ELLE

Calloway’s voice still echoes in my ribs when the bell releases us. Weakness is always remembered. Luke doesn’t give me time to spiral on it, his hand finds mine, firm and certain, and before I can protest, he’s tugging me toward the courtyard. He doesn’t ask if I want to talk. He doesn’t ask if I’m okay. He just mutters, “Cocoa,” like it’s the only cure in the world, and suddenly we’re leaving Ravenshade’s black-stone shadow for the fog-draped lane that winds into Moonhollow.

The air outside is damp and sharp, mist curling low over the cobblestones. My scarf sticks to my skin, still carrying the phantom weight of Calloway’s stare, but Luke’s stride is easy, almost reckless, like walking straight out of the academy and into town isn’t breaking a dozen rules.

“Luke..!” I hiss as we pass the outer gate, the iron hinges groaning behind us. “If a prefect sees..”

“They won’t.” He squeezes my hand once before letting go, his grin flashing through the fog. “Besides, you need cocoa more than they need to catch us. Trust me.”

“Cocoa isn’t going to fix..”

“Yes, it will,” he cuts in, confident in that stubborn way only Luke Hart can be. “Chocolate fixes everything. That’s a universal truth.”

I want to argue, but the words tangle in my throat. He’s always been like this: dragging me toward warmth before I can vanish into the cold. And I’m so tired of pretending Calloway’s eyes didn’t feel like knives tracing over secrets I can’t even admit aloud.

Moonhollow is quieter than Ravenshade. Lamps pool soft gold onto the fog. The cobblestones shine damp beneath our steps. When the wooden sign of the Spiral Café comes into view, etched with looping letters and a painted cup steaming endlessly. I almost sag with relief.

Luke pushes open the door, and warmth greets us instantly: the smell of cinnamon, the low murmur of townsfolk, the clink of porcelain. It’s almost too much. Too safe. My lungs stutter trying to remember what safety feels like.

“See?” he says, steering me toward the corner booth like he owns the place. “Normal. No frost, no whispers, no creepy history teacher glaring like he knows your diary entries.”

Despite myself, a laugh slips out, small, brittle, but real.

Luke’s smile softens, triumphant but gentle. “There it is. That’s the sound I was aiming for.”

Luke orders without asking, because of course he knows what I want. Two cocoas, extra marshmallows, one cinnamon stick split between them. It’s embarrassing how much comfort I take in that small familiarity.

The barista sets the mugs down with a smile that lingers too long on me. Like half the town, he knows my name even when I don’t tell it. Wrenwood. It hangs in the air unsaid, like smoke no one bothers to wave away.

Luke notices. His hand shifts closer on the table, not touching mine but close enough that the heat of him seeps across the wood. “Ignore them,” he murmurs.

Easy for him. People look at Luke and see everything good, warmth, loyalty, boy-next-door smiles. People look at me and see frost spirals and tragedy.

I wrap both hands around my mug anyway, because warmth is warmth, no matter how borrowed. The cocoa smells rich, and steam curls into my scarf like it’s trying to coax me out of hiding.

Luke leans forward, elbows braced on the table. His eyes catch the lamplight, honey-brown with that reckless sincerity that has always been my undoing. “Elle… you don’t have to carry it all alone. Not with me here.”

My pulse trips. He doesn’t mean it as a confession, but it lands like one.

The café hums around us, clinking spoons, soft chatter, the scrape of chairs, but none of it feels real compared to the space between us. His hand edges closer, brushing against mine, a single touch that sparks too sharp for something so ordinary.

I should pull back. I don’t.

Luke’s breath ghosts the steam rising from his mug as he leans in, slow enough I could stop him, careful enough it feels like a question. The world narrows to his face, his crooked grin softened into something tentative, the freckles across his nose, the faint scar on his chin from the time he fell off Nan’s fence.

The scarf at my throat suddenly feels too tight. My lips part before I think better of it.

One more inch. Just one more..

The bell over the café door jingles.

I flinch, the spell breaking.

Luke curses under his breath, frustration flickering across his face, but doesn’t move away.

Not yet.

The bell’s jingle feels louder than it should, slicing through the hum of the café. My stomach knots even before I look.

Anya Lark.

Of course.

Her hair gleams under the café lights, every strand intentional, her smile polished sharp enough to cut. She sweeps the room like she owns it, and when her gaze lands on Luke.. on us, her expression flickers, satisfaction wrapped in sugar.

“Luke.” Her voice carries, bright enough to make heads turn. “Didn’t expect to see you here. Or…” Her eyes slide to me, slow and dismissive. “…her.”

Heat crawls up my neck. Luke stiffens, shoulders squared like he’s ready to shield me from words alone.

“Hi, Anya,” he says flatly, not offering more.

She ignores his tone, stepping closer to our booth. “This is cozy,” she adds, her smile tilting like she’s in on some joke we’re too slow to catch. “Sneaking off campus together. Very… couple-ish.”

My grip tightens on my mug. The words are bait, and she knows exactly what she’s doing, feeding the rumor mill before the story even hits the academy dining hall.

Luke leans forward, voice low but firm. “Go find another table.”

“Why?” Her laugh is light, practiced. “I wouldn’t want to intrude on your, what is this?” Her gaze flicks deliberately between us. “A study date? Or something less innocent?”

Something in her tone makes my cheeks burn hotter than the cocoa. I want to tell her to go, to mind her own business, but my throat closes. She’s always been good at this, knowing exactly where to cut.

Luke exhales sharply, pushing his chair back a fraction. “Enough, Anya.”

Her smile falters, but only for a heartbeat. She tilts her head toward me, eyes glinting. “Careful, Elle. Not every story ends the way you think it will.”

The words sting more than I want them to. She knows it too. With a satisfied smirk, she finally drifts away, leaving the booth heavy with silence.

Luke mutters something under his breath about Anya that makes me almost smile, but the tension she leaves behind clings like smoke. I stare into my cocoa, trying to ground myself in the swirl of melted marshmallows.

That’s when I see it.

The foam ripples, just slightly, too slightly and pale lines begin to trace across the porcelain. At first I think it’s a trick of the candlelight, but then the lines curve into patterns. Spirals.

No. Not here. Not now.

I blink hard, willing it away. But the spirals keep forming, delicate frost blooming over the cup’s surface, creeping outward like veins of ice. My fingers go cold around the ceramic.

“Elle?” Luke leans forward, his hand hovering just above mine. “You’re pale. What’s wrong?”

I can’t answer. The patterns are too familiar, etched in mirrors, whispered through my scarf, carved into the academy’s stone. Whatever this is, it’s following me, even here, in the one place Luke swore was normal.”

I press my thumb against the rim, desperate to stop the trembling. The porcelain hums under my touch, faint but alive.

“Elle.. let go,” Luke urges, his voice low, worried.

But I can’t. My fingers won’t release. It feels like the spiral wants me to hold on, like it’s anchoring itself through me. The warmth of the cocoa vanishes, swallowed by a deeper chill that seeps into my skin.

The spiral sharpens. The hum grows. And then—

Crack.

The sound is sharp enough to silence the entire café. My cup splits down the middle, cocoa spilling across the table in a rush of heat that hisses as frost races to meet it. White lace creeps across the wood, threading outward in jagged veins.

Gasps ripple through the room. Someone drops a spoon. Anya, halfway to her table, freezes mid-step, her smile collapsing.

Luke grabs my wrist, trying to pull me free, but the chill has already spread up my arm.

And in the heart of the crack, the frost spirals glow faintly blue, like an eye opening.