E L L E

The numbers will not leave me. 1323 melting into 1301, frost crawling like veins across the board. Even now, hours later, the memory itches behind my eyes, proof that the Rift is done hiding in legends.
Luke called it a warning. I want to believe him. But the air still tastes wrong, metallic and sharp, as if the Rift followed us out of that classroom and settled under my skin.
By dusk, I am still cold.

The courtyard glows honey-gold, the last of the sun dripping through low clouds that never quite clear at Ravenshade. Couples linger beneath the giant elm, laughter tucked between their shadows. Someone strums a guitar near the benches, and the sound drifts through the fog like something fragile.
I hover at the edge of it all, pretending to study my notes while really watching the bark of the tree. The carvings glint faintly where old initials overlap, love stories etched in hope, in rebellion, in secrets that probably did not last.
Two girls whisper behind the fountain, their giggles sharp. They are not subtle; no one ever is when the gossip is about me.
Wrenwood and Hart, finally? one says.
About time, the other answers.
Their words land like tiny stones against my spine, but I keep my face still. Tonight was my idea. If I can stand here without freezing, maybe I can still be normal.

“Hey.”
Luke’s voice comes from behind me, warm and low. He carries two paper cups, steam curling from the lids. Cocoa. Of course.
“You look like you need it,” he says, handing one over.
I wrap both hands around the cup. The heat seeps into my palms, chasing the chill but not erasing it. “You always know.”
He shrugs, smiling softly. “You get quiet when you’re scared.”
“I’m not scared.”
His brow lifts. “Then why are you shaking?”
I laugh under my breath. “Maybe I’m just cold.”
“Then stay close.”
He steps beside me, close enough that our shoulders touch. His warmth slides through my coat, and for a moment it feels almost enough. The easy rhythm, the smell of cocoa, the way the light catches in his hair. Normal. Human. The kind of life I keep trying to protect.
We stand in silence, watching the sun sink behind the towers until the courtyard drips with shadow.

Luke gestures toward the trunk. “Still remember where we carved it?”
My stomach tightens. “Of course.”
The initials are still there, rough and shallow where he pressed the knife weeks ago: L + E, edges browned with sap. I trace the air above them, careful not to touch. Nan once said the Elm binds fates together if the carving is done at dusk. I thought it was superstition.
Luke chuckles quietly. “You hesitated back then. Thought maybe you had changed your mind.”
“I didn’t.” The lie slips out too easily.
He looks at me like he wants to believe it, like that one word could rewrite everything. “Then maybe we can start over. No ghosts, no whispers, just us.”
The cup in my hands cools too quickly. I nod anyway, because saying yes feels kinder than the truth.

Luke’s words hang between us, softer than the wind but heavier than they should be. No ghosts, no whispers, just us.
That is what I want, isn’t it?
Except the more I try to picture that life, quiet halls, cocoa after curfew, laughter without frost, the less it fits. It is like trying on a coat that used to be mine but no longer closes right.
He is warmth, safety, sunlight in a place that keeps forgetting the sun. But safety is not enough when the world keeps whispering my name.
I stare at our carved initials again. Sap has crusted over them, dark and glossy, almost like dried blood. The thought makes my stomach twist.
“Elle?” Luke’s voice softens. “You look miles away.”
“Just thinking.”
“About what?”
I open my mouth, but nothing true comes out. “About how fast everything is changing.”
He nods, misunderstanding. “Then let’s slow it down.”

He steps closer and brushes a strand of hair from my cheek. My breath catches.
“Is this okay?” he asks.
It is more than okay. It is Luke. The boy who used to patch my scraped knees, who waited outside Nan’s cottage when I was too afraid of the dark to sleep. If anyone should feel right, it is him.
So I nod.
His lips find mine, gentle and searching, trembling like he is afraid I will vanish. For a heartbeat, warmth flares through me, sweet and familiar. His hands cup my face, the world narrowing to the soft press of his mouth, the smell of cocoa and rain.
Then the warmth falters.
A thin thread of cold slides between us, stealing the breath from my lungs. The air thickens, metallic and humming. Luke does not notice. He is still kissing me, hopeful and human, but my pulse stutters.
Something is wrong.
The ground hums faintly under our feet, like a heartbeat in the soil. The Elm’s branches shiver though the wind has died.

I break the kiss first. The world exhales a fog of cold so sharp it burns.
“Elle?” Luke whispers. His hand hovers near my face. “Did I..”
“No,” I breathe. “It’s not you.”
Behind him, the Elm’s bark brightens. Lines we did not carve begin to bloom beside our initials, spiraling frost etching itself in silver veins. The pattern curls outward, alive and pulsing as if it is breathing.
Luke turns, eyes wide. “What is that?”
“It’s happening again.” My voice shakes. “It’s the same pattern from the frost in the classroom.”
He reaches out, fingertips almost grazing the spiral. I grab his wrist. “Don’t touch it.”
The glow deepens, forming a perfect spiral over the carved E. Frost spreads outward in an instant, glittering under the fading light. The temperature plunges; our breath turns to mist.
A whisper slips through the branches, too faint for words, but I hear it anyway, a warning shaped like a sigh. Not him.
I flinch and clutch my scarf. Luke hears only the wind.
“What did it say?” he asks.
“Nothing,” I lied again. The word cracks.
The spiral fades, but its outline remains, gleaming like a scar. I can still feel its hum inside me, cold and certain, as if the Rift itself just crossed out our names.

My breath clouds white. The frost spiral pulses once, then stills like a living thing settling back into sleep.
Luke studies me, searching my face for answers I cannot give. “You heard something, didn’t you?”
I shake my head too fast. “It’s just cold.”
But inside I know better. That whisper was not spite; it was protection. The Rift is not mocking me. It is warning me. Every time I try to choose safety, it pushes back, reminding me of what waits beneath the surface.
The guilt comes next, sharp and heavy. Luke does not deserve the chill that keeps finding us. He deserves warmth that stays.
I force a smile, but my hands keep shaking. “Maybe it’s just weather again.”
He looks unconvinced. “Weather doesn’t spell things in frost, Elle.”
He is right. Saying it aloud would make it real, and I am not ready for that.

A brittle laugh cuts through the hush.
Maribel Crane stands a few paces away with Anya Lark at her shoulder, both half-hidden behind the stone bench. Their eyes gleam with the satisfaction of vultures.
“Well, isn’t this romantic,” Maribel says. “The witch and her knight, kissing under the cursed tree.”
Anya snickers. “Careful, Mari, or you’ll freeze where you stand.”
Luke stiffens beside me, jaw tightening. “Go away.”
Maribel tilts her head, sweet as venom. “Don’t worry, we will. I just wanted proof. The whole dorm is going to love this.”
The words hit harder than the cold. By tomorrow, everyone will know about the kiss, the frost, the spiral. They will twist it into something ugly, and the Rift will have one more reason to watch me.
I cannot let Luke see how much that terrifies me. “Let’s just go,” I whisper.

We turn from the Elm. My legs feel heavy, like the frost has seeped into bone.
Luke glances down. “You’re pale.”
“I’m fine,” I start, but my voice slurs. A sharp sting blooms behind my eyes, and warmth trickles from my nose.
He reaches for me. “Elle..”
I wipe the blood away quickly with my sleeve before he can see. “Altitude changes,” I say with a weak laugh. “Too much caffeine.”
He frowns, unconvinced but helpless. “Maybe we should tell Draven about the frost.”
“No!” The word comes out too quickly, too loud. I soften it. “Please. Not yet.”
He studies me for a long moment, then nods. “Okay. Just don’t scare me like that again.”
I want to promise, but the ground still hums beneath my feet, faint as a pulse I cannot quiet.

As we cross the courtyard, the last light drains from the sky. Behind us, the Elm glows faintly where the spiral burns itself into bark, silver threads coiling over our carved initials.
I can feel it watching.  Luke slips his fingers through mine. His hand is warm. I wish that warmth could reach the hollow forming in my chest.
“I’m here,” he says softly.
I squeeze back, pretending I still feel something other than frost. “I know.”
A figure moves at the edge of the courtyard, Caretaker Silas, broom in hand, sweeping frost that should not exist. When he glances up, the light catches in his eyes, pale and knowing. He nods once, almost a warning, before turning away.
A chill races down my spine. The spiral flares once more in the dark, bright as breath on glass, then fades.
I stand frozen, guilt thick in my throat. Luke’s hand is still in mine, but all I feel is cold.