cursed your entire bloodline."
"She treats you like crap," Bianca continued, stepping closer. "And you just… can't get enough. It's pathetic."
Xavier turned away from her, but Bianca wasn't done—not even close.
"Why are you so fixated on Wednesday? Because she thinks she's better than everyone?"
Xavier didn't argue.
Bianca rolled her eyes dramatically. "Ugh. I can't wait to crush Ophelia Hall tomorrow and watch her werewolf roommate crumble. It's going to be a Poe Cup finale worth remembering."
Xavier's tone sharpened. "I hate to think what you've got planned."
"My game already started," Bianca said, smiling that razor-thin smile of hers. "I like winning. Is that a crime?"
"And that," Xavier replied, finally meeting her gaze, "is why I broke up with you."
Bianca's smile faltered. Only barely.
"You used to love my killer instinct," she said quietly. "We were good together, Xavier."
"Were we?" he asked. "Or is that just what you wanted me to feel?"
Her eyes narrowed, wounded pride flaring. "Trust me—Wednesday Addams is not the girl of your dreams."
Her voice softened into a cold whisper.
"She's the stuff of your nightmares."
Below the bed, Wednesday allowed herself the faintest smile.
Finally, someone who understands.
But Bianca's voice quickly soured the moment. Her words weren't idle gossip; there was calculation in them, a venomous edge.
And Wednesday could hear enough to piece together the obvious—Bianca had something planned for the Poe Cup. Something underhanded. Something that would undoubtedly involve Enid.
Wednesday's eyes narrowed. Sabotaging the competition was expected behavior from Bianca Barclay, but targeting Enid?
Bianca shifted her tone then, lighter, sharper.
"And Xavier, you should give up. There's already a well-suited guy for Wednesday."
Xavier stiffened. "Who?"
Bianca's laugh was low and delightfully cruel.
"That arrogant piece of shit, Ethan. They're made for each other—both think they're above everyone else. And the moment they talk, they get even worse."
She paused in the doorway. "Honestly, they deserve each other."
Bianca left, the door clicking shut behind her.
Xavier stood there a moment, baffled. "Ethan? Him? What is she even talking about…"
Wednesday observed him from the shadows beneath the bed, expression unreadable.
Bianca's assessment was… irritating. And inaccurate. Ethan wasn't "well-suited." He was simply another anomaly—loud, inconvenient, and catastrophically overconfident. A puzzle she had not yet chosen to solve.
But Bianca's plan to sabotage Enid?
That, Wednesday would not tolerate.
Not out of affection.
Not out of friendship.
But because nothing delighted her more than dismantling someone's "carefully crafted scheme" and watching their face collapse under the weight of failure.
Bianca Barclay needed to learn that lesson.
Once Xavier finally exited Rowan's room, Wednesday slid out from beneath the bed, silent and composed.
She walked down the corridor, intent on leaving the boys' dorm—only to stop as another figure rounded the corner.
Ethan Corvin.
Carrying a take-out box.
They stared at each other, equally unimpressed by the other's existence.
"Wednesday," Ethan said, raising a brow. "You do know this is the boys' hall?"
"That didn't stop you from sneaking into Ophelia Hall three days ago," Wednesday replied dryly. "Why should I be bound by limitations you ignore?"
Ethan blinked, conceding with a shrug.
"…Fair."
He clearly had no moral high ground—he'd violated several in-school rules in one night alone.
As Wednesday moved past him, a scent drifted from the pizza box—strong, pungent, impossible to miss.
She paused.
"Is there garlic in that?"
Ethan glanced at the box. "Yeah. Garlic bread. With roasted chicken. Why? Do you like garlic or something?"
His confusion was almost endearing—in a pathetic, small-brain sort of way.
"Want some?" he offered, lifting the lid slightly.
Wednesday stared at him for a beat.
She said nothing.
She simply turned on her heel and walked away.
*****
A/N: The Patreon version is already updated to Chapter 33, so if you'd like to read ahead of the public release schedule, you can join my Patreon
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