At the back of the Institute, far away from the noise of the main plaza, Nephara stood alone.

  The fountain below her sent up thin sprays of water, but she didn’t see them. She hadn’t seen anything for a long time. For all she knew, she’d been standing there for hours. Or days. Time had stopped mattering sometime last night.

  She held her phone loosely in one hand, or what was left of it. The device was ruined, and the screen shattered into a spiderweb of lines, frame bent at an angle no phone should bend. It looked like she had thrown it off a cliff and then ordered something enormous to stomp it flat.

  She couldn’t even remember doing it.

  Nephara continued not moving. She just stared down below. Then, slowly, the light around her dimmed.

  A familiar darkness crawled into the edges of her sight, creeping inward like ink spilled in water. And with it came the sound she feared more than demons, more than Gates, more than death itself.

  Screams… Oh, they were always the same.

  High, sharp, gurgling, begging voices. Voices she knew weren’t real. Voices her brain replayed when she lost control.

  Nephara didn’t flinch, because in all honesty she was used to the screams by now, too used to them, maybe, but her breathing still deepened in that sharp, hollow way that warned her the episode was coming. It started at the edges of her vision, the world bending in slow, sickening waves like heat rippling over asphalt, and the quiet courtyard around her warped into something unrecognizable.

  The stone beneath her boots dissolved into something harder and smoother, a metallic floor. The manicured hedges around her warped into dark, broken silhouettes, like shadows of people frozen mid-movement. And the clean, bright fountain in front of her twisted into a wide, open space she knew too well.

  Bodies… Not corpses, not memories, just… shapes of the past crowded the ground around her feet. Hundreds. Maybe thousands. Limbs tangled as if they had fallen all at once, heads tilted toward something that wasn’t there anymore.

  The darkness thickened around her vision, crawling inward like curtains being drawn across a stage she never asked to stand on. Her chest tightened so sharply it stole her breath. Her hands began to shake, her fingers curling despite the pain. A faint pressure pressed against her back, nothing more than a memory of warmth, of arms that once wrapped around her shoulders, of a heartbeat that had stopped long before.

  But she knew the truth. The screams weren’t real. The corpses weren’t real. None of this nightmare was real, no matter how vividly her brain insisted otherwise. And she knew exactly how to make the hallucination stop.

  All she had to do was hurt something, break something, preferably herself. That was the fastest way. Her vision tunneled even further, the whole world narrowing into a suffocating black funnel as her throat tightened until breathing felt like dragging glass down her lungs. She could feel her mind slipping into that horrible, familiar spiral… And then—

  Something small, bright, and absurdly fast darted straight into her blurred field of view.

  A squirrel shot across the stone railing and skidded to a stop no more than five inches from her elbow, staring up at her with a wide-eyed, twitching curiosity. It blinked at her, and the sheer strangeness of its timing, its innocence, its audacity was enough to crack the nightmare like shattering glass.

  The field vanished. The bodies evaporated. The screaming cut off mid-echo. Light rushed back into her eyes so violently she stumbled, one hand grabbing the edge of the fountain just to stay upright. For a second, all she could do was stand there, dizzy, breath uneven, eyes adjusting to the brightness.

  Then Nephara finally looked down at her own hand, and everything inside her twisted.

  They were trembling violently. The skin across her knuckles was torn open in ragged, ugly patches, blood dried and cracked along her palms and wrists. Two fingers on her right hand bent at angles they definitely weren’t meant to bend. She had done this to herself. Again. She’d smashed her fists into something hard enough, long enough, desperately enough for bone to give before her thoughts did.

  Wordlessly, without even thinking about it, she dug into her jacket with stiff fingers and pulled out a familiar roll of hand wrap. She wrapped her hands quickly, almost frantically, the motions sloppy from pain but practiced. Once the wraps were tight enough to compress the injured fingers, she shoved both hands deep into her jacket pockets.

  Nephara exhaled hard, then she finally turned toward the back entrance of the Institute. Her breathing steadied, not naturally nor peacefully, but through sheer willpower. And in the span of a single long inhale, she dragged the familiar mask over her face.

  She stepped through the back entrance and instantly, she heard a voice.

  “You! I have been looking all over for you!”

  She blinked, turning just as a small figure in a weird uniform hurried toward her. Klara Moretti. The girl who had stopped her and En—

  Nephara forced a smile so bright it almost hurt her cheeks.

  “Oh, it’s you again! Heeeyooo, Klara!”

  Clara’s eye twitched. Normally she would explode at that, but today her voice came out flatter. “It’s Clara, you moron.”

  “Riiight, Claraaa.” Nephara extended the last syllable, amused.

  “Whatever,” Clara muttered. “Our head teacher wanted to see you. On the second day, for fuck’s sake. So, you’re coming with me.”

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  Nephara scoffed, leaning back slightly. “That’s BS. I’ve got a free day today.”

  The argument lasted half a breath, then she remembered what “head teacher” meant here. Another Apostle! Ah. Well that was a plus, wasn’t it?

  She slung an arm casually around Clara’s shoulders. “Fine, fine. Lead the way!”

  Clara went rigid at the contact, her steps faltering. The girl didn’t push Nephara off nor did she even raise her voice. Just…tensed and braced for something.

  And Nephara hated that feeling. The flinch. The fear. The carefulness. It crushed something small and fragile inside her.

  She let Clara go, dropping her arm with a sigh. “Nevermind. I can find the way to your classroom on my own.”

  Clara opened her mouth, probably to argue, but then her eyes dipped to her shoulder. Her breath caught. A streak of red stained the fabric where Nephara’s hand had rested.

  Clara’s face lost color. “Goddamn—wait up!” She hurried after her, catching Nephara’s sleeve. “Are you okay?”

  Nephara replied instantly. “Yup! Totes. Got a free day, so why not be okay?”

  Clara hesitated. “…About Enochia—”

  “What about her?” Nephara turned sharply. “This whole school is a factory for making child soldiers. Everyone knows what’s up. Some morally superior assholes wanna pretend otherwise, but that’s what this is.”

  Clara looked at her, eyes softening despite herself. “Still…”

  Clara swallowed, and instead of pushing, she pivoted. Maybe out of kindness, maybe out of fear. “Anyway—I’m jealous. Like, actually jealous of your class.”

  Nephara blinked. “The hell for?”

  “Your uniform rules.” Clara huffed as they walked. “Like—look at me. Since my exam score was basically identical to that pink-haired bitch, they let me choose whatever style I want. Meanwhile everyone you Alphas can wear whatever the hell you want. Everyone in my class looks so boring and not stylish, I hate it!”

  A snort escaped Nephara before she could stop it. “All that freedom, and you still choose to look so ugly, hahahah!”

  Clara’s face flushed bright red. “Screw you!”

  “I’m just fucking with you,” Nephara said, raising her hands in surrender. “You look good.”

  Clara’s glare softened into a small, reluctant smile. “…That’s better.”

  They eventually stopped in front of the elevator. Nephara’s posture shifted immediately, just slightly, her shoulders tensing, her weight tilting backward as if some instinctive part of her was telling her not to enter. Clara noticed and glanced at Nephara’s expression, pointing quickly down the hallway. “The stairway’s a bit further that way, if you—”

  Nephara shot her a flat look. “Are you okay in the head?”

  Clara’s face went pink again, and Nephara barked out another laugh. Without another word, she stepped into the elevator. Clara followed halfway, then froze as her phone buzzed sharply in her hand. The color drained from her face in an instant.

  “I—sorry, I have to go,” she blurted, stumbling back a step.

  Nephara raised a brow. “Uh… what?”

  But before she got an answer, the doors slid shut between them, swallowing Clara’s worried expression. Nephara stared at the doors for a moment, shrugged her shoulders, and muttered, “Weirdo.”

  The elevator hummed to life, rising without a hint of music to soften the ride. Nephara tapped her fingers against her thigh, then against her wrapped knuckles, then finally gave up and started humming to herself. It was soft at first, but it grew into a cheerful little tune. She swayed her head gently, humming a rising note, then a goofy little descending trill, then a dramatic, theatrical “mmm–MMM–mm!” For a moment, she actually smiled. Even giggled.

  Twenty seconds passed. The elevator dinged.

  The doors slid open to reveal a hallway still alive with noise, though no one was there. Nephara stepped out, her grin widening as she caught muffled voices and footsteps from active classrooms. So the school wasn’t entirely on break. Interesting.

  She didn’t resist the impulse. She knocked sharply on the door of the nearest classroom, then sprinted away, half-laughing as confused murmurs rose behind her. She hit another one. And another. Then danced away from each like a phantom, leaving bewildered students and irritated teachers none the wiser.

  By the time she reached her own classroom’s hallway, the mischief had warmed her enough to momentarily dull the ache in her hands and chest. But the moment she turned toward Class Alpha’s door, her smile froze.

  …It looked fine.

  Perfectly intact.

  Not even a scrape. No crack in the floor. No broken desks. No stains, no scorch marks, no hint that the room had been torn apart in violence less than a day ago. She found herself staring at it too long, her stomach twisting in a way she didn’t like.

  A door opened behind her then.

  Nephara’s heart lurched. She picked up her pace in an instant, slipping through the nearest door like a thief escaping the scene. She stepped into the first-year Beta classroom, only to find it… empty. Completely empty. Desks neat, chairs tucked, no backpacks, no chatter, no students at all.

  “…Huh?”

  Beta didn’t have a day off. Clara definitely didn’t. And everything about the atmosphere felt off. Yeah, why the hell was she out there today?

  Before Nephara could dig her headphones out of her pocket, something warm and soft enveloped her from behind.

  Wings. Real wings.

  They folded around her like a feathery cocoon, and Nephara froze, not in panic, but in pure bewildered bliss. She loved teasing people and joking around, but back-hugs were her one weakness, the only type of touch that could completely shut her guard down. She leaned into the warmth without thinking, letting her weight rest against whoever held her.

  “It is all right, enfant.”

  She knew that voice.

  Her eyes flew wide. “Holy shit—!”

  She twisted around, and there she was. Phillipa D’Aubigny, the other Apostle assigned to first-years. A divine, breathtaking woman with hair like black silk and angelic wings! She was not only beautiful, she was ethereal, radiant, otherworldly!

  “Ohhhh holy shit,” Nephara breathed again, staring at her like a kid who had just met her favorite pop idol and deity at the same time. “I mean, canIgetanautographplzzz????”

  Phillipa only smiled, and with a gentle gesture she directed Nephara toward the nearest desk.

  “Sit, enfant.”

  Nephara obeyed without hesitation, dropping into the chair like a scolded cat suddenly pretending to behave. Phillipa stepped to the front of the desk, wings folding neatly behind her.

  Nephara slouched back in her chair, arms crossed, pretending she wasn’t paying full attention even though she absolutely was.

  “Tell me,” Phillipa began softly, “Which kind of silence bothers you the most?”

  Nephara blinked. “What kind of question is that? Silence is silence. It sucks.”

  Phillipa smiled. “There are many kinds, actually. The silence after loud noise. The silence after laughter. The silence after panic. The silence when a room is missing someone it shouldn’t be missing. A silence in a home that was once full…”

  Nephara’s smirk faltered for just a heartbeat.

  Phillipa continued gently. “And then there is the silence of being the only one still debout. The world can be so loud, so full… and then, très suddenly, it isn’t. That is the silence most hearts fear.”

  Nephara scoffed, flicking her hand dismissively. “Okay, fine, whatever— I hate that stupid moment when everything’s loud or busy or whatever, and then it just cuts off. Like someone pulled the plug. I dunno, it feels… creepy. Like suddenly you’re the only idiot left in the room or something.”

  Nephara muttered before catching herself. “Not that I care or whatever.”

  Nephara stared at the floor, jaw tight, pretending she wasn’t about to start shaking.

  Phillipa let the silence sit for a breath… then gently shifted the subject, her tone brightening as she nodded toward Nephara’s pocket.

  “I noticed your headphones. Tell me, enfant, what is your favorite band?”

  Nephara’s head snapped up instantly, eyes lighting like someone had flicked a switch. “Oh shit, okay, THAT I want to talk to you about!”