E L L E

The curfew bell had already tolled, its echo still clinging to the mist when Luke tugged my sleeve.
“Come on,” he whispered, a grin flashing under the hood of his sweatshirt. “Before a prefect sees.”

My stomach tightened. Every rule at Ravenshade already bent beneath my name. One more slip and Headmistress Draven would have another reason to glare like she’d rather erase me from the ledger.
“Luke…” I whispered back, but he only gave my hand a quick squeeze before letting go.

“It’s cocoa,” he said simply, as if that explained everything.

It kind of did.

The path toward Moonhollow wound downhill, lanterns glowing faintly through fog. I pulled my scarf tighter, heart thudding in rhythm with our steps. Luke walked like it was nothing, like sneaking off campus was as easy as slipping out of Nan’s kitchen at midnight years ago.

“Remember when you used to steal extra marshmallows?” he teased, keeping his voice low.

I tried not to smile, but it slipped out anyway. “You ate most of them before we even made it back.”

He nudged my shoulder, easy and warm, and for the first time since arriving at Ravenshade, my chest loosened. The academy’s shadows couldn’t quite reach us out here.

The Spiral Café’s lights appeared through the fog with it’s soft gold spilling from the windows, promising warmth.

Luke pushed the door open for me, his grin daring. “Told you. Just cocoa. Just us.”

I almost believed him.

Warmth hits me the second I step inside. The air smells of cinnamon and roasted beans, so different from the damp stone corridors of Ravenshade. A bell above the door jingles softly, and the chatter of Moonhollow locals fills the little café.

It’s almost normal here. 

Wooden tables crowd the space, carved with initials from decades of bored students. A glass case at the counter glitters with pastries dusted in sugar, steam curling up from mugs lined on a tray. Shelves of books and old board games lean against one wall, as though time slows the second you enter.

Luke slides into a booth near the window, patting the seat across from him like this is the most natural thing in the world. I follow, trying not to notice the way a couple at the next table pauses to look at me. Recognition flickers in their eyes. Ravenshade gossip travels farther than its gates.

I tug my scarf higher, but Luke distracts me with a menu he clearly doesn’t need. “Cocoa with extra marshmallows?” he asks with a grin, tugging at his lips.

My throat softens. “You remember.”

“Of course I do.” He doesn’t even glance at the board before ordering for both of us.

When the mugs arrive, the steam fogs the glass between us, blurring the world outside. For the first time in days, I let myself breathe.

Luke leans back, studying me like he’s trying to memorize the moment. “See? It almost feels like we’re just two normal students.”

The cocoa is too hot, but I wrap my hands around the mug anyway, soaking in the warmth. Luke does the same, his hoodie sleeve brushing against mine across the table.

“You look less like a ghost now,” he teases, but his eyes are softer than his words. “The scarf helps, but cocoa works better.”

I roll my eyes, but the corner of my mouth betrays me. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe. But you’re smiling, so I win.”

I duck my head, blowing across the cocoa’s surface. Sweet steam curls against my face, and for a heartbeat, it’s easy to imagine I’m not the Wrenwood girl everyone whispers about. I’m just Elle, in a café with Luke, where nothing dangerous follows.

He shifts forward, forearms on the table, closer than he needs to be. “Elle… can I tell you something?”

My pulse skips. His voice isn’t teasing anymore. It’s low, careful, as though he’s afraid of the answer before he even asks the question.

I nod, unsure if I want him to keep going or stop.

His hand moves but hesitates, then brushes against mine on the table. Just the lightest touch, but it jolts through me, sharp and warm all at once.

“Back home, before Ravenshade, I…” His words stumble. He clears his throat, trying again. “I should’ve said it then. I don’t want to..”

The bell above the café door jingles. Laughter spills in with a draft of cold air, shattering the moment. Luke jerks back slightly, hand curling around his mug instead of mine.

I stare at the spot where his fingers grazed mine, heat lingering like a secret I’m not ready to say out loud.

The café should feel safe. Warm lights glow against wood-paneled walls, and the hum of voices drowns out Ravenshade’s shadows. But my skin prickles, the way it always does before something shifts.

Luke is still talking, trying to tease the awkwardness away, but his words fade under the sound of my own pulse. My gaze drifts toward the window beside our booth.

At first, it’s nothing, just condensation blurring the fog outside. Then the mist shifts. A thin white line etches itself into the glass, curling slow, deliberately.

My breath stalls.

Another line branches outward, forming a spiral. Perfect. Unnatural.

I blink hard, telling myself it’s just frost, just winter pressing early on the town. But deep down, I know the difference. Frost is random, scattered. This is exact, purposeful, like the spiral on my desk, like the hum under Locker 237.

I grip my mug tighter, heat burning my palms. “Luke,” I whisper.

He pauses, frowning at the look on my face. “What is it?”

I can’t tear my eyes from the window. The spiral grows darker, thicker, as though the frost isn’t spreading across the glass but carving into it.

No one else notices. The couple nearby is laughing, the barista calling out an order. Life goes on, blind.

But the spiral is for me. I feel it in my bones.

The glass trembles faintly under its own pattern.

Something is coming.

The spiral completes itself with a sharp crack. Lines meet at the center like an eye opening, white against the glass.

I flinch back, almost knocking over my cocoa. Luke notices this time, his gaze snapping to the window.
“What..!”

The spiral splinters outward before he can finish. The glass shudders, a fine fracture racing across the pane. Customers glance up at the noise, frowning, but none of them see the pattern the way I do. To them, it’s just glass straining against the cold.

But I hear it.

A whisper threads through the café, curling into my ears the way fog curls under doors. Not a voice from outside. A voice from the spiral itself.

“Choose.”

My chest goes cold. My scarf feels too tight, my lungs too small.

Luke’s hand covers mine instinctively, warm and steady. “Elle. Look at me.”

But I can’t. My eyes are locked on the cracks spidering outward, glowing faintly as frost blooms across the glass. The spiral pulses once, twice, like it’s alive.

“Choose.” The whisper sharpens, louder now, vibrating inside my ribs.

The café bell jingles again. Someone laughs. Someone else complains about the draft. Life moves on around us, unaware the glass is breathing against my skin.

Luke tugs at my hand, voice urgent. “Elle, we need to go.”

The spiral fractures further, a shard threatening to fall. The whisper pushes harder, curling into my bones like claws.

“Choose.”

And this time, I know it isn’t just in my head.