The day passed in a blur of fog.

Elle didn’t remember most of her classes. Her notes were nonsense—scribbles, half-formed words. She didn’t touch her lunch. Every window, every glass case—she avoided them all. Easier not to look.

By last period, the air felt too still.
Like the breath before something broke.

When the bell rang, she was already on her feet, bag slung over her shoulder. Luke caught up by the east stairwell, his face drawn with worry.

“You sure you don’t want me walking you home?”

She hesitated. “I’ll be fine.”

“That’s a lie.”

Elle offered a small, grateful smile. “Thanks, Luke. I just… need space to think.”

He let her go.

Reluctantly.

Elle walked the long hallway toward Ms. Thorne’s room.
The one with the yellow tape.

Only—

The tape was gone.

Her stomach tightened.

She should’ve turned back. But something pulled her forward. Quiet. Magnetic.

Locker 237 gleamed under the flickering lights.

Closed.

But frost laced the vents. Spirals etched faintly in the metal—so faint they vanished when she blinked.

She stopped.
Stared.

“Okay,” Elle whispered to herself. “Just a stupid locker.”

She reached out, brushing the cool surface.

A whisper slid down the hallway.

“Elowen…”

She whirled.

No one there.

The lights flickered.

Metal groaned—low and long. Like the locker had exhaled.

She backed away.

In the trophy case reflection, a shape flickered.

Not hers.

A tall figure in black—
Wings unfurled like torn shadows.

Elle spun around.

Nothing.

But on the locker now, something new had bloomed:

A handprint in frost.
Fingers—long. Clawed.

And below it, carved into the metal itself:

THE GUARDIAN WAKES

Her knees buckled.

Something was coming.

No—
Something had already arrived.

This wasn’t a story anymore.

It had found her.

That night, Elle tried everything to feel safe.

She locked the bedroom door. Covered every mirror. Taped the closet. Dragged the dresser in front of the window. Even stuffed towels under the door to block out the light.

Still—
The cold found her.

Not in the air.

In the silence.

The kind that buzzed behind your eyes. That waited for you to crack.

She sat at her desk, flipping through her own journal—not her mom’s.

It was filled with sketches she didn’t remember drawing.

Spirals. Runes. Names she didn’t know.

One page held a single feather—drawn in pencil. No caption.

Just a feeling.

Fear.

And then she saw it:

An envelope.

Pale gray.

Her name written across it in neat, slanted script:

Elowen Wrenwood

She opened it with trembling hands.

Inside—
A single card.

You are seen. You are known. The Lucent Circle remembers.

And beneath it, in sharper writing:

Do not trust the reflection.

Elle’s pulse pounded in her throat.

Then—
Something tapped the window.

She froze.

The dresser was still there. But across the glass, in a thin sheen of frost—

A spiral.

This one wasn’t random.

It was an eye.

She backed away, heart racing.

The spiral pulsed once.

A whisper uncoiled through the room:

Choose.

Elle covered her ears.

But another voice followed—

Not cold.
Not hollow.

Warm.
Deep.
Like thunder echoing in a cathedral.

“Elowen.”

She gasped.

It wasn’t in her ears.

It was in her mind.

“I am near,” the voice said.
“Do not be afraid.”

Her throat went dry.

“Who are you?” she whispered.

A pause.

Then:

“Your Guardian.”

The mirror shuddered under its towel.

The closet creaked.

And in the drawer—

The pendant pulsed.
Cold against the wood.

Elle’s breath caught as the frost on the window melted—

And left behind a real black feather.

Not drawn.

Real.

She stepped toward it, fingers reaching.

And for the first time since this all began—

She didn’t feel alone.

Not entirely.

Not anymore.

Outside, unseen, the rain whispered against the glass—as if the world itself was holding its breath.