E L L E

By the time I reach the dorms, the frost still hasn’t left my fingers.
The hallways hum with gossip that snatches of Luke’s name, mine, the poem, but it all blurs together. Every shadow looks too deep. Every whisper sounds like my own name. I keep telling myself it’s nothing, that I imagined the frost writing, but the image won’t leave. Not him.
I shove my notebook under my pillow, pull my scarf tighter, and tell myself I’ll sleep.
I don’t.

The dorm corridors are half-dark, the lamps burning low. A few girls whisper near the stairwell, their laughter soft and mean. When I pass, they are quiet. Someone mutters a witch under her breath. I pretend not to hear. My pulse still hasn’t settled.

I’m almost to my room when someone speaks behind me.
“Wrenwood.”

I jump, spinning toward the sound.

Rowan Dey stands half in shadow, one hand gripping the stair rail. His pale eyes catch the lamplight, too bright in the gloom. “Sorry,” he says quickly. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t.” I lie badly. “It’s late.”

“I know.” He glances down the corridor, voice lowering. “I needed to warn you.”

Something in his tone tightens my chest. “Warn me about what?”

He hesitates, the way people do when they’re deciding if you’ll believe them. “There were … shadows. Moving around your room. Not from the candles. They looked, wrong. Like they were watching.”

I stare at him. “That’s ridiculous.”

“I thought so too,” he says quietly. “Until one of them looked back.”

A chill crawls down my spine. “You saw eyes?”

“Not exactly. More like light bending where it shouldn’t.” He rakes a hand through his hair, shaking his head. “Just … keep your window covered tonight, okay? And don’t go near that locker wing again.”

The way he says it, certain and frightened, makes my heart trip. “You’ve been in the east wing?”

He looks away. “I hear things, that’s all.”

The silence between us stretches, heavy with things neither of us will admit. Rowan’s always been the quiet one, the watcher from the back of the room. Hearing fear in his voice unnerves me more than any whisper could.

Footsteps echo down the hall. Luke’s voice cuts through the dim. “Elle?”

Rowan straightens immediately, guilt flashing across his face. “I should go.”

Before I can answer, he’s already slipping into the stairwell shadows.

Luke appears a heartbeat later, hoodie unzipped, hair damp from the courtyard rain. His eyes flick toward the stairs. “What did he want?”

“Nothing,” I say too fast. “He was just, leaving.”

Luke frowns. “You sure he wasn’t bothering you?”

“No.” I force a small smile. “You don’t have to play guard dog, Luke.”

He huffs, half-smile returning. “Someone has to.”

The warmth in his tone softens the fear, just a little. But when he reaches out and tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear, the air between us tightens. His fingers linger a moment too long. I forget how to breathe.

Then the corridor light flickers.

A shadow stretches across the floor, longer than either of ours, curling toward my door.

Luke’s hand finds mine before I can move. His thumb brushes across my knuckles, grounding but firm, like he’s testing if I’m real. “You shouldn’t be talking to him,” he says quietly.

I blink. “Rowan?”

“Yeah.” His jaw tightens. “He’s … odd. Always watching. You didn’t notice how he looked at you?”

“He looks at everyone like that,” I say, even though it isn’t true. Rowan doesn’t look at everyone, he looks at the spaces between people, like he’s waiting for something to move there.

Luke’s gaze stays on me. “Elle, he gives me a bad feeling. If he says weird things, just, ignore him, okay?”

“He didn’t say anything weird.” Another lie. My voice sounds too small in the quiet corridor. “He just said he thought he saw something. That’s all.”

“What kind of something?”

“Shadows.” I try to laugh it off. “Maybe he just needs more sleep.”

Luke doesn’t laugh. “Or maybe you should tell someone. Draven, maybe.”

“I’m not running to the Headmistress every time someone thinks they see a shadow.” I pull my hand free gently. “It’s fine.”

He studies me, brows furrowed. “You’re shaking again.”

“It’s cold.” I tug my scarf higher, the familiar lavender scent softening the moment. “Besides, you said I should stop letting people get to me. I’m fine.”

He doesn’t look convinced, but he exhales, shoulders relaxing slightly. “Okay. But if Rowan talks to you again, tell me. Promise?”

There’s that edge again, warmth edged with something heavier. I nod. “I promise.”

That seems to satisfy him. He grins, softer this time. “Good. Now go to sleep before Korran catches you awake and makes you scrub the training field.”

I roll my eyes. “You make it sound like you’d enjoy watching that.”

“Not if you froze the mop halfway through.”

His teasing smile pulls a real laugh out of me, small but enough to loosen the tension. For a moment, it almost feels normal again. Just us, standing in the dim dorm corridor, trying to pretend the shadows don’t press closer.

Luke reaches for my hand again, then seems to think better of it. “Goodnight, Elle.”

“Night,” I whisper.

He lingers a second longer, eyes flicking past me toward my door like he doesn’t want to leave. Then he turns and walks away, his footsteps fading down the hall.

Silence folds in behind him, heavy and still.

I lean against the door once he’s gone, breath catching. The warmth he left behind fades too quickly. The corridor light steadies for a moment, then flickers again. Once. Twice.

The faint hum starts at the edge of hearing. It’s so soft I almost mistake it for wind through the window cracks, but then it shapes itself into a rhythm, a breath, a whisper that slides beneath the floorboards.

Elowen.

My name. Not a memory, not my mother’s voice. Lower. Closer.

I freeze, listening. The sound threads through the walls, soft as silk. Another whisper joins it, this one higher, lighter, mimicking Luke’s tone almost perfectly.

You’re safe with me.

My stomach twists. “No,” I breathe, backing away from the door. “You’re not real.”

The whisper laughs, a sound like frost cracking. Then silence.

Only my heartbeat, wild and uneven, fills the space.

I reach for the lamp switch. The bulb flickers once, then the light dies entirely.

Darkness. And from somewhere beyond the door, a faint metallic click.

The quiet after Luke leaves feels heavier than before.
I shut the door and twist the lock, though it doesn’t help. The latch clicks too softly, like even the metal is tired.

For a while, I just stand there, staring at the dark outline of the window. The moonlight spills across the floor, pooling silver around the edges of my rug. I tell myself it’s beautiful. Harmless. Just light.
But the light doesn’t stay still.

It ripples, like something moving in front of it.

My breath catches. I step closer, hand outstretched, but the moment I do, frost begins to form, thin lines spreading from the corner of the glass like veins. Each one glows faintly blue before dimming to white.

“No,” I whisper. “Not again.”

I pull the curtains shut fast, heart slamming in my chest. The fabric trembles in my grip. My fingers sting with cold.

When I turn back, the mirror across the room is fogged. Not frost this time, just condensation, like something breathing on the other side.

I edge closer. “It’s just air. It’s just air.”

The whisper slides through the stillness.
Elle.

It isn’t my mother’s voice. And it isn’t Luke’s. Deeper, steadier, threaded with command and something that sounds almost like concern.

My pulse leaps. It feels familiar somehow, like a voice I’ve heard in dreams, one that always pulls me back from the edge.

You shouldn’t have let him touch you.

I shake my head hard. “You’re not real.”

He’ll never keep you safe.

“Stop,” I whisper, backing into the desk. My notebook slides off the edge, hitting the floor with a soft thud.

The whisper lowers to a sigh. You know who will.

Frost spreads across the mirror, spiraling outward in quick, sharp motions. My reflection blurs behind the pattern until it looks like someone else entirely, a darker version of me, eyes too bright, mouth curved into something almost like a smile.

The lamp flickers. The frost crawls higher.

“Enough!” I grab my scarf, pressing it against the mirror’s surface like fabric could block whatever’s on the other side. The lavender scent fills my lungs, steadies me just enough to speak. “You don’t control me.”

The frost halts. For a second, the silence is so deep it feels like the room is holding its breath.

Then a sound breaks it, soft at first, metallic.
Click.

I spin toward the door. Nothing. The handle is still.

Another click, lower this time, followed by a faint hum. It’s not coming from the door.

It’s coming from the hall.

The air chills instantly, my breath misting. The frost that coated my window now crawls under the doorframe, sketching spirals across the floorboards, trailing toward the far wall, where the dorm corridor continues.

Every instinct tells me not to follow. I follow anyway.

The hall is empty when I step out, nightlamps guttering weakly. My bare feet stick slightly to the frost-slick stone. Down the corridor, a line of condensation gleams faintly under the moonlight seeping through the high window.

I know exactly where it leads.

The east wing.

Locker 237.

The hum is louder here, pulsing softly under my skin, matching my heartbeat. I edge closer until I can see the row of lockers at the corridor’s end, dark, still, waiting.

I tell myself to turn around. To run back to my room, lock the door, and wait for morning.

But then the whisper comes again, curling low and intimate through the air.
Elowen.

It feels like an exhale against my neck.

I flinch. The frost under my feet cracks.

Then, slowly, the metal handle of Locker 237 moves.
A faint creak, just enough to hear.
Once to the left.
Then again, back to center, like a pulse.

The hum deepens until it’s almost a voice, not words this time, but a promise.

The frost spirals glow faintly, casting ghostlight across the corridor. My hand trembles as I lift it, drawn despite every instinct screaming no.

The handle turns a final time, hard enough to make the entire row of lockers rattle.

Something inside knocks back. Once.

The sound echoes down the empty hall.

I stumble backward, breath tearing from my throat. The frost spirals blaze white, then vanish, leaving only darkness and the faint scent of lavender smoke.

Somewhere behind the metal door, something whispers my name again, soft, patient, certain.

Elle.