E L L E

Fog curls around the black-iron gates as the academy shuttle bus hisses to a stop. Ravenshade Academy looms beyond, its towers jagged against the gray sky. Black stone walls rise like cliffs, slick with mist, ivy twisting like veins up the battlements. Every window glows faintly with candlelight, too dim and too many, like watchful eyes staring down at us. Gargoyles crouch along the ledges, jaws cracked, wings hunched as though they could launch themselves at any moment.

The gates creak wider. Their groan echoes across the courtyard and makes the hair at the back of my neck lift. Ravenshade doesn’t welcome. It swallows.

The bus doors fold open, releasing a rush of damp air. Students spill out, dragging suitcases across cobblestones, voices high with nerves and excitement. Laughter, the beep of a phone, earbuds dangling from pockets—little sparks of normal life that don’t belong here.

I tug my scarf tighter. The only thing that still smells faintly of lavender and smoke. My mother’s scarf. It scratches against my chin, grounding me as I step down into the mist.

And already, the whispers start.

“That’s her, isn’t it?” a boy mutters, hauling his duffel higher.
“The Wrenwood girl. I heard she’s cursed.”
“No wonder her parents died. Probably runs in the family.”

A girl’s laugh follows, sharp as broken glass. “Headmistress Draven must be desperate if she lets her in.”

Heat prickles across my face, but I keep my chin up. Pretend I don’t hear them. Pretend the words don’t dig into my ribs like splinters.

A bell tolls somewhere above, deep and strange. Fog curls low across the courtyard, clinging to my shoes. My breath leaves in a pale cloud. Too visible. Too cold.

Students shift aside as I walk through the gates, some staring outright, others whispering the moment I pass. They can pretend they’re just curious, but I know better.

Wrenwood. Cursed name. Cursed blood.

I grip the handle of my suitcase tighter. I won’t give them the satisfaction of seeing me falter. Not here. Not on the very first step inside Ravenshade.

A voice cuts through the whispers, warm and familiar.

“Elle!”

I freeze, my grip tightening. Then I see him. Luke, jogging across the courtyard, hoodie hood shoved back, hair sticking up like always, grin brighter than the sky overhead.

Relief rushes through me so fast it steals my breath. He looks exactly the same as when we used to meet by Nan’s cottage fence in Moonhollow. Except now, everyone’s staring at him too—because he’s smiling at me.

Before I can argue, he grabs my suitcase handle. “Let me.”

“You don’t have to,” I murmur, trying not to sound as grateful as I feel.

“Yeah, I do.” His grin widens, daring anyone to disagree.

The whispers shift again:
Why’s Luke Veyra helping her?
Maybe he pities her.
She doesn’t deserve him.

Heat creeps up my neck, but Luke steps closer, shoulders squared, cutting off half their view.

“You didn’t tell me you were here already,” I say, my voice steadier now.

“Wanted to surprise you.” He winks, easy and warm, like this is just another day.

I almost smile. Almost.

We cross the courtyard together, his stride loose, mine a little too quick. Luke points out the dining hall doors, the dorm halls, Headmistress Draven’s office up the stairs. He jokes that the gargoyles look ready to eat freshmen for breakfast. He’s trying to distract me. It almost works.

Almost.

My steps slow as the east wing rises into view.

It doesn’t look like the rest of Ravenshade. Windows boarded, ivy blackened and thick, cracks splitting the stone. Even the gargoyles here look sharper, crueler, wings curled like claws.

Something shifts inside me.

“Elowen…”

The whisper is faint, almost swallowed by suitcase wheels and student chatter. But it’s there. My name, soft as fog.

I stopped  cold. My suitcase handle rattles in Luke’s grip as he keeps walking.

“What is it?” he asks, glancing back.

I can’t drag my eyes away from the east wing. My breath escapes in a pale white cloud, too sharp against the air. “Did you hear that?”

He frowns, listening. Laughter, footsteps, another bell toll. That’s all.

“No,” he says carefully. “What did you hear?”

The whisper slides under my skin again. Elowen.

My pulse stutters. “It’s… nothing. Just, first day nerves.”

Luke studies me for a moment too long. He steps closer, voice low. “Elle, you don’t have to pretend with me. If something’s wrong..”

“I’m fine.” The words come too fast, too sharp. I force a smile. “Just nerves.”

He doesn’t look convinced, but he shifts my suitcase to his other hand. His jaw stays tight, shoulders tense, like he’s ready to punch the shadows themselves.

We keep walking, but I feel it, the east wing watching. Waiting.

The whisper lingers in my ears long after we leave its shadow behind.

The dorm corridors are crowded, echoing with laughter and rolling wheels. Students push past in clumps, claiming lockers, calling dibs on bunks like it’s summer camp instead of a haunted castle disguised as a school.

Luke leads me toward the east dorms, suitcase bumping against his leg. I’m trying to focus on the noise, the light, anything normal. But something keeps tugging at me, sharp as a thread hooked under my ribs.

We pass rows of lockers, their numbers gleaming in the dim light. 234. 235. 236.

My steps falter.

The number pulses in my chest like a heartbeat. I freeze, staring at it. The metal looks ordinary—scuffed, a little dented, paint chipped at the edges—but I can feel it humming, like a low note only I can hear.

“Elle?” Luke’s voice is a distant thing. He keeps walking until he realizes I’m not moving.

I take a step closer without meaning to. My palm lifts, trembling, hovering inches from the cold steel.

The whisper brushes against my ear again. Elowen.

My breath catches. My fingers almost touch the metal—

BANG.

The locker door slams shut, so hard the entire row rattles. A sharp metallic echo rolls down the corridor, swallowing every other sound.

I stumble back, heart hammering in my chest.

A girl down the hall gasps. “Did you see that?”

Another mutters, “The locker moved by itself.”

Luke drops my suitcase and grabs my arm. “Elle! What happened?” His eyes darted from me to the locker, then back again.

My throat is too tight to speak. I can still feel the hum, the whisper, the cold threading under my skin.

“I don’t…” My voice cracks. “I don’t know.”

But I do know.

Locker 237 knows me.

And it just said hello.