L U K E

I don’t sleep because every time I shut my eyes, I see Elle stiff at the dining table, her soup fogging like breath on glass while that new boy stared at her down. By the time dawn hits, my jaw aches from grinding my teeth.
I planted myself outside the girls’ dorm before the first bell, hoodie shoved over my head, granola bar in my pocket. When Elle finally steps out, scarf wrapped so high it nearly hides her chin, she looks… pale, tired and pretending.
“Morning,” I say, like it’s normal.
She forces a nod. “Morning.”
The hallway buzzes with students heading to the first period. Heads turn as we pass and the whispers start up again. Wrenwood. Witch.
I move a little closer to her, blocking most of it with my shoulder. “Did you eat?”
She hesitates, too long. “No.”
“Then take this.” I pull a granola bar from my pocket and hold it out like a truce. “Rule one: don’t pass out in class. Terrible way to start the term.” Her mouth twitches, almost a smile. Good enough.

Folklore & Myth is buried in one of the oldest wings with stone walls dripping with damp, shelves sagging with books that look ready to crumble if you breathe on them. Candles gutter in heavy brackets, their smoke trailing up toward rafters so dark you can’t see the ceiling. The place feels less like a classroom and more like a crypt.

Students trickle in, buzzing like bees. Cassian Veyra slouches into the back row with his pack of idiots, already whispering like this is all beneath him. Maribel Crane makes her grand entrance, hair gleaming, heels too loud for the stone. Her glance at Elle is quick, sharp and satisfied like she’s already won something, then she glides into her seat. I lead Elle toward the middle row and take the aisle seat, putting myself between her and everyone else. If someone wants to mess with her, they’ll have to get past me first.
In the far corner, he’s already there. The new guy. Sitting way too still, way too calm, hands folded, eyes down. Who shows up this early just to sit alone in the dark? He acts like he doesn’t notice Elle walk in. He’s definitely noticing but just pretending he’s not and not doing a great job of it.

The door creaks open and silence drops, thick as fog. Professor Maelor glides in with robes brushing the stone, gray hair slicked back, eyes that don’t blink often enough. He carries a bone-white folio and sets it on the lectern like it weighs more than stone.
“Folklore,” he says, voice soft but carrying to every corner, “is how a place remembers what it refuses to admit.” A page turns with a papery sigh.
“Today, we remember the Seal-bearers.”
The word hits like a thrown stone. Ripples of sound follow, giggles, a cough that’s really a laugh. Almost every set of eyes slides toward Elle. Her shoulders hunch tighter and she stares at her empty notebook like she could vanish inside it.
“Cursed children,” Maelor goes on, gaze sweeping the rows and lingering half a second too long on her. “They are locks wearing human names. Born only when the Rift hungers.”
A girl in front of us whispers, smirking, “Guess Ravenshade’s got one already.”
Heat spikes in my chest, my fist curls under the desk so tight my knuckles pop. One more word like that, and I don’t care if Headmistress Draven herself hauls me out. I’ll shut them up.

Elle’s scarf shifts higher, almost covering her mouth. Her pen doesn’t move, if I didn’t know better, I’d think she was carved from the same stone as the walls. I lean just enough to nudge her knee with mine. Not hard, just enough to break the freeze. “If he gives us a group project, I’ll put glitter on our poster. You in?” I murmur.
Her eyes flick sideways, startled. For a second, the panic cracks. The corner of her mouth twitches half a smile, fragile as glass.
“There it is,” I whisper, grinning like I just scored the winning shot in practice. “First laugh of the day. I won.”
She shakes her head, but the faintest sound escapes her, like a breath caught between a laugh and a sigh. The tension in my chest eases, just a little. Around us, the whispers don’t stop. They never do, but for one second, Elle looks at me instead of the page, and I’ll take that.

Maelor moves slowly in front of the lectern, his fingers brushing the edge of his folio. “What do we know about the First Seal War?” His gaze sweeps the room, waiting.
Silence. Not even Juniper Vale tries to guess, Cassian fakes a yawn, earning a snicker from his group. I almost raised my hand, I skimmed the packet enough to fake an answer but Maelor’s attention shifted past me, toward the corner.
“You,” he says quietly.
The new boy lifts his head. No hesitation. No searching for words. His voice is steady, low, precise. “The First Seal War started when the Lucent Circle split. A group calling themselves the Sovereign Order opened the Rift using forbidden sigils. The first Seal-bearer was bound here, long before this was Ravenshade. Her Guardian fell. Every Seal-bearer after her has failed.”
The room freezes. Not impressed but unsettled. How does he know that? None of that was in the student guide, and when his eyes move, he doesn’t look at Maelor. He looks at Elle.

The room holds its breath, even Cassian’s grin falters. That answer wasn’t from a textbook. It was too smooth, too exact, like he’d been there. My stomach knots. Who walks into Ravenshade on day one already knowing more than the professors? and why does he look at Elle like that?
I lean closer to her, searching her face. She’s stiff, staring down at the frostless wood like it might betray her next. My chest tightens.
A whisper floats from behind us: “Figures. She’d know all about failed Seal-bearers.” Snickers follow, sharp as glass.
Another voice adds, “Locker slammed shut when she passed it. Now this.”
My fingers bunch under the desk. If they say another word, I’ll make sure they regret it. Instead, I slide a granola bar from my pocket and set it on Elle’s notebook. “Eat,” I mutter, trying to sound casual. “Nan would kill me if you skipped breakfast.”
Her mouth twitches, but her eyes stay clouded. The whispers don’t stop and neither does my pulse.

Professor Maelor closes his folio halfway, eyes sweeping the room like he’s searching for a weak spot. “Tell me,” he says softly, “why do legends insist Seal-bearers are always young?” No one moves. The question hangs heavy, and I can hear Cassian’s pen tapping nervously against the desk behind us.
Then the new boy speaks. His voice is low, steady, like he’s answering something he’s been asked before. “Because older hearts have already chosen. The Rift lures with what you fear and what you want. Youth is easier to turn to.”
The hairs on my arms stand up. His answer settles over the room like a cold draft. He didn’t pause. He didn’t guess. He just… knew. A girl lets out a small gasp, Juniper practically attacks her notebook, eyes wide.
Maelor watches him for a long moment before asking, “And the Guardian?” The boy doesn’t look away from Elle. He just waits then the silence stretches tight.
Eventually, Maelor says quietly, almost like he’s talking to himself, “Some say the Guardian protects the Seal, others say he destroys her.”
My jaw locks, my pulse slams against my ribs. I really don’t like how he said that.