E L L E

By morning, I almost convinced myself the library was a dream. Mirrors don’t smile. Reflections don’t move on their own. Hands don’t reach out of glass and yet I still feel the ghost of cold fingers wrapped around my wrist. I tell myself not to think about it, not here, not with Luke walking beside me, steady and warm, carrying both our trays like always.

The dining hall is already packed, sunlight pouring through the tall windows. The smell of buttered rolls and spiced tea mixes with ink and parchment from the students who bring their homework everywhere. Benches scrape, people laugh and a hundred conversations blur together, but I still feel watched.

Luke nudges me toward the corner of our usual table. His shoulder brushes mine, grounding me. “You skipped dinner,” he says quietly. “At least finish breakfast.”

I nod and manage a small smile, even though my stomach twists. I can’t tell him why. Not about the library or the boy who stepped out of the shadows and handed me a book like he already knew what I needed. Luke sets our trays down, sliding my tea toward me without looking.  For a few minutes, it almost feels normal, someone drops a roll and swears. A group starts tapping a rhythm on the table until a prefect yells at them. Comfortable chaos.

But I can’t shake the feeling that Juniper never stopped writing last night. That her notebook is probably already being passed down the benches. I catch someone glance at me, whisper, and laugh behind their hand. I look down at my porridge..  just eat, just breathe and pretend nothing happened.

That’s when Maribel strikes, she leans across the table, perfect hair and too-bright smile in place. “So, Elle,” she says loudly, “a little bird told me you’ve got two admirers now.”

My spoon stops midair. “What?”

Her grin widens. “Don’t act surprised. First, the golden boy who never leaves your side..” her chin tips toward Luke, who stiffens “..and then last night in the library…” She pauses, savoring the moment. “…the mysterious one.”

Heat floods my face. Of course: Juniper. Luke slams his cup down a little too hard. “Maribel..”

But she keeps going. “You should’ve seen how he looked at her. Like the world narrowed to one person.” She presses a hand to her heart dramatically. “Tragic. Elle Wrenwood, caught between light and shadow.” Her friends snicker, and delighted. The sound hits like broken glass.

“That’s enough,” Luke snaps. Quiet but sharp enough to turn heads.

Maribel only tilts her head, enjoying every second. “Relax, I’m teasing. Unless…” Her gaze flicks between me and Luke, then toward the far end of the hall. “…unless it’s true.”

I don’t want to look, but I do. At the edge of the dining hall, the boy in black sits alone, untouched tray in front of him. Silent, watchful, detached from everything and he’s already looking at me. My breath catches.

Maribel laughs triumphantly. “See? He’s not even trying to hide it.” Luke follows my gaze, jaw tightening. He turns back quickly, shoulders squaring like he’s ready to shield me from the entire room. I drop my eyes to my porridge and force the spoon to move. “Drop it, Maribel.” But it’s too late. Whispers ripple outward, fast and sharp.

Two admirers.
Love triangle.
Wrenwood girl.

My hands shake beneath the table, I curl them into fists, pressing them against my legs. Luke leans in, voice low. “Just ignore her.” I nod, but the heat in my cheeks won’t disappear, because ignoring Maribel is impossible when half the hall is staring, and because… she wasn’t wrong.

I try to focus on eating, but the food feels like ash on my tongue. The noise in the hall blurs into one long, humming mess. My name keeps surfacing in it, sharp, and unwanted like a hook dragging under my skin. Luke’s knee rests against mine beneath the table, steady and grounding. I should lean into it, I should let him pull me back to normal, but I can’t stop myself from glancing across the hall.

The boy in black hasn’t moved. He doesn’t laugh, doesn’t whisper, doesn’t react to anything Maribel said. He just watches. Watches me. A chill crawls down my spine, I force my eyes back to my plate, and that’s when I see it.

Thin white lines branch out from the edge of my dish, delicate, icy veins spreading across the porcelain. Frost. It grows in fragile patterns toward the fork in my hand. I suck in a breath and jerk back. A faint puff of vapor escapes my lips, impossible in a room this warm. No one notices because the hall stays loud, bright and normal.

“Elle?” Luke leans in, worrying, tightening his brow. “What’s wrong?” I shake my head too fast. “Nothing. I’m fine.” I try to set my fork down, but my fingers are stiff and shaking. The whispers shift, at first it’s the same, Maribel’s laughter, her friends giggling, the rustle of gossip traveling down the benches. But then the noise blends together, low and insistent. My name rises out of it, over and over. Elle. Elle. Elle.

I press my palms against my thighs, heart pounding, and then, cutting clean through the chaos, I hear it. Luke’s voice, not from the boy beside me but from the echo beneath everything.

 “Choose.”

The word slices through me, sharp as metal, shaking something loose deep inside. My fork slips from my fingers and clatters against the frost-touched plate.

The clatter echoes too loud, louder than it should in the roaring hall. Heads turn, a few students snicker. Maribel smirks like she’s won, but none of that matters, because the whisper hasn’t stopped. It slides along the back of my skull, silk and ice at once. Luke’s voice, but wrong and detached from the warmth sitting beside me. “Choose.”

My chest locks, I can’t breathe, I can’t think. Luke touches my arm, gentle but firm. “Elle? What’s wrong?” His real voice, close and urgent. I stare at him, terrified to answer. Because how do I tell him his voice is already inside my head, repeating a word that tastes like glass?

The frost on my plate thickens, curling across the surface in spirals. My breath fogs the air. I grip the edge of the bench, trying to ground myself, but the word keeps reverberating inside me. Choose.

Across the hall, the boy in black still hasn’t moved. His eyes are on me, unblinking, like he knows exactly what I hear. Like he’s waiting for my answer. The room feels split in two and the safe, ordinary chaos of the dining hall, and it’s  invisible current that’s tightening around me, pulling me somewhere I don’t understand.

Luke’s hand tightens on mine. “Elle.” The whisper curls into his exact tone again, softer this time. Elle. I jolt, heart lurching into my throat. The fork skitters off the edge of my plate and clatters to the stone floor, and for the first time, I can’t tell which voice is real.