Chapter 80
Aurora
I closed the book gently, the weight of it solid and cold in my hands. The leather creaked faintly under my grip, and for a second I just stood there, staring at the plain cover like it might suddenly decide to open itself and reveal all its secrets.
It didn’t. Of course it didn’t.
“Alright,” I whispered, my voice barely carrying past the space between us. The room felt too quiet. “We should get back to the dorm. It’s almost midnight.”
The girls nodded in unison, no one daring to argue. Mira’s eyes were wide, darting around the shelves as if something might crawl out at us if we lingered too long. Riven moved first, her braid brushing over her shoulder as she headed toward the door without a word.
I followed, tucking the book tight against my chest. My heart was pounding so hard it almost drowned out the faint hum of the runes as I slid the rogue key back into the lock. It turned with a reluctant groan, and the door cracked open just wide enough for us to slip through.
The hallway outside was dark and still, but I didn’t trust it. Every shadow looked sharper, every flicker of torchlight felt like it might suddenly catch us. I pocketed the key quickly and whispered, “Go.”
We didn’t run, but we walked fast enough that it may as well have been the same thing. Our footsteps echoed softly against the stone, quick and nervous. Every time the floor creaked, my stomach dropped. I half-expected to hear someone shout behind us, or feel a hand clamp down on my shoulder.
But no one came. No one stopped us.
By the time we slipped into the safety of our dorm room and shut the door behind us, my whole body sagged like it had been strung too tight for too long. I let out a breath I hadn’t even realized I was holding.
The book was still in my hands, its weight heavy and unyielding. My fingers ached from clutching it so hard, and when I finally set it down on my desk, I noticed my hands were trembling.
Not just from the cold of the east wing. Not just from exhaustion.
From fear. Pure, sharp, undeniable fear of being caught. Of what would’ve happened if we had been.
I sank onto the edge of my bed, scrubbing both hands over my face before letting them fall into my lap.
I changed into my pajamas quickly, not bothering to fold the clothes I tossed onto the chair. The others did the same, moving around in hushed silence, the adrenaline of what we’d just done still hanging in the air like smoke. No one said much—just the shuffle of fabric, the soft creak of bedsprings.
The room was quiet except for the soft breathing of the others as they settled into their own beds. At some point, Mira whispered something about my hands still shaking, but I just mumbled that I was fine. Whether she believed me or not, she didn’t press.
The exhaustion came fast and heavy. My eyes drifted shut before I realized it, and soon I was sinking.
The corridors of the East Wing were colder than I remembered. My bare feet pressed against the stone floor, each step sending a chill crawling up my legs. The torches along the walls burned weakly, their flames guttering as though they were struggling for air.
I tightened my grip on myself and moved forward, heart thudding. I wasn’t sure why I was back here, only that I had to be. Something was pulling me deeper, the silence heavy and expectant, like the air itself was holding its breath.
Then I heard it.
My name.
Aurenya.
It wasn’t loud—it was quieter than a whisper—but it brushed against my ear so close, so real, that I flinched and turned sharply. The hallway behind me was empty.
Swallowing hard, I forced myself to keep going, the runes etched into the walls shifting as I passed them. At first they looked like random symbols, curling and jagged, but then… I recognized them. Half-shapes I’d seen in the Latin book. Except here, they moved on their own, twitching and reforming into something I almost understood, but not quite.
That’s when I saw it.
The book.
It wasn’t on a shelf, or on the pedestal where it belonged. It was lying in the middle of the floor like someone had placed it there deliberately. Its cover was faintly glowing, old leather cracked and rough, and across the front my name gleamed as if freshly carved: Wells, A. – Provisional.
I crouched slowly, reaching toward it, my fingers trembling. Just before I touched the cover, a hand shot out from the shadows and slammed it closed.
I jerked back, my breath catching in my throat.
The hand was pale. Too pale. Veins ran beneath the skin, black instead of blue, like rot spreading through marble. My eyes followed the arm upward, dread curling in my stomach. A figure stepped into the dim light—tall, shrouded in robes that shifted like smoke. Its face was smooth, blank, featureless.
“You shouldn’t,” it said.
The voice wasn’t one voice at all. It was layered, hollow, echoing from every direction at once.
“You shouldn’t dig where the ground bleeds.”
My chest tightened painfully. “What… what does that mean?” My voice cracked.
The faceless head tilted at an unnatural angle. “You don’t want to know who you are.”
The torches on the walls sputtered and went out all at once, plunging the corridor into suffocating darkness. Only the faint glow of the book at our feet remained.
My pulse hammered as the figure leaned closer, so close I swore I could feel its presence pressing against my skin.
“Turn back. Forget. Before it swallows you whole.”
The floor shifted beneath me. Cold wetness spread up my ankles, then my calves. I looked down—stone was dissolving into black water, rippling outward. My legs sank, dragging me deeper no matter how hard I tried to move.
“Stop!” I gasped, my hands clawing at the empty air around me.
“You’re already drowning,” the voice whispered.
The book snapped open on its own, pages fluttering so violently they cut the air like wings. They stilled on a single line, words written in ink so dark it bled into the page like fresh wounds.
You shouldn’t have come here.
The water surged higher, over my waist, my chest, my throat—until it closed over my mouth and nose. My scream was swallowed whole.
I snapped awake, lungs tight, sheets knotted around my legs like I’d been fighting them in a dream. For a few seconds, I just sat there in the half-dark, staring at nothing, trying to convince myself that it had only been a dream. My nightshirt was plastered to my back with sweat, and the air in the room felt heavy, almost damp, though I knew that wasn’t possible.
The gray light of morning was already bleeding in through the curtains. I turned my head to check the clock on my nightstand and groaned—it was a few minutes before my alarm. Of course. Always before the alarm.
I slid out of bed carefully, so I wouldn’t wake the others, and grabbed the clothes I’d set aside the night before. The floor was cold under my feet as I padded outside the doorm room and toward the bathroom.
One look in the mirror almost made me laugh—almost. I was pale and I looked like I hadn't slept in days. I splashed cold water on my face, letting it sting, forcing myself to breathe as the chill spread across my skin. It didn’t chase away the heaviness in my chest, but it kept me grounded.
Skincare next. Always skincare. It was the one part of my morning that felt steady, something normal I could cling to. Cleanser, toner, moisturizer—extra moisturizer, because my skin felt weirdly tight, like the nightmare had wrung the life out of me. I moved through the steps like muscle memory, trying not to think too hard. Trying not to think at all.
When I was dressed and had braided my hair over one shoulder, my alarm finally went off in the bedroom. I hurried back, shut it off before it could wake anyone, and slung my bag over my shoulder.
The girls were still asleep, each of them looking so peaceful it almost hurt.
I stood there for a second, just watching them. I wanted—god, I wanted—to crawl back into my own bed, pull the blanket over my head, and forget that I had to be anything other than tired. But it was Wednesday. Classes wouldn’t wait, and if I skipped, people would notice. People always noticed.
So I straightened my bag, slipped out the door, and let the noise of the hallway swallow me.
Students were already stirring, doors opening, footsteps echoing against the walls, voices carrying down the corridor. The normalcy of it almost made me feel steady again. Almost.
But no matter how hard I tried, the words from the dream wouldn’t leave me.
You’re already drowning.