Page 11 of Revenant

“That’s one way to put it,” I mutter, tapping my pen against the page. “Shockingly, I managed to escape with minimal trauma.”

She smirks, leaning back. “Sounds about right.” She looks to her right, and I follow her gaze instinctively. There’s a guy I’ve never seen combing through the shelves, tall, dark hair—seemingly normal. I side-eye Moriah, who’s tucking a piece of hair behind her ear, giving him a flirtatious smirk. He chuckles softly, but doesn’t come up to her.

“He’s a cutie,” she sings. “Speaking of cutie…I noticed Koen was there,” she gushes, cheeks reddening at the mention of his name. “He’s quite the charmer.”

I blink at her, surprised by the sudden gleam in her eye. “Charming? I wouldn’t go that far. He…doesn’t exactly like me.”

Moriah pauses, brow quirked, as if she’s trying to reconcile a wrong answer on a test. “Wait. What? Koen? Koen Gallows?”

“Um…I guess? If I sat next to him this morning, then, yeah. He’s definitely not a fan.”

Moriah shakes her head, lips pressed together as she fidgets with a ring on her finger. “No. That can’t be right. Koen doesn’t dislike people. He’s…usually one of the few from that group who’s not actively terrible.”

“Lovely.”

“Well, if you’re feeling brave, there’s a bonfire tonight. Thought you might fancy coming along.”

My brow quirks, remembering Koen’s question to Pryce—and the way he responded.

“What about curfew? I’m already on thin ice around here.”

“Normally, I’d tell you to stick to the rules, but if any of those lots from that clique throw a party, you can bet faculty will look the other way. So yeah—you don’t need to stress, babes.”

“How convenient.” Seems as though her initial insights about the group were right. They could get away with murder. “Honestly, I’ll do anything to erase this horrid day from my memory. Even if that means a party thrown by a pack of assholes.”

Our conversation drifts after that—homework complaints, professors to avoid, which staircases creak loud enough to betray you after hours. By the time it winds down, I’ve filled my notebook with doodles and half-finished thoughts, the neat lines from earlier long abandoned.

Moriah checks the time and groans. “If I don’t start getting ready now, I’m going to regret it later.” She pauses, eyeing me. “What building is your room in?”

I laugh softly as I stuff my things back into my bag. “Vesperian.”

“Perfect, me too!” She hoists her textbooks under her arm. “I’ll pop by yours when I’m done, yeah?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Room 259.”

She gives me a small hug before disappearing down the stairs. I don’t rush to follow. Instead, I take the long way out, wandering between the shelves one last time, fingers skimming spines I don’t recognize, written in languages I can’t place. A small part of me wants to stay tucked inside this library a little longer, but the bonfire eventually wins.

Outside, the air has cooled substantially, making me wish I weren’t wearing a blouse made of silk. I pause beneath a stone pillar, pulling out my map again and turning it sideways, then upside down, as if that might make the paths rearrange themselves into something recognizable. Tucking the map away, I weave through the quad, careful to avoid puddles and a few other overzealous first years, hoping the corner I found will lead me on a shortcut to the dorms. The clouds still cling stubbornly to the sky, but the rain has paused, and I count that as a small blessing.

The last hour Moriah and I spent studying together was…nice. Normal, even. A rare pocket of calm since I arrived here, where it feels like I’ve been holding my breath nonstop. I thought I’d live out my life in New York, but last year an acceptance to Veilcrest Conservatory landed in my lap, and my aunt insisted, or rather demanded, I go. The strangest part is that I don’t even remember applying. But I wasn’t about to toss aside an Ivy League—or close enough to one—opportunity. Veilcrest is prestigious, demanding, and I knew I’d have to work for every scrap of belonging here.

Roughly ten minutes later, I realize my shortcut has betrayed me, and I’ve somehow ended up even farther from Vesperian Hall. I pause, blinking at the unexpected sight of a greenhouse tucked between gnarled oaks that sway without a sound. Something about it hums softly as I edge closer, almost like a vibration under my skin—and I can’t tell if it’s inviting me in or warning me off.

Still, my feet pull me in its direction. Curiosity wins. The door opens with a soft creak, and warm air spills out. Inside, plants stretch in every direction—ferns with fronds so deep green they seem wet, vines curling over themselves with tiny blossoms that pulse faintly, as if they’re somehow breathing. I pause beside a table of herbs, studying a cluster of pale green leaves veined with silver. They look delicate, almost translucent.

A soft rustle sounds behind me, and I glance over my shoulder expecting to see another student—or maybe a groundskeeper—but the aisle is empty. The plants sway gently, though there’s no breeze I can feel.

“Old building,” I mutter under my breath. “Must be drafty.”

I accept the explanation and start toward the exit, but it does nothing to quiet the feeling that I’m not alone.

5: Alicent

A knock sounds at my door, and instantly nerves hit my system like a freight train. Taking in one last, deep breath, I pull the door open and find Moriah standing on the other side, already dressed for the evening. Her hair is blown out to perfection. Raven black strands brush the tops of her bare shoulders, wisps perfectly framing the contours of her face.

“Please tell me that’s not what you’re wearing,” she says, a playful expression on her face. I look down at the silk pajama set I threw on before doing my hair and makeup.

“What? Do you have something against matching sets?”