A S H R I E L

The hum hits before the thunder fades, it’s low, a vibration through the bones of Ravenshade itself. The kind that makes mirrors quiver and metal taste sharp on the tongue. The kind that says the Rift’s awake again.

I feel it under my skin, crawling along the sigils burned there centuries ago. Every mirror on campus hums back, a chorus of glass about to break. The word slides through the static, Tonight. Not spoken, not thought. Just known.

I’m moving before the bell toll, down the dorm corridor, out into the courtyard, rain still falling in slanted lines that don’t obey gravity. The drops curve east, like frost spirals when the Rift calls her name.

Fog’s crawling off the flagstones. Students gather in it already, their laughter nervous and too loud. Phones lifted, screens flashing. To them, it’s just another thrill, The Mirror Vigil, an old tradition, nothing more.

They never learn.

I keep to the edges, hood up, shadows clinging like they always do when the Rift’s near. The Frostmark Mirror stands at the courtyard’s center, half-covered in rain, half-breathing. Its surface ripples like water under glass.

A prefect should be here, faculty, someone sane. But they’re not. Headmistress Draven pretends the Vigil doesn’t happen, better to ignore the curse than admit it’s real. Students cluster closer, candles flare, someone’s filming, and another laughs too loudly, 

“What if she returns?” And like clockwork, she does. Because of course, it’s Elle.

She slips through the ring of bodies, scarf damp, hair stuck to her cheek. Luke’s nowhere. Maybe that’s mercy. She looks like she’s been running, eyes wild, breath fogging.

Something in my chest tightens, she shouldn’t be here, not after what happened at the café, but she always comes when it calls. She can’t help it. The hum sharpens when she steps closer to the mirror, like it knows her pulse. Frost veins lace outward from the base, students gasps, phones catch the glow. Nobody moves.

I step beside her, close enough to see the tremor in her hands. The reflection lags a half-beat behind us. She whispers, “It’s the same… from the café.”

“I know.” The words come out rougher than I mean. I try not to reach for her, then do it anyway. My fingers find hers, cold skin against colder air. The hum steadies for half a second.

“Don’t look long,” I say quietly.

She glances up, rain-slick lashes trembling. “Why?”

Because mirrors lie, because they whisper in voices that sound like the ones you’d die for. Because if she looks too long, she might not look away. But I can’t say that.

So I just shake my head. “Because it’s already watching.”

The mirror fogs on cue, a slow inhale. Our reflections blur, then sharpen. Hers looks up first. Mine turns its head a fraction too slow, too deliberate. The crowd murmurs, someone whispers, “Is that supposed to happen?”

Elle’s hand tightens in mine, she doesn’t pull away.Rain hisses against the stones. The hum builds, bone-deep now, echoing the rhythm of her heartbeat through my palm. For a moment, I almost forgot about the students, the phones. There’s just us and the glass breathing between.

The mirror exhales. Not a metaphor, real breath, a curl of fog spilling out, brushing our faces. Cold enough to sting. Elle’s fingers twitch in mine, but she doesn’t pull away. The reflection starts moving, slower than us, like it’s thinking before copying.

Whispers rise under the rain. I can’t make out words, just a vibration crawling up my spine. Then, my own voice, stretched, wrong.

“Elle…” My tone, but distorted. The reflection speaks again, voice too low to be human.

“You can trust me.” Students gasp, someone laughs, but it dies fast when the mirror flares silver-blue. The crowd backs off, phones still up. They always want to see the horror up close.

Elle whispers, “It’s not you, is it?”

“No.” The word scrapes like stone on glass. “It’s the Rift talking.”

She nods, eyes fixed on the mirror. Hypnotized. I don’t blame her. The reflections turn toward each other, closer, until the fog swallows the space between. The kiss happens slowly, too slow to be real.  The reflection of me leans down, touches his forehead to hers like prayer before sin. Then they’re kissing. Desperate. Like drowning people clinging to their last breath.

It shouldn’t feel like anything, but it does. Heat slams through me, sharp and wrong. Like the mirror’s memory is mine. My lungs burn, my ribs ache. I jerk back but don’t let go of her hand. Silence hums with fear, a few backward steps, muffled curses. No one interferes.

Elle’s breath catches. “That’s..”

“I know.” Raw voice.

In the glass, reflection-me grips her waist, fingers tight. His wings.. my wings flare in the reflection, black steel catching light. Sparks fall around their feet. The Rift’s showing her something. Maybe the future. Maybe a lie. I can’t tell which is worse.

Her other hand lifts toward the glass. “It looks like you,” she whispers.

“It isn’t.” but part of me isn’t sure. Because the ache it leaves behind is real. The want, the guilt, the pull I’ve tried to bury under every oath I’ve sworn. Her reflection breaks the kiss, breathes something I can’t hear. The mirror light spikes, frost explodes across the surface, spiraling so bright the courtyard glows like moonlight.

“Elle, don’t..” But it’s too late. She gasps, her free hand pressed to the glass. The frost answers. Crawls down her arm like it’s alive. I yank her back, the second her skin leaves the glass, pain detonates through me. Not ordinary pain but deep, like something tearing inside.

For a heartbeat, I see what she saw, my own face, eyes burning white, blood running down my neck like ink. Then it’s gone.

The sound that leaves me isn’t human, it tears through the rain, low and cracked. My knees hit stone. The mark on my chest, Guardian sigil, flares black, fades. Obsidian veins crawl up my throat before sinking again.

Elle drops beside me, panicked. “What… what’s happening to you?”

I can’t answer. The cost is too fresh. The Rift punishes contact. The bond between us acts like a conduit, burning both ends. The mirror goes still again. Blank. Like nothing happened. The frost fades from her skin, leaving red welts.

I force my breathing steady. “Don’t touch it again.”

She nods, eyes wet. “It showed me…” Her voice breaks. “You.”

“I know.” My throat feels raw. “That’s what it wants.”

The mirror hums one last time, soft, satisfied. Then the frost lines on the ground shift, curling East. The crowd begins to break, a prefect catches my eye, then looks away. Candles hiss out. I stand, wings aching beneath the skin. Not here. Not now. Elle’s still staring at the mirror. Her hand trembles midair, like she might reach again.

I whisper her name. “Elle.” She looks at me then, rain and tears on her face, fear tangled with something else I can’t name. The frost spirals shift again, all pointing toward the east wing. And I realize, it wasn’t a warning. It was an order.

The courtyard empties in waves. First the ones pretending they’re not scared, then the ones who can’t. The mirror stands untouched, fogged at the edges like it’s tired of pretending to be glass.

Elle’s still beside me, breath uneven. I hesitate, then brush her wrist. Her pulse stutters, too fast. The cold that was in her pours into me, and the ache behind my ribs deepens.

“You need to get inside,” I say. She doesn’t answer, her eyes are locked on the frost spirals, shifting and deliberate, pointing east. Behind us, a door opens. Professor Maelor’s silhouette flashes in candlelight, then retreats. He knows better than to interfere.

The rules are simple: pretend nothing happens. Pretend the Rift sleeps. Pretend Elle isn’t its heartbeat. I push to my feet, my reflection in a puddle glints, eyes burning faint white before the rain breaks it apart.

Elle looks up. “It hurts,” she whispers, touching her arm.

“I know.”

“Does it hurt you too?”

More than I’ll ever say. “It’s part of what I am.”

She studies me like she’s trying to read the rest, and what are you, exactly? but doesn’t ask. Maybe she already knows. A motion at the courtyard’s edge draws my eye. A tall shadow, Silas, broom in hand, sweeping water that doesn’t need sweeping. He meets my eyes, then flicks a line of salt across the stones. A silent warning: containment. I nod. He fades into mist.

The frost twitches again. Tiny flakes lift, swirling toward the east wing. I can feel it calling her. The same hum that haunts my veins is in the air.

Elle shivers. “It wants me to follow.”

“Not tonight.”

She doesn’t argue, but her gaze drifts that way anyway. The pull between her heartbeat and the Rift’s pulse is nearly visible, two threads vibrating thinner with each denial.

Luke appears at the edge of the clearing, soaked, and breathless. He spots us. His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t move closer. Just stands there, fists tight, unsure whether to run to her or stay back. 

Good. Let him stay back, this isn’t his fight. Not yet. The rain finally stops, the quiet that follows isn’t peace, it’s tension before another break. Elle stands slowly,  I watch her try to steady herself, scarf loose, hair plastered to her neck. She looks smaller in the gray light, but the air around her feels heavier, like the world’s holding its breath.

She glances at me, eyes glassy. “It said tonight,” she whispers. “But it didn’t stop, did it?” I shake my head. “No. It never meant tonight will end. It means tonight begins.”

Her lips part, confusion flickering into fear, before she speaks, the mirror behind us shivers, just once. A thin crack runs down the center, glowing faint blue. Frost spirals out in a perfect pattern, stopping at her feet.

The hum surges, louder this time, echoing east through every corridor, every mirror in Ravenshade. I feel it crawl up my spine, behind my eyes. The Rift’s voice isn’t words now, it’s pressure. Elle sways, catching herself. “What’s happening?”

I swallow the taste of iron. “It’s calling you east.” The wind picks up, snuffing the last candle. Every window in the east wing flares white, then goes dark. And in the silence after, the mirror whispers, just loud enough for us to hear:

“Come back.”