Fire!

Lucien pressed his back against the bookshelf, the wood cool and unforgiving against his spine. His lungs burned from holding his breath, but he dared not exhale too loudly. Beyond the shelf, faint footsteps tapped across the marble floor, measured and deliberate.

Not a student’s careless shuffle. Not the shuffle of a night guard half-asleep.

Someone knew he was here.

Lucien’s fingers curled against the rough grooves in the wood, nails biting into splinters. The torches flickered along the far wall, their light bending shadows into long, uneasy shapes. He tried to steady himself. It was just the library. Just paper and shelves and silence. But the air felt charged, as if every book was listening.

The footsteps stopped.

Then a voice cut through the quiet, smooth as a knife’s edge.

“You shouldn’t be here this late, Lucien.”

His chest seized. He risked a glance around the corner.

A tall man stood by the reading desk, his dark robes trimmed with crimson thread that shimmered in the firelight. His posture was exact, as though every movement had been rehearsed a thousand times. He wasn’t the Headmaster—Lucien had seen him often enough at assemblies to know that much. This was Aldwyn, and the Headmaster’s assistant. They're talking minute ago. Assistant was always silent at the Headmaster’s side, always watching.

And now, watching him.

Lucien forced a swallow. His throat felt raw. “I… couldn’t sleep.”

Aldwyn tilted his head. His expression did not shift, but his eyes lingered on Lucien with the intensity of someone taking measurements. “So you wander the halls at night, into places you shouldn’t be?”

Lucien tried to smile, but it faltered almost instantly. “I wasn’t hurting anything. Just reading.”

Aldwyn stepped closer. Each footfall echoed like a hammer in the quiet hall. “Reading has power. More power than many realize. Certain texts are meant to remain untouched. Especially by those who might… attract attention.”

Lucien’s stomach tightened. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t play the fool.” Aldwyn’s voice sharpened, though it never rose in volume. “Strange symbols appearing. Deaths we cannot explain. And now…” His gaze flicked, almost casually, toward Lucien’s chest. “A boy whose name carves itself into stone.”

Lucien froze.

The assistant smiled faintly, though the expression never reached his eyes. “You should be careful, Lucien. Careful where you walk. Careful who you trust. Sometimes it isn’t monsters that devour us—but those closest.”

His words settled like ice on Lucien’s skin.

Before Lucien could reply, Aldwyn turned, robes whispering across the floor. He walked toward the far door without looking back, his shadow bending strangely against the shelves, too long for his stride. The door shut with a heavy click, leaving Lucien trembling in the half-dark.

He stood there long after the man had gone, trying to breathe, trying to convince himself that the shaking in his hands was only nerves, not truth clawing at him.

---

By the time he returned to the dormitory, the others were awake.

Toren sat up immediately, hair sticking out at odd angles. “Where in all hells were you? You look like you saw a ghost. No—worse. You look like you kissed one.”

“I’m fine,” Lucien lied, voice too thin to convince anyone.

Darius frowned from his bunk. “You’re pale. What happened?”

Lucien hesitated. His instinct screamed to bury the conversation deep, to keep Aldwyn’s words locked inside his chest where no one could pry. But Arian’s gaze pinned him before he could deflect. Steady. Relentless.

“Again hiding? You ran into someone?,” Arian said flatly.

Lucien pressed his lips together. “…Aldwyn. And the Headmaster’s assistant in the library. They're talking about how Seroth might find out—”

The room shifted, as though the name itself had drawn the heat out of the air.

“And?” Caelith prompted, setting his quill aside.

Lucien sat on the edge of his bed. He could feel their eyes pressing against him. He could feel the mark of Aldwyn’s stare like a burn on his skin. “He… knew. About the carvings. About me.”

Toren cursed softly. “What do you mean, he knew?”

Lucien rubbed his hands over his face. “He said my name wasn’t an accident. That I should be careful. That… sometimes it’s the people closest to you who—” He broke off, shaking his head. “I don’t know. It sounded like a threat.”

The silence that followed was heavy.

“Did he hurt you?” Arian asked finally.

“No.” Lucien’s voice cracked. “But he didn’t have to. He wanted me to know he’s watching.”

Arian shifted against the wall, arms crossed. His expression gave nothing away, but his voice cut through the quiet. “Then we watch him back.”

Lucien looked up, startled.

“You said he warned you about trust.” Arian’s jaw tightened. “Then maybe he’s worried about what we might uncover. Which means we don’t stop.”

Toren groaned, dropping back on his pillow. “Brilliant. Let’s just poke the Headmaster’s creepy right hand with a stick. What could go wrong?”

“Everything,” Caelith said simply. “But he’s right. If Aldwyn knows more, we can’t ignore it. Pretending won’t make this disappear.”

Lucien clenched his fists in his lap, nails biting crescents into his palms. He wanted to agree. He wanted to believe he wasn’t just prey caught in someone else’s hunt. But Aldwyn’s words still rang in his ears—careful who you trust.

And when he dared a glance at Arian, he thought of the question that had lingered since last night. The shadow. His shadow. Smiling.

---

Sleep never came.

When the Academy bells split the night—three sharp, urgent tolls that rattled the walls—Lucien was already awake.

The others stirred with curses and questions.

“That’s not the bedtime bell, is it?” Toren muttered, fumbling for his boots.

“Again?” Caelith said, snapping his notebook shut.

Darius grabbed his cloak. “Emergency summons? Now?”

Lucien’s heart lurched. 

They poured into the corridor with dozens of other students. Fear rippled through the air, sharp and electric. Teachers barked orders, shepherding the mass toward the central hall.

And then the smoke hit.

It clawed down Lucien’s throat, bitter and choking. The scent of burning cloth and wood stung his nose. Someone screamed down the hall. Flames licked the rafters near the east wing, shadows flailing against the walls as though alive.

“Fire!” a voice shouted. “Everyone out!”

Chaos erupted.

Students pushed, stumbled, coughed. Teachers fought to keep order, herding them toward the courtyard. Sparks rained from the ceiling beams. Lucien’s eyes burned as he tried to keep sight of the others.

“Lucien!” Arian’s voice cut through the smoke. A hand seized his arm, tugging him forward.

He blinked through the haze. Toren stumbled behind them, coughing hard enough to double over. Darius threw his cloak over a younger student’s shoulders, dragging them along. Caelith pressed his sleeve over his mouth, eyes darting everywhere, calculating.

The roar of fire grew louder, drowning thought.

By the time they burst into the night air, the crowd around them was frantic, coughing, sobbing, clinging to one another. Teachers shouted roll calls, counting faces. Flames painted the sky with a furious glow.

Lucien bent double, gasping. His lungs felt scraped raw. But as he steadied himself, he realized something strange.

No one looked surprised. Not really. Shock, yes. Fear, certainly. But among the staff—among Aldwyn, who stood near the Headmaster, calm and unreadable—there was no panic. Only calculation.

As if this was expected.

As if this was part of the plan.

---

Later, after the fire was finally beaten back and the students sent to the dormitories under tight watch, the five of them huddled together in the dark.

Toren still coughed, voice ragged. “Tell me I’m not insane, but… that fire wasn’t an accident, was it?”

“No,” Caelith said quietly. “It was a message. Or a cover.”

“Cover for what?” Darius demanded.

Arian’s voice was grim. “For whatever else was happening while we were choking on smoke.”

“Ahh, I'm so tired just being a bystander, how the hell is the killer isn't tired yet.”

Lucien’s mind spun. Aldwyn’s warning. The fire. The too-calm faces of the staff. His shadow twitching against the ground. All of it pressing closer, weaving a circle he couldn’t escape.

He sat heavily on his bunk, voice low. “Then we gotta dig. Graves, if we have to. We find what they’re hiding, before it finds me.”

The others fell silent.

Toren finally muttered, “Well. That’s not ominous at all.”

But no one argued.

•••