L U K E

I don’t understand what I’m seeing. I mean.. I do, but my brain refuses to name it. One second Ashriel is just standing there, too still, too calm, and then the broken light above us flickers and something behind him… moves. Not a shadow. Not a trick. A solid shape, curving upward like metal catching moonlight. A wing. A goddamn wing!

My heart stops. Actually stops. My breath chokes in my throat, and all the sounds around us go quiet, like the world sucked in a breath with me. A wing. What the hell is he?

My arm screams when I shift. Frost-burn, deep and clawing, the kind that pulses under the skin like electricity. I should be focused on that, on the pain, the nausea, but all I can see is that impossible shape behind Ashriel, that ripple of darkness that doesn’t belong anywhere near this school or this world.

He shouldn’t be able to move like that. No one should. And the way he looked at Elle like she was the only thing keeping him tethered.  It hits me, sharp and stupid and perfect:
I can’t protect her. Not from him.

“What is he?”  The words scrape out of me before I can think. They taste like blood and disbelief. Elle jerks like I slapped her. Ashriel goes rigid, shoulders tightening in this quiet, lethal way, like he’s hearing a threat only he can interpret. Neither of them answers.

That silence hits harder than the frost-burn. She knows. She knows something. And she didn’t tell me. My stomach drops clean through the floor.

Elle steps toward me like she’s afraid I’ll run. Or break. Maybe both. “Luke.. just listen..” But her eyes keep flicking to him. To Ashriel.

The way she looks at him, it’s not normal. It’s terrifying and relieved and something else I don’t want to put words to. And he’s watching her right back, that inhuman focus locked on every breath she takes. My chest twists so hard it’s hard to breathe.

“Don’t,” I say, voice cracking. “Don’t look at him like that.”  She freezes, and something ugly inside me tears open. 

“I’m right here,” I tell her, even though my voice sounds small. “Elle, I’m right here. But you keep choosing him.” Ashriel tenses, like he wants to step between us. That alone makes my vision go white around the edges.

“Why can he touch you?” I whisper harshly. “Why can he put his hands on you when you’re.. when you’re covered in frost, and it doesn’t hurt him? Why doesn’t it touch him? Why don’t you freeze him like you froze me?”

Elle shakes her head, panicked. “Luke, it’s not like that..”

“Then tell me what it is.”  The hallway tilts a little. My hand trembles against my arm, the frost-burn throbbing deeper. “Tell me why he moves like that. Why shadows bend around him. Why do you never look scared when he’s near, only when I am.” She opens her mouth. Nothing comes out.

“God, Elle.” I laugh once, sharp and broken. “Do you know what it feels like? Everyone saw you tonight. Everyone saw him pull you out of that mess like you belonged to him. And now—now he’s touching you again and you won’t even look at me.” She flinches. Good. Maybe I’m not the only one hurting.

“Luke, please.” Her voice cracks in the middle, thin and scared. She reaches for me and stops halfway, like she’s afraid of what her own hands might do. Frost whispers across her fingers, curling in pale spirals up her wrists. She tries to hide them, but I see.

Ashriel moves.  Just a fraction, but he moves, like he’s about to steady her again. Like he’s allowed to touch her when I’m not. Something in me snaps.

Elle pulls her hands against her chest, shaking. “I’m trying. I’m trying to explain but I.. I can’t yet. I swear to you I’m not lying. I just.. I need you to trust me.”

Trust her. When she won’t tell me the one thing I’m terrified to say out loud: That she feels something for him. And he’s not human. Her breath fogs between us, a soft cloud melting into the cold air. The frost on her skin glows faintly, reacting to every heartbeat, every fear. And Ashriel watches her like she’s breaking in his hands.

I don’t know which part hurts worse, the frost-burn eating at my skin or the way Elle looks at me like she’s already apologizing for something she hasn’t said yet.

“Luke,” she whispers again. “I’m not choosing him. I’m not..”

“Yes, you are.”  The words rip out of me before I can stop them. “You keep saying you need me. You keep saying I matter. But every time something happens, every time you get scared or hurt or…” I gesture helplessly at the frost creeping up her hands. “You run to him.”

She flinches like I slapped her. I hate myself for it. I hate how everything inside me is shattering and I can’t stop it. “I’m trying to understand,” I tell her, and my voice breaks in the middle. “God, Elle, I’m trying. But you won’t tell me anything. You just let me stand here like an idiot and pretend nothing’s wrong.”

Ashriel shifts. A quiet, dangerous sound. It’s enough to push me over the edge.

“I thought I knew you,” I say. And it feels like the truth and a lie at the same time. There’s a soft scuff of shoes at the far end of the corridor. I turn. Two first-years. Wide eyes. Frozen mid-step. They don’t scream. They just bolt,  because that’s Ravenshade for you. When something Rift-touched shows up, you run first and pretend you imagined it later. And behind them—Maribel. Of course it’s Maribel.

She takes one look at us, me with my burned arm shaking, Elle pale and covered in frost, Ashriel looming like something carved out of the dark and her mouth curves into that sharp little smile she uses right before she lets a rumor loose like a wolf into a crowd.

“Wow,” she murmurs, not even trying to hide the thrill in her voice. “Drama already?” She’s shaking, I can see it, but fear never stops Maribel from hunting gossip. She sees a monster and somehow still thinks the real story is me and Elle.

The first-years bolt. Maribel lingers one second longer, long enough to make sure I see the gears turning in her head.  Then she turns and walks away, phone already in her hand. Elle makes a quiet sound, like she’s choking. I don’t know if it’s fear or shame. Both feel like they belong to me.

“Luke.. please don’t go.” Elle reaches for me again, and just for one second I want to step into her hands. I want to forget the wing. The shadows. The way Ashriel didn’t even look winded after fighting that monster. I want to pretend everything’s normal. That I can still be enough for her.

But I can’t. Not with him standing there, watching us like he already decided how this ends. I swallow hard. My throat burns. “I can’t do this,” I tell her. “Not while you keep looking at him like you’re waiting for him to breathe for you.”

“That’s not..” She takes a step toward me, voice shaking apart. “Luke, listen..”

“No.” It comes out flat. Final. And it kills something inside me. I back away.
Every step feels like tearing off a piece of myself.

“Tell me one thing before I go,” I say. “Tell me he means nothing.” Silence. Just her breath fogging in the cold air. 

That’s my answer. I turn. I walk. I don’t look back. If I do, I’ll break. The hallway stretches in front of me, empty and too bright. My arm throbs with every heartbeat, frost still chewing up my skin. I try to breathe. Try to calm down. That’s when I hear it.

A laugh. Soft.  Wrong. Too close. It skitters along the walls like a shadow trying on the shape of sound. I spin around, but there’s no one there, just flickering lights and the smell of cold stone.

Then the laugh changes. It sounds like Elle for half a second. Then like me. Then like something scraped hollow. My blood goes to ice.

“Luke.” Elle’s voice, except not. Too echoing. Too empty.  I step back so fast my heels skid on frost dust. And behind her—real her—Ashriel reacts violently, like he hears something deeper, louder, worse. His eyes snap toward the darkness pooling near the far stairwell.

“Elle,” he says quietly, voice sharp. “Do not answer it.” I don’t stay. I don’t breathe. I just go. Elle’s gasp hits the hallway behind me, soft and sharp enough to make me freeze mid-step. I don’t turn. I’m too raw, too close to falling apart in front of her. But then there’s another sound, like ice cracking along tile. I turn just enough to see.

The frost on the floor is… moving. Curling inward like it’s being written on from underneath. Words etch themselves in spirals, thin lines of silver ice carving through the dust. Ashriel steps forward fast, faster than human again, stopping Elle with a hand to her shoulder. “Don’t touch that.”

But it’s too late.  The frost finishes forming. A small folded card lies on the ground, white with a rim of shimmering frost that looks almost alive. Elle bends down slowly, her fingers trembling as she picks it up. When she flips it open, the hallway light flickers again, a long, shuddering pulse of cold. Her face drains of color.

“Elle?” I whisper before I can stop myself. She doesn’t answer, just holds up the card. The writing inside is sharp, perfect, carved like runes instead of ink:

To the Sovereign’s Chosen
You are formally summoned.
— S.O.

Ashriel swears under his breath, a low, vicious sound I’ve never heard from him. He yanks his hand back like the paper burned him.

“Elle,” he says, voice dropping to something dangerous, something almost afraid, “don’t go.”

The laugh echoes again from somewhere deep in the hall, colder this time. Elle’s fingers tighten on the invitation. And I realize, from the look on her face that she’s already wondering what choice she has.