E L L E

By morning, the frost is gone.

The floor that cracked open under the Hound is spotless, polished like nothing ever happened. Someone cleaned everything. Even the blood. Even the blue spirals that crawled under my skin. I keep seeing them when I blink.

The corridors buzz louder than the bells. Every whisper has my name in it, sometimes the wrong one. Elowen. Someone must’ve told them. Someone always tells.

Maribel pretends to look sorry when she passes me on the stairs, but I hear her voice the moment I’m out of sight.

“She froze it mid-air. Like a statue. Luke saw, ask him.”
“No one can do that. She’s a witch.”
“Headmistress Draven will have her expelled by sundown.”

Their words chase me down the corridor. By the time I reach the dining hall, my legs feel hollow. The noise hits first, hundreds of voices pretending to talk about anything else.
But when I walk in, the air drops. Forks clink. A laugh cuts off mid-breath. I keep my face blank. Sit. Breathe. Pretend.

Luke’s already there, hunched at the far end, still wearing the hoodie from last night. Frost stains crust the cuffs. When he sees me, he stands too fast, knocking the table. His hands tremble as he reaches for me.

“Elle.” His voice cracks. “Are you… did it hurt you?”

“I’m fine.” The lie comes easy now. I wish he’d stop asking.

He stares at the bandage, then at my face, like he’s waiting for me to fall apart.
“They’re saying things,” he mutters. “That you..” His throat locks. “That you did something.”

“I didn’t mean to,” I whisper, because it’s the only truth I have left. Around us, the whispers stir again. Wrenwood. Witch. Seal. I hear a spoon scrape. A nervous laugh. Someone murmurs, “Did you see the frost under her seat?”
And suddenly, I can. Thin veins of it, threading out from my boots, catching the light.

I pull my feet back, the frost follows. Luke notices, his jaw tightens. He gently grips my wrist, like he can anchor me through touch. His warmth hits the cold crawling through my veins. For a moment, I think it’s helping, until the mark on my palm pulses faintly beneath the bandage. Blue, like a heartbeat. Luke sees it too. His eyes flick down, then up fast, like if he denies it hard enough, it’ll vanish. 

“It’s just the light,” I whisper, even though this hall doesn’t have that kind of light.

He swallows. “Yeah. Sure.”

Across the room, Maribel Crane stands whispering into Cassian’s ear. Their table leans closer like a flock sensing blood. She’s already spun it into a story.  I see it in their faces, that gleeful horror people mistake for excitement.

Cassian’s voice carries. “Heard she froze it midair. Then it shattered. You know what kind of magic does that?”

“Rift magic,” someone answers.

A gasp. A laugh. A ripple that travels the entire hall.

“Maybe she’s one of them,” a girl murmurs. “The ones Draven warned us about.”

Maribel tilts her head, eyes glittering. “If she was, the Headmistress wouldn’t let her stay.”

“She let him stay,” someone mutters.

The hall quiets, the words hit like a stone in still water. The one who always finds me sits at the far table, half in shadow, untouched.  He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move. But I swear I feel his attention, like a pulse in the air, like he’s listening to every heartbeat in the room.

The witch and the shadow boy.
Of course she’d pick him.

Luke stiffens beside me, the wood under his hand creaks.  I glance at him and see the tremor before he catches it.

“Don’t listen to them,” I say, but my voice sounds small.

He gives a breath that’s not quite a laugh. “They don’t stop, Elle. They never stop.”

His hands are fists now, knuckles pale. “They think you’re…”  He cuts off, jaw tight.
“I should’ve pulled you out sooner. I should’ve..”

“Luke.”

I reach for him. My fingers close around his wrist, and the tremor in him feels wild. He’s always been warm, but now he’s shaking like the cold is inside him too.

“I’m fine,” I say again, softer. “You got me out. You always do.”

His eyes snap up to mine. Desperate. Raw.

“What if one day I can’t?”

Something breaks in that question, something I don’t know how to fix. For a second, everything else fades, Maribel’s gossip, the scrape of chairs, even the frost.
It’s just us. His pulse hammering. Mine fluttering beneath the bandage.

“I won’t let it take you,” he says, like a vow he doesn’t know he’s making.

“Luke…”

“Promise me.”

I want to. God, I want to, but the mark flares again. Cold answers before I do. Behind Luke, the boy in black is standing now. Still. Eyes like storm glass. He doesn’t speak, but the air shifts. The overhead lights flicker, humming like they feel the pull between us. Luke feels it too, his shoulders tense.  He’s not afraid of the thing haunting the halls. Or the frost. He’s afraid of me.

The boy doesn’t move closer, but he doesn’t look away either.  It’s like the room bends to make space around him. Even Maribel stiffens. He wears black again, always black. Light catches his sleeves, revealing frost-threaded veins beneath the fabric. I don’t think anyone else notices, but I do. His gaze lands on my wrist, the one Luke is holding. The mark under the bandage pulses in answer.

He knows. Luke sees the glance and scowls. “What is he doing here?” The boy tilts his head slightly and our eyes meet. Regret? Pain? No, something colder, like he’s been through this before and already knows how it ends. The sound dulls around me, like I’ve stepped underwater. His lips move, maybe my name, maybe Elowen but no sound reaches me.

Then he turns. The world exhales. He walks toward the exit, shadows curling around his boots. Luke’s voice snaps me back. “Elle.”

I blink. “What?” He searches my face. “Why does he keep looking at you like that?”

“I don’t…” I don’t have an answer that sounds sane.

The whispers return. She’s cursed. She brought them here. The frost follows her. They’re not wrong, the mark flares. A static sting shoots through my palm.

Luke notices. “Elle… your hand…”

“I’m fine,” I whisper, though the words fall apart.

I peel back the bandage to prove it’s nothing, but it’s not nothing. Blue light spills out. The sigil glows faintly, frost spirals curling outward in patterns that don’t make sense but feel familiar, like something I’ve seen in dreams. It moves beneath the skin now, alive. Gasps spark across the tables. A cup clatters to the floor.

Luke steps back. “Elle… what is that?”

“I don’t know,” I whisper. A lie.

It’s the same light that froze the Hound. That answered when I screamed. That whispered my real name. The glow brightens, fear, shame, confusion boiling through me.  Frost blooms across the table. Snowflakes drift down and vanish. Luke reaches for me again, but frost spiders across his skin, he jerks back, eyes wide.

“It’s me,” I say quickly. “It’s still me.”

“I know,” he says. But his voice trembles.

He doesn’t. Not really, the hum deepens. And layered beneath it, I hear a voice.

Elowen.

I squeeze my palm shut. The glow dims. Frost melts from Luke’s skin, and then Silence.

Every face turned toward me. In the corner, Silas, the custodian, sweeps the floor. His eyes slid to my hand, then away. Like he’s seen this before, like it’s his job to erase it. He meets my gaze. Mouths a word.

Headmistress.

My stomach turns. I don’t mean to look at the mirror, it just happens.  The tall, gilded one near the professors’ table, reflects frost now.

“Not now,” I whisper, backing up.

Luke’s talking to someone, a prefect maybe but I only hear the whisper slicing through my skull. Not him.

My chest tightens. “Who are you?” I whisper.

The mirror shimmers. My reflection lags a half-beat late.  It blinks after I do. Tilts its head slower. Like it’s imitating, not understanding. My breath catches. The scarf around my neck tightens, remembering every ghost that’s ever touched me.

Elowen. This time, it was soft and pleading.

“Stop it,” I hissed.

Luke doesn’t hear, the whisper answers:

Soon.

I blink. The reflection snaps back into place. Just me. Wide-eyed. Pretending to be brave. I pull my sleeve over the mark and stumble back. The hum fades, but it doesn’t leave. It lingers. The frost on the mirror melts, leaving a single word behind.

Soon.

Silas keeps sweeping the hall, one breath from panic, stays still. The only sound is the scrape of his broom. He stops beside me. Dips the bristles in a bucket at his hip, salt water drips, frost hisses and melts. He works in slow, perfect circles. When he straightens, his voice is low. Only I can hear.

“The Headmistress wants you.”

My stomach drops. “Now?”

He nods. And for a heartbeat, I see fear in his eyes.

“Before the others start asking questions.”

“Silas, I didn’t..”

“No explanations in daylight,” he says. “Not here.”

He moves on, sweeping frost into his bucket. A prefect clears her throat. “Everyone… to your next class.”

No one moves. Then they do, whispers rising again, louder, like the danger’s passed.
Everyone pretending not to look back at me. Luke hesitates. His eyes flick to my hand, then to the doorway where the boy in black disappeared. His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t speak. When he leaves, something hollows out in my chest. The polished wood table shows my reflection, but it blinks late.

By the time I reach the corridor outside the Headmistress’s office, the air’s colder again.
My breath fogs. Lights hum silver. Voices drift from inside with Draven’s, sharp, tight with anger or fear, another answer. Older. Unfamiliar.

I shouldn’t be here. Every step feels like walking into something already broken. The prefect stops beside the doors. “She said not to keep her waiting.”

I nod and the doors open before I can knock. Headmistress Draven stands in the doorway, face pale in the cold white light, her gaze drops to my hand. She says nothing for a moment. Just look. Not surprised, just aware.

“So,” she murmurs. “The first seal has broken.” The floor tilts beneath me.

“Come in, Elowen.” My name doesn’t sound like hers, or Luke’s, or even mine.
It sounds older, like something waking up, and behind her, the light shifts blue.