E L L E

I barely sleep, my brain won’t shut up, replaying last night on a loop, Luke asking for the first dance, the frost spirals pulsing like they had opinions, Ashriel standing in the shadows like he could hold the whole world still just by watching me.

But the envelope on my nightstand is the thing that keeps me wired and shaking. No one should’ve been in my room. And there it sits, like it’s waiting for me to pick it up again.

Wear red. —A.

It’s not Ashriel, I know that in the same way I know frost isn’t just frost anymore, it’s instinct-level wrongness. When my alarm goes off, the room feels thick, and  heavy. I shove the note into my drawer, like hiding it will make it less real, and get dressed without looking at myself too long.

The whole dorm is vibrating with Harvest Moon Ball energy, like nobody remembers the chandelier almost wiped out half the courtyard last night. I pull my coat tight and step into the storm.

The hallway is a mess of perfume clouds and glitter fallout.

“Oh my god, Ashlyn’s wearing gold, obviously she is.”
“Cassian’s asking her.”
“No, he’s totally asking Maribel.”
“I heard Luke already asked someone.”

That last line spikes straight under my skin, people keep glancing at me, like they’re trying to solve a puzzle but don’t have all the pieces. I walk faster, but the whispers cling anyway, all sharp edges.

“Maybe it’s her.”
“Why would he?”
“She’s… her.”

A mirror on the wall fogs as I pass, just a soft bloom, like breath against cold glass, and nobody notices, nobody ever does. The air feels different today, heavier and buzzing. The same static that crawled across my skin last night follows me down the hallway. I shake it off, because there’s no room for weird feelings when half the academy is stressed about dresses.

“Elle!” I flinch before I recognize his voice. Luke jogs toward me, hoodie half-zipped, holding two coffees. His hair looks like he fought with it and lost, he thrusts a cup into my hand like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he hesitates.

“You okay?” he asks. “You look… tired.”

Because I am, because I can’t tell him that my mirror and the hallway and my heartbeat have all been doing things that aren’t normal.

“Didn’t sleep much,” I say instead.

He gives me that soft, worried smile that always feels like sunlight sneaking into a cold room. “Tonight’s gonna be good,” he says. “You know that, right?”

My stomach flips. Good. Sure. He says it like he believes it, like the Ball is just a dance and not a landmine with glitter on it. I wish I could borrow even a little of his certainty.

We walk into the courtyard, steam rising from our cups. The frost spirals on the old stone arch catch the morning light, faint but still there, like they’re paying attention. Luke keeps glancing at me and I feel it every time. When we reach the quieter side of the courtyard, he stops walking just… stops. My breath catches because I know that look, Luke gearing himself up for something big.

“Elle,” he says. “Can I ask you something? and you have to promise not to freak out.”

“I don’t freak out,” I say. He raises his eyebrows. “You freak out a little.”

“Okay,” I say. “Ask.”

He exhales hard. “Last night, when I asked for the first dance… I meant it. I really meant it.” His voice drops. “But I don’t just want to dance, I want to.. ” He cuts himself off, tries again. “Elle, will you go to the Ball with me?”

My heartbeat stumbles, not because I didn’t see this coming but because I did, and because some part of me, the part that still remembers warm afternoons in Moonhollow and cocoa and safety, wants this.

“Yes,” I say. The word leaves my mouth before the fear can catch it.

Luke freezes, then breaks into this breathless, relieved grin. “Yeah? Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

For a second, everything softens, the cold, the noise, even the tightness in my chest. Then the frost spirals above us flare bright,  a sharp pulse,  like something out there disagrees. Luke doesn’t notice, he’s too busy looking at me like I just handed him the sun. I force a smile back, even as the chill crawls up the inside of my wrists, something in me knows this yes isn’t simple. It never was.

We’re still standing there, with Luke glowing and me trying to look like I’m not slowly dissolving when the air shifts. It’s a tiny temperature drop, a weird awareness tugging at my spine like a string being pulled. I don’t want to look, but I do anyway. Ashriel stands across the courtyard, half-shadowed under one of the stone arches. He’s not close enough to be part of this moment, not far enough to pretend he’s not watching it.

His gaze hooks onto mine, not sharp or gentle, just  fixed, like he’s trying to take in every detail even though he knows it’s going to hurt.  Luke shifts beside me, stepping a little closer like he’s about to say something hopeful, and for a second his shoulder blocks Ashriel from view. When Luke moves again, Ashriel looks exactly the same,  but I don’t.

A chill crawls up my arms, the frost spirals on the arch behind him flicker, tiny and quick, like they’re reacting to something I can’t hear but can feel deep in my jaw. Luke follows my stare, brow tightening. “Elle? You okay? You look like you saw something.”

I shake my head too fast. “Just cold.” another lie to  add to the pile. The truth is, Ashriel hasn’t looked away once, it’s like he’s holding himself together with sheer will… and something inside him is beginning to fracture anyway. He turns away first, and it hits me harder than it should, especially after I just said yes to someone else.

I duck into the nearest bathroom a few minutes later because I need a second, just one damn second without Luke’s hope or Ashriel’s silence pressing against my ribs. The bathroom is empty and freezing, my breath clouds in front of me even though the heaters buzz under the floor.

I splash water on my face, clutching the sink like it’s the only thing keeping me upright. The overhead lights flicker once, that familiar Ravenshade stutter, and when I finally look up, my stomach drops hard. The mirror is misted over in the center,  a perfect circle,  like someone exhaled right onto the glass.

“Oh, come on,” I whisper. “Not now.”

The fog swells once, like it’s breathing, and a thin frost spiral forms at the edge, small, sharp, impossibly precise, like an icy fingertip traced there. My heartbeat slams into my throat, it’s the same shape as the seal on the envelope,  same lines, same center and same off feeling. A whisper threads through the hum of the heater, too soft to place, inside me or inside the glass, I can’t tell.

“Soon.”

I jerk backward, pulse slamming against my ribs, my hands shaking so violently the water slides off them in quick streaks. The metal handle of the sink snaps with a thin frost crusting over it, like either I squeezed too hard or the temperature nosedived around me.

My reflection stares back, washed out and wrong, like there’s another face layered underneath mine, waiting for the right moment to break through. I turn and get out of there fast, before the mirror decides to finish whatever it started.

By the time I make it to the common room, the noise hits like a wall. Girls are camped out on the floor in nests of bobby pins and fabric scraps. One girl is sobbing over a snapped strap on a silver heel; another is aggressively hot-gluing a rhinestone mask like her life depends on it. I should sneak past butI don’t make it three steps.

“Elle!” Anya calls out, waving me over like we’ve been inseparable all week. “Get over here. We have to sort out your dress situation because you are not showing up looking like you’re mourning someone.”

My laugh comes out weak. “Didn’t plan to.”

“You wear black like it’s a personality trait,” she fires back, giving me a playful look that, shockingly, doesn’t have claws in it.

For a moment I let myself sink into the chaos, the warmth, the silly arguments about hair spray and lipstick shades and who got asked by who. It almost feels like a version of my life I could’ve had… if I wasn’t split open inside.

“Did Luke ask you?” someone whispers. I go still.

“Maribel said he did.”
“And that you said yes.”

Heat crawls up my neck, I manage a tight nod. “Yeah. He did.” A wave of squeals erupts, groans but at least one dramatic “no way.”

Then:
“Okay but what about the other one?”
“The quiet one.”
“The tall, creepy-hot one.”
“Ashriel.”

My heartbeat stutters, I try to play dumb. “What about him?” Before anyone can answer, the room shifts, girls parting like someone walked through with a royal decree, because she basically has. Maribel Crane stands in the doorway, a smile sharp enough to cut glass, and she’s looking right at me.

Maribel glides into the room like she paid rent for the air itself, eyes sweeping over the girls, the mess, and finally landing on me. Her smile stretches wider the moment she realizes I’m cornered.

“Well, look at that,” she says, her voice pitched to hook every pair of ears. “Perfect timing. Everyone’s here.” Beside me, Anya stiffens, a curling iron clicks off somewhere. Even the heel-girl sobs herself quietly.

Maribel tilts her head, hair shifting in a way that’s definitely practiced. “I just wanted to congratulate you, Elle.”

My stomach sinks. “For what?”

“For becoming the academy’s favorite headline.”  She waits, dramatic and calculated.
“Luke asking you was already unexpected.” A chorus of gasps ripples through the room.

“But apparently,” she goes on, sugar-coated venom dripping from every word, “one date wasn’t enough for you.”

Ice spikes in my chest. “What are you implying?”

“Oh, you didn’t hear?” She puts a hand to her chest like she’s shocked. “Ashriel’s taking you too.”

Everything stops, every face snaps toward me like they’re waiting for a confession. My throat dries. “That’s.. no. I didn’t..”

Maribel’s smile turns blade-sharp. “Funny, because I heard him say your name this morning.”
She leans closer. “And the frost reacted.” Silence implodes into frantic whispers.

Heat floods my face, my pulse stutters and the air around me drops ten degrees so fast the windows sizzle with frost. A whisper curls under it, soft and close and undeniably real.

Choose.

My knees nearly buckle, somewhere down the hall, a shadow shifts, silent and familiar. Luke, Ashriel, the Rift. All of them are orbiting me, and Maribel’s bomb still echoing in my skull:

“Ashriel’s taking her too.”