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Caelen calls for us from the end of the corridor. Rhyven pushes away from the wall. As he passes, he adds, "He's good at this." I turn. Rhyven doesn't stop. "Your brother," he says. "People."

Then he continues walking. It might be the first sincere sentence I've heard from him. Of course he immediately ruins it by telling Dax to move his enormous ass out of the doorway.

The oldest corridor lies beneath the western tower. There are no portraits here. No floating lanterns. Only stone. Dark and smooth beneath centuries of footsteps. The air feels cooler than the rest of the Academy.

Caelen lifts one hand. "This passage leads to the Obsidian Tower, but first-years aren't permitted beyond the marked archway."

At the end of the corridor, an iron gate blocks a descending staircase. Ancient symbols are carved across it. Not the same symbols from the blood basin. Close. Maybe.

A strange sensation settles across my skin. Rhyven stops. He is several steps behind us. Completely still.

His head tilts slightly toward the stone wall. The conversation continues without him. I watch. His expression has changed. Not fear. Concentration.

"What?"

His eyes move to me. "What?" He repeats.

"You stopped." I say.

"So did you."

"Because you stopped."

"That sounds like your problem."

There he is. I gesture toward the wall. "Did you hear something?"

Rhyven looks back at the stone. "Maybe."

"What?"

Finally, he shrugs. "Nothing."

"That isn't an answer." I say.

"It's the one I have."

He walks past me toward the others. I remain where I am. Staring at the wall. Nothing moves. Nothing speaks. Only cold stone.

"Eirea?" Caelen waits beneath the archway.

The others have already begun walking back toward the central grounds. Rhyven stands farthest away. He doesn't look at me. But he hasn't continued walking either.

"Coming."

Caelen smiles. I follow them. Behind us, the oldest corridor falls quiet again.

Chapter Three

The Academy changes when the first bell rings.

Until that moment, the morning almost feels ordinary. Students fill the dining hall beneath pale sunlight and drifting banners. Plates pass from hand to hand. Someone laughs too loudly near the eastern windows. A group of wolves argues over who stole the last honey pastry while two sirens review a map between cups of tea.

Then the bell sounds. One deep note. Conversation dies. Not gradually. Immediately. Students rise from the tables. Books disappear into satchels. Uniform jackets are fastened. Chairs slide neatly beneath polished wood.

Within seconds, the dining hall empties into six different corridors. No confusion. No hesitation. Everyone knows where they belong.

Everyone except me. I remain beside the table with one hand around my schedule and the uncomfortable realization that Caelen is nowhere in sight.