E L L E

By the time I reach the girls’ dorm, my head is still spinning with Professor Maelor’s words. The Guardian saves her… or destroys her. The line repeats in my mind as I climb the creaking stairs and walk down the long hallway of carved oak doors.
The dorm is alive with noise, laughing girls, hairbrushes clattering, ribbons snapping into place. The hallway lighting casts a warm glow over the stone walls, but it doesn’t soften the comments.
“That’s her scarf,” someone says as I pass the common room. “Her mom wore it the night she died.”
Another voice, sharper: “She wears it every day. Probably cursed too.” Heat rushes up my throat. I pull the scarf higher, my fingers tightening around it and they still keep going.
“Maybe she’s hiding something under it. A mark.” A pause, then a quiet laughter, soft, but sharp enough to cut. I grip my bag strap and walk faster, ignoring their stares. My room is at the very end, second from the corner, under a drafty window. I slip inside and close the door quickly, shutting out the noise. The air is colder here. The plaster walls are cracked, the single lamp flickers, and the bed under the window looks thin and worn, but at least it’s mine.

I drop my bag with a dull thud and sit on the edge of the bed, finally loosening my scarf. It falls into my lap, still carrying that faint mix of lavender and smoke. My chest tightens, but I force a slow breath in.
The girls’ voices still slip through the walls.
“Wrenwood.”
“Curse-blood.”
“No wonder she keeps to herself.”
Each word sinks under my skin, too familiar to ignore. I keep pretending it doesn’t bother me, but it does. It always does. I curl up on the mattress and hold the scarf close like it can shield me. The room is too quiet, their laughter a low hum behind the wall. For a moment, I almost feel safe, but at Ravenshade, even the quiet feels like it’s whispering.

A knock comes after lights-out. Soft, hesitant, three quick taps. I freeze, clutching my scarf. No one should be here, prefects patrol the halls, and the girls in this dorm would rather die than risk being caught outside my room. Another knock. Quieter.
“It’s me,” Luke whispers. Relief loosens my shoulders before I can stop it. I cross the creaking floor and open the door just a crack. He stands there with his hood up, damp from the mist outside, eyes bright in the sliver of hallway light.
“Luke,” I hissed. “You’ll get in trouble.”
“Relax. The prefects are busy yelling at Cassian for setting his homework on fire.” His grin is quick and conspiratorial, like we’re twelve again stealing cocoa from Nan’s kitchen. I still step aside to let him in. He slips past me and closes the door, pushing his hood back. The tiny room feels even smaller with him in it, his warmth filling the space.
“You should be asleep,” I say, trying to sound firm, though my voice comes out tired.
“So should you.” His eyes drop to the scarf twisted in my hands. He frowns. “They were awful tonight, weren’t they?”
My throat tightens. “I’ve heard worse.”
“That doesn’t mean you should.” His jaw clenches, like he wants to say more but forces himself not to. That’s Luke, always ready to fight for me, always holding his anger back.
I try to smile. It wobbles, but it’s real. “You risked detention just to check on me?”
He shrugs, stubborn and boyish. “Worth it.”
Warmth stirs under my ribs. I’m so used to bracing for cold and whispers that his presence feels like stepping into sunlight. Exhaustion drags at me, but for the first time all day, I don’t feel alone.
“Thank you,” I say softly.
Luke’s face softens, all the tension slipping away. “Get some sleep, Elle. Don’t listen to them. They don’t know you like I do.” I nod, even though I know I won’t sleep for a while. When he slips back into the hall, the room immediately feels colder. My smile lingers, small but steady, even as the silence thickens around me. For a moment, warmth wins.

The quiet feels heavier after Luke leaves. I switch off the little lamp, but a draft slips in through the cracked window, making shadows stretch across the walls. I should lie down. Pretend I’m tired, pretend sleep will come but my eyes keep pulling toward the mirror bolted to the wall across from the bed.
It’s nothing special, it’s old, spotted backing, chipped frame, the kind of mirror you stop noticing after a day. But tonight it feels… alert. I sit up straighter, pulling my scarf around my shoulders again. The air tastes metallic, like cold iron.
“Elowen…”
The whisper slices through the silence, my whole body locks. I know that voice, not Maelor or the girls or Luke it’s my mother.
“No,” I breathe, clutching the scarf tight. My heart slams so hard it hurts.
“Elowen…”
The mirror fogs, just a small bloom at first, like someone breathing on the other side. My name again, soft, gentle, too familiar.
I scramble to my feet, heart clawing at my ribs. “You’re not real,” I whisper. “You’re gone.”
The frost spreads anyway, curling in thin, delicate spirals across the glass. Lavender rushes into my memory, her voice, her hands, the scarf she tied around my neck the night before she died. I squeeze my eyes shut. Don’t listen. Don’t answer.
But the whisper slides through the cracks. “My sweet girl. You can’t hide.”
A sob climbs up my throat. Everything in me screams to run, to rip the mirror down, to break it. But I can’t move. When I finally open my eyes, the frost spirals glimmer faintly, forming the same pattern I traced earlier in Folklore class. The same one that burned under my palm.
“Elowen.”

I stumble back against the bedpost, shaking so hard the scarf slips to the floor. She’s gone, I buried her, I’ve lived without her for years. And yet… The mirror vibrates with a low hum, like a note held too long.
I press both hands over my ears. “Stop.” The whisper fades slowly, slipping away like smoke. The frost stays and I can’t tell if I’m shaking from fear or from wanting to hear her again. Maybe both.
I finally tear myself away, drop onto the bed, and pull the blanket up like it can block ghosts. The room is still, my breathing is too loud and after a long moment, I force myself to look again, just to prove I imagined everything. The mirror is quiet now. Frost clings to the edges, but the glass is empty. Just my reflection: pale, exhausted, scarf slipping off my shoulder.
Relief hits so fast it almost makes me laugh. Just me, just a girl who’s too tired and too haunted for her own good. I let my face fall into my hands. Don’t cry, don’t fall apart, just sleep. When I lower my hands, my breath stops, my reflection hasn’t moved.
I blink. My body shifts on the bed, but the girl in the mirror sits perfectly still, back straight, scarf tight around her neck, eyes locked on me with a cold patience that isn’t mine. All the warmth drains out of me.
“No,” I whisper. “That’s not..”
The mirror fogs again, but only behind her. Frost spills from her mouth like a breath. She smiles and I jerk backward so fast I nearly fall, heart slamming wildly. I clutch the blanket, the scarf, anything real. She doesn’t move, she just watches. Calm. Still. Waiting.
A burst of wind pushes through the cracked window and snaps off the lamp. Darkness sweeps the room, but even in the dark, I can feel her eyes. Waiting in the glass.