A S H R I E L

Night drapes over Ravenshade like a held breath. The east wing should be silent, locked, emptied after curfew, but the air hums faintly beneath the stone, a wrongness only I can feel.

Prefects sweep the corridors in pairs, lanterns trembling in their hands. Their voices stay low, brittle with nerves as the light wavers over frost blooming along the baseboards. They think it’s just the draft, the old castle settling. They never feel the pulse behind it, the whisper crawling under the floor.

From the far end of the hall, Caretaker Silas moves through the fog like a shadow given shape. His broom glides across marble that gleams too pale in the hall light. He doesn’t look at the frost he’s sweeping away, but I see the runes he’s tracing into the dust, small, deliberate spirals that vanish as quickly as they’re drawn. He’s not cleaning. He’s sealing.

When his gaze flicks up, our eyes meet for half a heartbeat. There’s no surprise in his expression, only acknowledgment. The kind that passes between those who know what hides beneath this place. Then he nods once, turns the corner, and disappears into mist.

I wait until his footsteps fade before moving on. The corridor stretches ahead, archways ribbed like a spine, light flickering against stone ribs. Cold hums through the walls, steady, patient. The Rift stirs deeper tonight.

I draw a slow breath and press my palm against the wall. Frost curls outward in answer, delicate veins of silver light. The hum sharpens, resonating through my bones.

“Too close,” I murmur. The oath that binds me to her reacts when the Rift shifts, always toward her. It’s how I find her, how I keep her alive. But the pulse tonight isn’t steady; it stutters, like a heartbeat out of rhythm.

Heat bites under my ribs, the familiar burn of the mark she carries mirrored in me. I clench my hand, forcing it down. The black-steel sigils etched across my forearm flare dimly before fading again, leaving behind the ache of restraint. Each surge takes a little more from me, more essence, more strength, but I can’t stop.

Because somewhere above, I can feel her moving when she should be asleep.

The patrol circles back toward the courtyard hallway. I catch the low buzz of voices, prefects gathered near the stairs, flashlights shaking a little, their gossip just a way to fill the silence.

“…said she carved her name with his under the Elm,” one whispers. “And it lit up. Silver fire. Swear on it.”
“Luke Hart’s name too?” another asks, half disbelieving.
“Both. Then frost spread everywhere. My roommate saw it.”
A thin laugh. “Guess the curse doesn’t care about curfew.”

Their words grate more than they should. Mortals cling to rumors to make sense of fear. They think it’s drama, scandal, something safe enough to whisper about. They have no idea the Rift feeds on their fascination. The more they speak her name, the more it listens.

“Keep to your routes,” I say quietly as I pass. They jump, mutter apologies, and scatter like startled birds.

When their footsteps fade, I’m left with the pulse again, fainter now but still there, threading beneath my skin, tugging north along the hall. Toward the dorm levels.

I find her two corridors away.

Elle moves like someone half-awake, scarf loose around her neck, the glow of her phone lighting her face. The screen’s too bright for the hour, painting her skin in pale gold. Her eyes are glassy, unfocused, following a hum only she can hear.

“Elle.” Her name slips out before I can stop it.

She startles, nearly dropping her phone. The light jerks across the walls, flashing over her face before settling again. She looks up at me, guilt and exhaustion tangled in her expression. “I couldn’t sleep.”

I step closer. “You shouldn’t be wandering the halls after hours.”

“I know.” Her voice is a whisper. “But the walls were humming. I thought maybe if I walked..”

Her words falter. A thin line of red slips from her nose. She wipes it away fast, pretending it’s nothing, but the sharp tang of blood hits me anyway.

The bond inside me tightens, hot and urgent. Whatever the Rift stirred tonight, it’s bleeding through her now.

“You shouldn’t be out here,” I say quietly. “If something calls to you, you ignore it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her voice wavers, defensive but scared. “It’s just noise in the walls. That’s all.”

I step closer before I can stop myself. The air shifts between us, colder, charged. She shivers, hugging her arms around herself like that might help.

“Elle,” I say, softer this time. “You don’t have to chase what you don’t understand.”

Her jaw tightens. “And you don’t get to tell me what I can do.”

She stands under the hallway light, pale and unsteady, every breath shallow. I should give her space, but I don’t. The pull between us thrums tighter, louder than reason.

“You think walking alone will quiet it?” My voice comes sharper than I mean. “You’re lucky the prefects didn’t see you, lucky it was me.”

Her shoulders lift, stubborn. “You don’t get to decide that either.”

“I do when your recklessness pulls it closer.” The words spill, half warning, half confession. “Do you feel it? The hum on the floor? The air thinning every time you ignore its pull?”

She flinches. “I feel everything. The whispers in the walls, the cold that won’t stop, the way everyone looks at me like I don’t belong here. I didn’t ask for any of it.”

Her voice hits harder than I expect, sharp with exhaustion and heartbreak tangled together. I move before I think, closing the space between us. She doesn’t back away, just stares up at me, eyes glassy in the dim hallway light.

“You think I don’t understand?” I say quietly. “Every time it hits you, it hits me harder. You break apart, and I feel it like fire under my skin.”

She blinks, confusion flickering through the anger. “Then why stay?”

Because I can’t. Because every time I try to walk away, the world forgets its rhythm. But I can’t tell her that. Guardians aren’t supposed to want anything.

So I just breathe her in, hold the truth back, and let the silence stretch between us until it hurts.

Instead, I reach out, brushing a drop of blood from her lip with my thumb. The touch shouldn’t linger, but it does. Her skin is ice-cold, and the instant my hand grazes it, frost blooms beneath my fingers.

Her breath catches. The frost melts almost as fast, a thin sheen of water tracing down her chin.

For one heartbeat, everything stills, the hum beneath the floor, the whisper in the air, even the pain along my sigils. Only her. Only this.

Then she steps back, breaking the spell. “You shouldn’t touch me,” she murmurs.

“Probably not,” I admit, my voice rough. “But I will if it keeps you breathing.”

Silence hits hard, sharp as glass. The hallway lights flicker, one bulb humming before dimming to a sickly blue. The cold sinks through the floor, heavier with every breath, like something underneath Ravenshade has started to move.

Elle wraps her arms around herself. “Do you hear that?”

“Yeah.” My voice drops low. “Stay behind me.”

I scan the corridor. The shadows look wrong, too thick, too still. Somewhere past the archway, a light fixture swings, metal scraping softly against the chain. Then comes another sound, low and guttural, almost a growl, but not right. It vibrates through the floor instead of the air, a pulse rolling up from below.

Elle edges closer. “It’s coming from under us, isn’t it?”

The hum answers, deep and layered, alive. Frost begins to spread over the tiles, rippling as if it’s breathing.

“Back,” I say, stepping in front of her. Heat builds under my skin, the mark on my arm burning like a warning flare. Every instinct in me strains toward release, toward the wings I can’t show her, not yet.

Footsteps echo from the far end of the hall. Silas appears out of the dark, flashlight beam cutting through the haze. His face is unreadable. “You feel it too,” he murmurs. It’s not a question.

“Seal what you can,” I tell him.

He nods once and traces a spiral in the air with his finger. The frost slows for a heartbeat, then the sound returns, louder, a dragging scrape beneath the floor.

Elle gasps. The overhead light pops, plunging us into shadows.

I caught her wrist. “Don’t move.”

The ground trembles. Dust sifts down from the ceiling. Then one tile cracks, splintering with a sharp snap. The floor seems to breathe, bulging upward like something below is trying to push through.

A fissure splits open, light spilling from beneath with cold, white, pulsing in rhythm with the hum. Frost veins race outward, reaching for our feet.

“Run,” I say.

But she doesn’t. Her eyes stay locked on the glow, wide and terrified. “It’s whispering my name,” she whispers.

The crack widens. A burst of icy air explodes upward, swallowing Silas’s light. He shouts something that sounds ancient, lost to language. I drag Elle back just as a shape moves under the broken floor, too many limbs, too much frost, a breath that smells like everything dying at once.

Then the floor gives way.