Rave'N was in full swing inside Nevermore Academy.
Every student. Every teacher. All of them indoors—dancing beneath strobing lights.
The courtyard was empty.
The iron gates stood open and unattended.
No one was keeping watch—because no one expected trouble.
After all, who would be stupid enough to wander onto Nevermore grounds at night? Normies avoided the place like a curse.
But there were always idiots who mistook fear for a challenge.
Tonight, that idiocy arrived on four wheels—in the form of a water truck.
It rolled onto the grounds slowly, headlights off, tires whispering over stone. From the outside, it looked official enough—just another piece of infrastructure no one ever questioned.
With the entire campus distracted by music and motion, there was no one left to ask why it was there.
The truck stopped near the external fire system.
The doors swung open.
Lucas jumped down first, grinning, followed closely by his lackeys. They moved with practiced confidence, fueled by spite and the thrill of being somewhere they didn't belong.
Inside the truck were large tanks filled with a thick red liquid—paint, heavily mixed, dark enough to pass for blood.
They dragged the hose out and locked it into the fire system connection. Metal clanged softly as it snapped into place.
One of the boys snickered.
"Nevermore loves drama," Lucas said. "So let's give them some."
Another spat on the ground. "Yeah. How dare they mess with the Crackstone statue."
Lucas's smile widened. "Let's turn their little dance bloody. Make them panic. Make them run."
Inside, the music was already in full swing—loud, relentless, filling every corner of the room. Lights swept across the crowd in quick pulses, flashing against white fabric and flushed faces as students danced, shouted, and lost themselves in the noise.
In the middle of it all were Enid and Ethan.
The music shifted again—lighter, louder, impossible to ignore.
Enid didn't hesitate. She grabbed Ethan's hand and pulled him back onto the floor, already moving, already smiling. She danced the way she always did—open, fearless, completely unconcerned with how she looked. Every beat found her instantly.
"See?" she said over the music. "This is the fun part."
Ethan laughed despite himself. "I'll take your word for it."
They moved together for a few moments, Enid spinning once, then twice, her hair catching the light as she laughed. She was clearly in her element, and Ethan let her set the pace, following rather than leading.
Then the song changed.
The lights dimmed.
The rhythm slowed—deliberate, uneven, almost unsettling.
Wednesday stepped in without asking.
Ethan barely had time to register her presence before she stopped directly in front of him. For a brief moment, she simply looked at him—expression unreadable, posture rigid—as if daring him to misinterpret the situation.
Then, carefully, he placed his hands at her waist.
Wednesday did not pull away.
She allowed it—nothing more.
Her movements were minimal, precise, each step measured and exact. She didn't sway; she didn't smile. But she followed the rhythm flawlessly, dark dress cutting through the sea of white like a blade through silk.
"This song," she said flatly, "is… acceptable."
Ethan raised an eyebrow, adjusting to her restrained pace. "That might be the nicest thing you've said all night."
She didn't answer. Her gaze drifted past him, over his shoulder, cataloging the room rather than acknowledging him. Still, she remained there, moving with him, letting his hands stay where they were.
That alone felt dangerous.
A moment later, Enid slipped back in beside them.
"Wow," she said brightly. "Look at us. A trio."
The next beat hit harder, and Enid laughed, catching Ethan's free hand and tugging him back into motion, her energy surging as the rhythm swelled around them.
The DJ's voice rang out over the speakers, bright and insistent.
"Yo! Almost eleven o'clockity, so haul it out on the dance floor one last time before the Rave'N says Nevermore!"
Cheers broke out as the opening beat hit.
♪ When I got you next to me ♪
The floor filled instantly. Lights flared, music surged, and Enid was already dancing—moving without hesitation, laughing as she spun into the crowd. She didn't overthink it. She never did. The rhythm caught her, and she let it.
♪ All night, I'll riot with you ♪
At the edge of the floor, Wednesday stood rigid, arms crossed, black dress stark against the sea of white. Ethan was beside her, watching Enid with mild amusement.
"She's enjoying herself," he observed.
"That is her natural state," Wednesday replied flatly. "Overenthusiastic."
As if summoned by criticism, Enid spotted them. Her face lit up.
♪ I know you got my back ♪
♪ And you know I got you ♪
Before Wednesday could retreat, Enid grabbed her wrist. "Nope. Last dance. You're not escaping."
Wednesday resisted for exactly one second—long enough to make a point—then allowed herself to be dragged onto the floor.
She moved stiffly at first, clearly unimpressed, her motions restrained and deliberate, like she was negotiating with the music rather than surrendering to it.
Ethan stayed back, watching.
Enid danced like she always did—bright, fearless, alive. Beside her, Wednesday moved with reluctant precision, dark and controlled, an anomaly among the chaos.
Ethan's gaze drifted past the dance floor.
Then he spotted the fire alarm.
And Lucas. Standing next to it. Smiling like he'd just discovered free will.
"Oh," Ethan muttered. "Of course."
He sighed, already backing away from the music. "Great. Three idiots, one alarm, and a perfectly good dance about to be ruined. Tragic."
"Guess I'd better stop this before Rave'N turns into a low-budget horror movie."
****
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