E L L E

The bell’s echo follows me out of the classroom, still ringing somewhere in my ribs. Everyone files out too quickly, heads down, like if they move fast enough the air will stop humming. 

Luke falls into step beside me, silent for once. His hand hovers at my back but doesn’t touch. I’m not sure if it’s because he’s giving me space or because the frost still lingers on my scarf.

The hallway smells like chalk dust and rain. Someone’s laughter breaks too loud, fake and shaky. My fingers ache where the frost bit through my gloves.

“Spiral Café?” Luke asks, low. “Just… normal?”

Normal.
Right.

I nod, because words feel brittle in my throat. He lets out a breath like he’s been holding it since the vow, then shoves open the doors.

Rain needles the courtyard. We cross fast, hoods up, puddles splashing cold through our shoes. The academy looms behind us, its towers a smear of black against a slate sky. I don’t look back.I don’t look back,  I can still feel his eyes there anyway, buried in the sound of the bell.

By the time we reach Moonhollow’s cobblestones, the clouds have sunk low enough to touch. The Spiral Café glows like a pocket of warmth in all the gray, fogged windows, gold light, the smell of cinnamon and burnt espresso.

Luke holds the door for me. The bell above it jingles like nothing terrible has ever happened in the world.

We claim a table by the window, our usual spot. The glass sweats with condensation; rain slides down in streaks that catch the light.  Luke orders two cocoas before I can argue, and the moment he sits, the warmth starts to come back into my fingers.

“This,” he says, blowing on his drink, “is our official break from cursed mirrors and poetry that breaks the world.” I try to smile. It almost works. “You really think cocoa fixes everything?”

“It’s statistically significant.” He grins, that lopsided one that used to fix everything. “Besides, you’re still freezing.”

“I’m always freezing.”

He watches me over the rim of his cup, eyes soft but worried. “Then I’ll just have to keep trying.”

For half a heartbeat, it’s almost easy, his warmth, the clatter of cups, the low hum of people pretending the world is normal.  Then the door swings open, letting in a rush of cold and perfume.

“Luke Hart,” Anya Lark sing-songs, already sliding through the crowd like she owns the place. Her laugh is too bright for the small room. “Didn’t expect to find you two hiding in here.”

Luke’s grin tightens. “Just studying.”

“Studying,” she echoes, eyes cutting to me before she drops her bag and wedges herself onto the bench beside him without asking. Her shoulder brushes his. “How responsible. Mind if I join? I’m hopeless with Maelor’s essay.”

The lie is transparent, she didn’t even bring a notebook. I focus on stirring my cocoa even though it doesn’t need stirring. The spoon clinks against the mug, over and over.

Luke shifts slightly, trying to make space that doesn’t exist. “Sure, I guess.”

“Thanks.” She leans closer, hair brushing his sleeve. “You’re always saving people, huh?”

The laugh that leaves me sounds normal. I’ve practiced that sound my whole life. “He has a talent for it.”

Anya smiles at me, sweet and poisonous. “Guess some people need it more than others.”

Luke’s eyes flick to mine, apology already forming, but I shake my head. It’s fine. It’s always fine. Outside, the rain hits harder, like the sky’s listening.

I press my palms around the mug to hide the shaking, the heat feels good and grounding. I tell myself that’s all it is, temperature, nerves and caffeine. Not magic. Not emotion. But then the rim of the cup goes white with frost. Just a breath of it, thin as lace, curling out from under my thumbs.

I yank my hands back. The cocoa sloshes.

Luke notices, of course he does. “Elle?”

“Just, too hot,” I lied. My voice cracks halfway through. Steam curls between us, the frost melts fast, leaving only a ring of damp on the table. But I saw it. He starts to reach for my hand, hesitates when he sees how pale my fingers have gone.

Anya’s talking again, oblivious. Something about Calloway’s test, how unfair it was, how she needs Luke to “explain the hard parts later.” Her voice blurs. I stare down at the cup and the faint ghost of frost still clinging to the ceramic. My reflection wobbles on the surface, a mess of candlelight and shaking hands.

Warmth, safety, everything I’m supposed to want, and the air around me keeps getting colder. The frost doesn’t go unnoticed. the barista in a gray cardigan with tired eyes, passes by with a tray and slows just enough to glance at our table. Her mouth opens, then closes. She wipes the counter with one shaky swipe and mutters something that sounds like, “Not again.”

Luke’s head lifts. “What?” The woman doesn’t answer, she just flips the Closed sign on the door even though half the tables are still full, then hurries toward the back, shoulders stiff.

No one else reacts.  They just… don’t. The students near the window lower their voices; one of them stares too long at the faint frost mark on our table before turning away like it burns to look at it. Anya keeps talking, still laughing, still brushing Luke’s arm, but even her voice starts to sound thin, like the air’s changed and she feels it without knowing why.

“Did you see that?” I whisper. Luke follows my gaze toward the counter, but the woman’s gone. Only the coffee machine hisses, a long, tired sigh. He frowns. “Probably just.. she’s closing early. The weather’s getting worse.”

I want to believe him. I nod anyway, even though the glass beside me is starting to fog again, and I can feel the hum in my bones, soft as a warning.

Something shifts in the reflection. I glance up, and there, beyond the dripping glass, someone’s standing on the other side of the street. Black coat, no umbrella, rain pouring off his shoulders in sheets. He’s perfectly still, face shadowed by the streetlight, but I don’t need to see him to know, but I don’t need to see him to know.

It’s him.

My breath catches. The world narrows to the slow roll of thunder and the steady beat of rain against the window, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t come closer, just stands there, watching. The crowd moves around him, umbrellas, laughter, footsteps and somehow no one bumps him. Like he’s part of the storm, not the street.

Luke is saying something to Anya, a half-laugh that doesn’t reach his eyes, but it fades into a blur. All I can see is the man outside, the water streaming down his face, his collar, like the rain refuses to touch him. Or maybe he refuses to notice it.

The hum inside me sharpens. That invisible thread between us pulls tight, tighter, until it aches. My pulse trips. For a heartbeat I think he’ll step forward, come in, sit, speak, but he doesn’t.

He can’t. I remember that now: the rules. The oath. Boundaries that can’t be crossed. Still, his eyes find mine through the glass, there’s something in them, warning, apology, maybe both. Then lightning flashes, a white wash across the windows, and he’s gone. Just the rain again, relentless.

The storm doesn’t ease; it changes, raindrops stop falling straight, they curve, sliding sideways, curling into shapes that shouldn’t happen naturally. Circles inside circles, then spirals, faintly glowing where the café lights hit.

“Luke,” I whisper. “Look at the window.” He turns, confused, but when he looks, the pattern’s already fading. Just streaks and blur.

“I don’t see anything,” he says softly. “Elle, maybe you need..”

“I’m fine.”  I’m not. My heart’s beating too fast, every sound in the café is too sharp. The rain starts again, but it’s wrong, angled and deliberate. The spirals reform, and this time they move. Slowly, like the whole sky is pointing somewhere. Toward the east.

My breath fogs the glass. My fingers twitch before I can stop them, tracing one of the spirals from the inside. Frost blooms under my fingertip, pale blue and precise, matching the pattern outside.

The hum inside me answers, low and deep. The same rhythm that always leads back to the east wing. Locker 237. Behind me, Luke’s phone buzzes, Anya’s still scrolling, oblivious. No one sees the symbols except me. The frost glows faintly before dissolving, leaving only the faint outline of my handprint and the blur of rain beyond.

And through it, maybe, just for a second I swear I see movement in the distance. A shimmer, a crack in the air like the world’s holding its breath. The café lights flicker, the hum deepens, like something’s waking.

The lights steady again, but the quiet that follows feels wrong. Too thick, like the whole room’s holding its breath. Anya’s still talking, her voice tinny against the storm. Luke’s replying on autopilot, eyes flicking between us, trying to keep peace he doesn’t understand. I press my palms against my knees, grounding myself. My skin hums faintly, like the frost hasn’t completely left. Then, through the hiss of rain, someone whispers my name.

“Elle.”

I whip around. The voice is soft, right beside my ear, familiar enough to make my stomach flip. Luke. It sounded like Luke. But he’s across the table, mid-sentence, not even looking at me.

“Did you..?”

He blinks. “What?”

Nothing. I shake my head, pretending I dropped something, though my heart’s racing too fast for casual lies. The whisper comes again, fainter this time.

“Don’t look.”

It’s his voice again, but lower, stretched thin. And it’s coming from the window. My throat tightens. I can see our reflections in the glass, Luke leaning forward, Anya laughing, me small between them, but the reflections don’t line up right. Ours move slower, half a breath behind. I blink hard, trying to steady my breathing. The hum in my chest climbs to a higher pitch, almost a whine.

Lightning flashes again, white, violent and for a split second the café vanishes in glare. When the light fades, the reflections stay frozen.  My mirrored self sits motionless while the real me flinches, then the reflection lifts her head. Her lips move, no sound, only shape, but I know the word.

Tonight.

The frost crawls up the inside of the glass in thin veins, sealing the word between us. I shove back my chair. “Luke..”

He startles, almost spilling his drink. “What? Elle, what’s wrong?” Behind him, the reflection blinks, slow, deliberate and the frost spreads outward, spiraling once before vanishing into the rain and the window clears. Just us again. The hum inside me goes silent, too silent, like the moment before something breaks. Outside, thunder rolls toward the east.