Page 25 of The Vespertine Treaty

I approached the monumental doors. Up close, the carvings seemed to writhe, the serpentine coiling around a skull, the crest of House Alistair undulating in the low light. The wood was cold, radiating a deep, throbbing chill that ached in my teeth.

I reached up, my hand trembling violently, and pulled a slender, iron hairpin from my messy bun. My hair tumbled down, a curtain of red against the black wood, but I didn't care.

"Okay, steady hands. Delicate hands,"Poppy coached, though her own mental voice was pitching higher with every second."Just stick it in, jiggle it about. How hard can high-treason be?"

I slid the makeshift pick into the keyhole. It was tight, resisting the intrusion. I closed my eyes, extending my senses into the mechanism, trying to feel the shape of the magic guarding it. It didn't feel like a normal lock; it felt like sticking my hand into a nest of vipers. The Cenite energy buzzed against the metal pin, a low-voltage warning that travelled up my arm and settled in my heart.

Scrape. Click.

The metal caught on a tumbler.

"Yes! That's it! You're doing it!"Poppy cheered, doing a little nervous tap-dance on my shoulder."You're a natural criminal! Who knew? Keep going, twist it—no, the other way! Gently! Don't make it angry!"

I bit my lip until I tasted copper, sweat beading on my forehead despite the freezing air.Almost... almost...

I applied a fraction more pressure, pouring a tiny, desperate thread of my own Life-Magic into the pin to counteract the cold wards.

For a second, the lock yielded. The heavy mechanism groaned.

Then, the wards snapped back.

The door let out a faint, protesting hiss, like steam escaping a vent. A pulse of light seemed to have flared around the keyhole, hot and angry, before the entire mechanism slammed back into place with a sickening, final, metallicTHUNK.

The sound echoed down the silent corridor like a hammer blow.

My heart stopped.

“We failed”,Poppy wailed, collapsing against my neck. “It’s too strong! It’s reinforced! We’re going to be sent to the dungeon. Oh no, Oph, what if we’re going to the weird gargoyle dungeon? I bet Cain has a scary dungeon; his kind looks like the professional torturer kind. These people thrive running dungeons.”

I stood frozen; the hairpin vibrating in my numb fingers, waiting for alarms, for guards, for Cain to materialise out of the shadows and drag us both. “Just stop talking, Poppy.”

But nothing happened. The silence returned, heavier than before. Thicker.

"Okay,"Poppy whispered, her voice tiny."Maybe nobody heard. Maybe we just... glide away? Very quietly?"

Before I could move or tell her off again, a sound broke the stillness.

It wasn't an alarm. It was worse.

It was a low, guttural noise that didn't belong to the stone or the wind—a deep, draggingscrapeof heavy claws on polished floors.

Scrape.

Pause.

Scrape.

My blood didn't just freeze; it turned to absolute ice.

Rhana.

The sound was slow, deliberate, approaching from the far corridor around the corner. The silence between the scrapes was agonisingly drawn out, a psychological torture designed to let the prey know exactly what was coming.

"Oh no,"Poppy whimpered."Oh no, no, no. It’s the murder-cat. It’s the big one. Ophelia, move your legs! Why aren't your legs moving?!"

I couldn't move. Fear had pinned me to the library door like a butterfly on a board. I pressed myself flat against the wood, trying to melt into the shadows, my heart hammering against my ribs so violently I thought the sound must surely echo down the hall and summon the beast faster.

The shadow stretched first—long, distorted, and monstrous across the floor.