CH- 37

CH- 37

Aria POV

The gates of Blackthorn don’t just open for me.

They shudder.

The iron groans against the stone, protesting my return like an old wound being pried open.

The wards crackle audibly, sparks of magic flaring in jagged lines along the air around me, resisting yet yielding to whatever force brought me here.

And the moment I step through, the wind stops—dead still, unnatural—as if even nature itself has paused to watch me come home.

Only I don’t feel like I’m coming home.

I feel like I’m invading it.

The limo disappears the second I cross the boundary.

Not fades.

Vanishes.

One moment it’s there—a sleek black shadow gliding silently behind me—and then it’s gone, as if the driver, the vehicle, and whatever spell kept it tethered to this world were nothing more than a figment of imagination.

No trace remains, no sound lingers, no echo of its departure disturbs the oppressive silence that now blankets the grounds.

My breath catches, but I don’t turn back. I can’t afford to hesitate—not when every instinct screams at me that Blackthorn is watching. Waiting. Testing.

I clutch the sleeve of my coat tighter around my wrist where the black sigil burns beneath my skin, searing itself into me with each passing heartbeat.

It’s not visible yet—not fully—but I know better than to think it’ll stay hidden forever. Whatever mark was branded onto me during those weeks away isn’t mine alone anymore. It belongs to something else now. Someone else.

And they will see it soon enough.

Because Blackthorn doesn’t let secrets sleep for long.

Students stare as I walk across the courtyard.

Some bow their heads slightly, averting their eyes out of respect—or maybe fear. They’ve heard whispers about what happened to me, though none of them truly understand. How could they? Even I barely grasp the truth of it, and I lived through it.

Others look away entirely, unable or unwilling to meet my gaze. Their discomfort prickles against my senses, sharp and raw, like needles brushing against exposed nerves. Good. Let them squirm. Let them wonder what kind of storm I’ve carried back inside these walls.

But some… tremble.

Not from fear of me—not entirely, anyway. Not yet.

From what they sense.

My scent is different now.

Still Aria.

But laced with something older.

Something darker.

Something ancient.

It clings to me like smoke after fire, subtle but unmistakable, twisting the energy in the air around me until everyone within range feels it crawling over their skin. This isn’t Lorien’s cold precision or Sebastian’s smoldering intensity marking me anymore. Those bonds are still there, faint echoes of who I used to be—but they’re overshadowed now by something new. Something neither of them understands.

The third.

Lorien doesn’t meet me at the gates.
Neither does Sebastian.

Instead, it’s the Headmistress who waits just outside the south wing.

Flanked by two upper-level vampires, she eyes me the way you’d study a weapon recently drawn from its sheath.

Not surprised.
Not impressed.
Assessing.

“You’re late,” she says, as if nothing has changed.

I smile faintly. “Time moves differently where I was.”

“Where were you, Aria?”

“With my guardian.”

She doesn’t press. She doesn’t need to.

Her eyes drift to my throat. Then lower. As if she already knows where the mark is.

And what it means.

“I assume you’ll want to rest,” she says.

“I’d rather see my room.”

She nods once. “It’s been warded.”

I arch a brow. “Against who?”

She doesn’t answer.

Inside, everything feels… wrong.

Not unfamiliar. Just smaller.

The halls that once seemed endless now feel cramped, the ceilings lower than I remember, pressing down on me like they’re trying to contain something too big for them.

The air is heavier too, thick with an energy that doesn’t match the sterile, polished surfaces of Blackthorn’s corridors.

It clings to my skin, resisting my movements as if it knows I don’t belong here anymore—or maybe because I’ve changed in ways this place can’t comprehend.

I step carefully, deliberately, but every motion feels amplified. My boots echo louder against the marble floors, each sound reverberating unnaturally through the silence.

Even the weight of my body seems different, denser, as though I’m carrying something invisible yet undeniable. More heat. More presence. More magic.

Whatever happened to me outside these walls didn’t just leave its mark—it rewrote me entirely.

The other students feel it too.

They don’t speak to me.

They part when I walk past, creating a wide berth without hesitation or discussion.

No one bumps shoulders or mutters apologies; no one dares glance directly at me for longer than a heartbeat.

Their eyes flicker briefly, nervously, before darting away again, unable to hold my gaze.

It’s not out of fear.

Out of instinct.
Like their blood recognizes something their minds haven’t caught up to yet.

When I reach my dorm, the door opens before I touch it.
The ward recognizes me.
Or pretends to.
Because the moment I step inside, the lights flicker.
And in the mirror—
I see her again.

The woman with my face. My eyes.
But not my body.
Hers is older.
Crowned.

Drenched in shadows.

She raises a hand—
And I flinch before I realize it’s my reflection.

The sigil on my thigh pulses.
So does the one at the base of my spine.

The third mark.
It’s spreading.

Delicate veins of black branching beneath my skin.

Not a threat.
A claim.

I strip down slowly, standing naked before the mirror.
And whisper to myself.

“What are you becoming?”
A voice behind me answers.
“More.”

I spin—
No one’s there.
Of course not.

Except… the scent lingers.
Not blood. Not shadow.
Him.

He’s here.

Still watching.

Still inside me.

I dress quickly and make my way toward the Council Wing.

I don’t have an invitation.
I don’t need one.

Every step I take makes the bond stretch tighter—like a tether pulling me toward something inevitable.
But I don’t reach the Council chamber.

Because halfway there, the door to the Ritual Hall swings open.

And Lorien is there.

On the floor.
On his knees.

Eyes bloodshot.
Bleeding from his sigil.

“Aria—” he rasps. “Stop.”
I rush to him. Kneel beside him.
He recoils.
“Don’t touch me.”
My heart cracks. “What happened?”
His gaze lifts—haunted. Hollow.
“You happened.”

Behind me, the candles in the hallway gutter out.
All of them.

And the air grows so cold it hurts to breathe.
Lorien clutches his chest.

And whispers:

“You let him in.”
“He’s in all of us now.’