THE MORNING SUN was just starting to burn through the mist when I heard the faint scrape at my window. At first, I thought it was Sebastian again, but the rhythm was different. It was heavier and more deliberate than Sebastian's silent steps. I sat up, hair falling into my face, and heart already beating a little faster. Then a shadow moved beyond the glass. It was Riven.
He slipped through the window. He landed soundlessly on the floorboards, but his expression wasn't its usual teasing mask. His jaw was set and his eyes were dark with something heavier than the damp morning light.
"Blackcap?" My voice came out lower than I expected. "What—what's wrong?"
He didn't answer right away. Instead, he rubbed a hand down his face, fingers trembling once before he steadied them on the windowsill. Only then did he meet my eyes.
"I went back, Whit," he said finally. "To the ruins of the barracks. Thought I'd check if… if anything was left. I almost ran out of supplies so I thought of rummaging what was left."
I swung my legs out of bed, the boards cool under my feet. "What do you mean?"
"There were men there, Whit." His voice was quiet, clipped. "A whole group of army. They weren't searching for supplies. They were looking for people—survivors."
A cold shiver slipped down my spine. "Survivors?"
Riven nodded, the corner of his mouth tightening. "Yeah. But I thought something was off, so I decided not to show myself. I hid behind one of the collapsed walls and listened." He paused. "Whit… I think they're working with those Others we were tracking."
For a moment, the room felt smaller. My mind scrambled for a reason, a loophole, but his eyes told me there wasn't one.
"What exactly did you hear?" I whispered.
Riven's gaze flicked to the floor, then back to me. "They never said it straight out," Riven murmured, rubbing the back of his neck.
"But?"
He looked at me. "But there were men there who weren't soldiers. All in black. No eyebrows. Faces… blank, dead."
"Others."
"Yeah. Exactly like Lucinda describe," he said. "Like the ones we saw. I even caught one of them slipping a fat envelope to the officer in charge. Looked like cash."
He exhaled slowly, jaw tightening. "And then they started naming people. Not names I recognized, but from the way they talked, I feel like they were gifted. They're paying the military to hunt them down."
I pressed my hand to my mouth, trying to quiet the surge of nausea rising in my throat.
He wasn't done. "And that's not all. They're looking for scientists. Recruiting them. Said something about relocating facilities, expanding the program. I don't know where. But it's bad, Whit."
My room felt too small for all his words, for the images they conjured. Riven's eyes softened, but only slightly. "I didn't want to tell you like this. But you needed to know."
Before I could speak, a familiar rush of wings stirred the curtains. Sebastian landed on the windowsill with a soft thud, feathers still settling against his shoulders from his shift. He stepped inside, eyes darting between the two of us.
"Miss Alice, finally," Sebastian said.
"Seb," I called. "What happened?"
Sebastian tried to catch his breath before he morphed back into his humanoid form. "I've been circling for hours since dawn. After a while, I noticed movements near the region's border. I went in to check, only to see more than just scouts."
"What?"
"The Others are there," he said. "They're not passing through; they're lingering, watching. The way they're spread out… it's too deliberate to be a coincidence. Feels like they're waiting for something—or someone."
Riven glanced at him. "How many?"
"Enough to make my feathers stand on end." Sebastian's expression darkened. "They're closing in."
I pressed my palm to my temple, trying to steady the whirl of thoughts. This is my fault. Our infiltration. We stirred the hornet's nest.
"They must have followed the trail from the bunker," I murmured aloud. "Or traced it back. We were careful, but…"
Sebastian tilted his head at me. "But someone always notices. Eventually."
My eyes flicked from him to Riven. "Then they know. Or at least they suspect. The bunker wasn't abandoned for a reason—it was active. And now…"
Riven crossed the room in two strides, bracing a hand on the edge of my desk. "Hey. Breathe."
I hadn't realized I'd been gripping the edge of the mattress so tightly my knuckles had gone white. I let go, flexing my fingers.
"Thanks," I said, though my voice shook.
His eyes searched mine for a long moment, then he nodded once. "We'll handle it."
"Riven overheard the military back at the ruins. And by the looks of it, they were working with the men in black," I said.
Sebastian perched on the edge of the desk, wings twitching faintly as he folded them back. "I see,"he said. "They're moving faster than I expected. If the military's involved, that means they're expanding their reach beyond their original network. We need to assume this island isn't safe anymore."
The word safe rang hollow in my ears. Had it ever been?
Riven spoke again. "They were talking about a list. A target list. And honestly, it could be anyone. It could even be us."
Hunter, who had been lying curled near my bed, lifted his head at the tension in the room, ears pricked forward. Riven crouched and scratched behind his ear.
"They're not just coming for you, Whit," he said. "They're coming for all of us."
I folded my arms across my chest, more to keep them from shaking than anything else. My mind raced. How long before those faceless men found their way to Ryan's home?
Sebastian's eyes narrowed. "If they're recruiting, then CYGNUS isn't just sustaining their program. They're expanding it."
Riven nodded grimly. "Which means more Others."
I thought of the one in the bunker who had nearly broken my barrier, who had almost crushed us into the ground. I thought of Harriet staggering after the syringe bit into her arm.
"No," I said quietly. "We can't let that happen."
Both looked at me.
Riven's voice was careful. "What are you thinking?"
I stared at the floor for a moment, then lifted my head. "I'm thinking we've been reacting. Always reacting. They move, we follow. They attack, we defend. But if we're ever going to stop them, we need to know where they're going before they get there."
Sebastian raised an eyebrow. "And how do you propose we do that?"
"I don't know yet," I admitted. "But there's a pattern. In their movements, in the codes we've been decoding. I can feel it. If we can map it…"
Riven's expression softened—just a fraction, but enough to steady me. "You think like that a lot, don't you?"
"What do you mean?"
"Looking for patterns. Connecting dots. Even when you're scared."
I looked away, feeling my cheeks warm. "Someone has to."
Sebastian gave a low chuckle, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Well, someone better figure it out fast."
For a long moment, silence stretched between us. Outside, the mist was starting to burn off under the weak sun, but the air in my room felt heavy, as though the shadows from the bunker had followed us back. I moved to the window and rested my palm on the sill where Riven had climbed through. The wood was still cool from the morning. In my head, my parents' faces flickered. Then Lucinda's trembling hands clutching her sons. Harriet's pale face after the injection. Morgan's dark, looming drawing.
I swallowed hard. "We can't keep this from Ryan forever."
Riven's voice came from behind me. "Maybe not. But right now, you can't risk him shutting you down either. You know that."
I nodded slowly. He was right.
Sebastian stood, feathers rustling as he moved to the window. "I'll keep watch today. See if I can track where they're moving next."
I turned to him. "Be careful."
His lips quirked in something almost like a smile. "I always am. Thanks, Miss Alice."
Riven straightened, slinging his damp pack over his shoulder. "And I'll check the perimeter. Hunter needs a run anyway."
I glanced between the two of them, then down at my hands. They were still trembling faintly.
I drew a breath and met their eyes. "Stay safe."
Riven's gaze lingered on me a heartbeat longer than necessary. "I will. Always."
Sebastian flexed his wings, a dark silhouette against the window. "I'll send word if I see anything."
And just like that, the quiet of my room dissolved into motion.
***
Later that day, I found myself at the edge of the training field as I watched Ryan move through drills with the younger gifted. Across the lawn, on a bench just beyond the shade of an old topiary, Harriet sat with Dwight. At first, I barely noticed them. To me, they're just two figures off to the side. Another morning, another session. But as Ryan demonstrated a move to a student farther down the line, my gaze drifted back.
It happened so quietly she almost missed it. Dwight bent down, picking up the training staff a kid had dropped, and when he handed it to her their fingers touched. Not clumsy. Not by mistake. Harriet's breath caught as their eyes locked—just a second too long, a heartbeat stretching, something unspoken flickering between them like a secret neither of them was ready to name. Nothing obvious. Nothing you could hold up as proof. But it was there all the same.
And then something shifted. That old knot of bitterness that always clenched at the sight of Harriet—perfect, untouchable Harriet—just… didn't. It loosened, like a thread being tugged free. In its place was something quieter. Not envy. Not anger. Just calm. Detached, like I was watching a scene from someone else's life play out on a stage.
'Maybe it isn't bitterness anymore,' I thought. 'Maybe my heart's already shifting somewhere else.'
Ryan dismissed the drill with a sharp clap. "Five minutes! Hydrate!"
The kids scattered like birds, laughing, a few still sparking power from their palms. Ryan took off his blazer, wiped sweat from his forehead, and reached for a bottle of water. That was my moment.
I crossed the field, the damp grass brushing my ankles. "Headmaster," I said quietly. "Can I ask you something?"
He glanced up at me, still breathing a little hard from the training. "Of course. Walk with me."
We moved toward the shade of the old mango tree at the edge of the grounds. Ryan took a long drink of water, then capped the bottle. His eyes, always steady, flicked to mine. "What is that, Alice?"
I hesitated, tasting the weight of my question before I spoke it. "The men in black."
His expression barely shifted, but it was enough. "What about them?"
"You've mentioned them before," I said, keeping my voice even. "But not much. I want to know who they are. How many. Where they're based."
Ryan's gaze turned toward the training field, watching the kids gather back into a line. "They're more than you think," he said at last. "And they're well hidden. Almost no one's managed to document their existence."
My pulse quickened. "Then how do you know about them?"
For a moment, he didn't answer. The breeze caught a strand of his hair, tugged at his sleeve. Then his eyes found mine again. "Why are you asking, Alice?"
I swallowed. "Because I read the files," I said softly. "The ones you tucked inside the library. The ones about them."
His silence deepened. A crow called from somewhere near the trees.
"I wasn't snooping," I added quickly. "I just… needed to understand."
Ryan's jaw worked once before he spoke. "Those files aren't complete—they're just pieces and fragments of a bigger picture. And the truth… the truth is far worse than anything written in them."
I held his gaze. "Then tell me."
He exhaled slowly, like a man deciding whether to open a locked door. "The men in black—Others, some call them—are dangerous. They've been hunting people like us for decades. We don't know who leads them, or how many cells they have. We only know they're coordinated. Funded. Always a step ahead."
My hands tightened at my sides. I thought of Lucinda's trembling hands, of Augustus and Cornelius clinging to her skirts, of the photos I'd seen in the bunker. "And you're trying to find out where they're stationed?"
"Yes." His voice was quiet but firm. "If I can locate them, maybe I can stop more of our kind from being taken."
I opened my mouth. This was the moment to tell him—about the warehouse, the serum vials, the footage of the boy with the code. About Riven and Sebastian and the nights spent tracking. But the words stuck in my throat.
Because to tell him would be to unravel everything—to drag Riven, Sebastian, Harriet, Dwight into the open. To risk them all.
So instead I said nothing.
Ryan watched me for a while with that steady gaze of his. There wasn't any harshness in his eyes, but there was an edge to them, like he could read every flicker of doubt I was trying to hide. Finally, he looked away and raised his voice. "Break's over! Line up!"
The kids scrambled back into formation. Ryan nodded to me once, then turned back to his students.
I walked away. My shoes whispered against the grass, the sound small under the shouts and laughter of training. My chest felt tight, like I'd swallowed something sharp.
'You should have told him,' a voice in my head whispered. 'You should have told him everything.'
But another voice, quieter, steadier, said: 'Not yet.'
That same day, I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the light falling across the floorboards. I'd been so consumed with the Others, with codes and briefcases and shadows, that I'd almost forgotten. But the date blinked in my memory like a small light. I remembered the date engraved in Riven's backpack. Realizing it, today must've been his birthday.
I didn't even know. He'd only mentioned it once, offhand, while we were walking through the woods. But it had stuck with me. Maybe because of the way he'd said it—without ceremony, like it didn't matter.
I pressed my palms together in my lap. 'Maybe that's why it matters,' I thought. 'Because no one's ever marked it for him.'
By midafternoon, the yard was almost empty. Ryan had finished drills with the younger gifted, and their excited chatter faded down the hall like a tide retreating. I stayed sitting on the bench long after the others left, staring at nothing in particular. My fingers kept tracing the grain of the wood beside me, mind running circles like a caged animal. Even when I closed my eyes, I saw the faces—no, the Others' lack of faces. Blank skin, hollow stares. I'd been living in that darkness for days, and it was starting to gnaw at me.
I took a deep breath, letting the chill of the wind hit my lungs. 'I can't keep doing this,' I thought. 'If I stay in their shadow, I'll lose myself before we even get the chance to stop them.'
And then, like a thread pulled from a tangle, a single, softer thought came through. Not Riven's face first—his laugh. That rare, rough-edged sound he gave when Hunter did something ridiculous, or when I said something I didn't think was funny but he did anyway. In my mind, the weight of the Others loosened a fraction. I remembered him sitting under the willow tree with Hunter curled at his side.
Lately, I've been thinking about him without me even noticing. I'll be sitting in class, or staring at a training dummy, or pretending to read one of Ryan's dusty files—and suddenly, there he is. Not in front of me, but in my head, as vivid as if he were. And honestly, it starts small. The way his eyes narrow a little when he's trying not to smile. His hands, his smile. Everything. I tell myself it's nothing, that it's just because we've been spending so much time together, because he's involved in everything now. But even as I think it, the denial tastes weak.
And then I catch myself picturing him from another angle—not just the one I always see when he's leaning against the window frame or crouched beside Hunter. I see him in the woods at dusk, hair damp from rain, his tank top clinging to his chest, the look on his face when he thought no one was watching. The way his presence feels like a tether in a world that's constantly slipping.
I squeeze my eyes shut and try to shove it away. No. He's a friend. That's all.
But the picture in my mind doesn't fade. It sharpens, tilting just enough to show me something I hadn't let myself notice before. And for a heartbeat, I can't tell if I'm trying to stop thinking about him, or if I'm afraid of what it means that I don't want to.
But yeah, it was his birthday. I'd overheard him mention the date once in passing, as if it was nothing. 'Riven Hyeon, born under a storm,' he'd joked. It stuck in my head like a secret I wasn't supposed to keep.
I straightened on the bench. "Alright," I murmured under my breath. "One day without the Others."
I waited until the hallways of the house grew quieter. The smell of dinner drifted faintly from the kitchen, but Miss Byrd was distracted, overseeing some of the younger ones in the parlor. Perfect. I slipped inside the kitchen barefoot as I opened the cupboards.
Flour. Sugar. Eggs. A cracked mixing bowl. I didn't know what I was doing exactly—I wasn't my mother, who used to bake pastries without even glancing at a recipe—but I wanted to try. Even if it came out crooked. Even if it was burnt.
As I stirred the batter, my mind wandered in quieter circles. 'He's been through so much,' I thought. 'The barracks, the soldiers, losing people. Living out there in the woods like some ghost no one wants to see.' The image of him feeding Hunter scraps flickered in my mind.
'He deserves something good. Even if it's just this,' I thought.
I poured the mixture into a dented pan and slid it into the oven. The smell began to fill the kitchen. By the time I pulled it out, it was lopsided and a little burnt on top. I stared at it, then smiled.
"Yikes," I whispered.
I wrapped it in a clean towel and carried it up to my room, tucking it away like a treasure under my desk. My hands still smelled like sugar. For the first time in days, my chest didn't feel like it was caving in. Then a knock at my window startled me.
I turned sharply, half-expecting Sebastian's wings or Harriet's glare. Instead, Riven stood on the other side of the glass, leaning against the frame with an awkward kind of grace. In his hands was a bunch of primroses. Hunter's head poked up from below, tail wagging slowly.
I unlatched the window and pushed it open. "Blackcap? What—what's this?" I asked, eyes flicking to the flowers.
He looked down at them like he wasn't sure either. "Thought you might… y'know. Want them," he said, voice low. "You've seemed… I don't know. Different. You didn't visit me under the willow tree today so I figured maybe you were going through something. So I thought of giving you this."
For a second, I forgot how to breathe.
The primroses felt heavier in my hands than they should've, like they were made of lead instead of petals. He said it so quietly, almost like he was embarrassed, or shy, or awkward, and I couldn't remember the last time anyone had noticed when I didn't show up somewhere.
He'd noticed.
I stared at him, the way his eyes kept flicking away from mine, as if the words he'd just spoken cost him something. My chest tightened, a strange ache swelling up before I could name it. I wanted to say something light—make a joke about the flowers, about him showing up like some awkward storybook character—but the words stuck. Because what kind of person thinks about me like that? Notices I'm not there. Worries. Brings flowers. To think today is his birthday.
'Stop it,' I told myself. 'Don't read into it.' But even as I thought it, the thought rang hollow. He wasn't just being polite. This wasn't a casual gesture.
And suddenly I hated that my face was warm, that my fingers felt clumsy around the stems. I hated that some part of me was already memorizing this moment—the smell of the primroses, the way his voice dipped on the word different, and the stormcloud look in his eyes when he thought I might be hurting.
I wanted to look away, but I couldn't.
"You brought me flowers," I said softly, a small smile tugging at my lips.
His ears went a little pink. "Guess I did."
"Come in," I said, stepping back. "Both of you."
Hunter bounded in first, nose pressed to the carpet. Riven followed more slowly, ducking under the window frame. He looked at home here in a way that startled me.
I reached under my desk and pulled out the towel-wrapped cake, my fingers suddenly unsure of themselves. "I made you something," I murmured, setting it on the table between us. "Happy birthday."
For a heartbeat, he didn't move. His eyes widened, and whatever he was about to say caught in his throat. The silence stretched like the room itself was holding its breath with him. Then, softer than I expected, he managed, "You remembered."
But his voice was rougher than usual, like the words had taken him by surprise, too.
I tilted my head, half smiling despite the nerves fluttering in my stomach. "Of course I remembered. You look like you're about to cry over it, though."
A faint laugh escaped him. "It's not that," he said, still staring at the crooked little cake like it was something sacred. "It's just… this is the first time anyone's ever made me a cake."
His words hit me harder than I expected. My fingers curled into my palms. All my worries about the burnt edges vanished at once. "Seriously?" I asked, softer now.
He nodded without looking at me, his thumb brushing the edge of the towel like he was afraid it might disappear if he touched it too roughly. "Birthdays never meant much where I grew up. We didn't… we can't afford to do things like this."
I swallowed hard. "Well," I said quietly, "then I guess this is a first. And it won't be the last."
His eyes flicked up to mine then, and even if he didn't say a word, the look on his face—the light there—said everything.
He sat down, staring at the uneven, slightly burnt cake like it was a priceless artifact. Then he laughed, a warm, unguarded sound that filled the room. "Thanks, Whit," he said.
"It's not perfect, you know," I said, cheeks warming. "It's edible. Maybe."
"That's more than I had this morning," he said, glancing at Hunter. "We had stale bread. This is—" He stopped, shaking his head with a small smile. "Really. Thank you."
I handed him a fork and cut two uneven slices. We ate cross-legged on the floor, crumbs falling onto our knees. The taste was sweet and a little bitter at the edges, but Riven made a show of savoring every bite.
"It's good," he said, mouth full.
"You're a liar."
"I've had worse," he said, grinning.
Hunter nosed at his knee, and Riven scratched behind his ears. "You know," he said after a moment, voice softening, "this guy saved my life once."
I tilted my head. "Hunter?"
"Yeah." His eyes went distant, like he was looking back through smoke. "Ambush. It was in the middle of the night a few months ago. We were supposed to be moving camp, but they found us first. Terrorists. They had us pinned. I thought it was over, and then Hunter—" He broke off, swallowing. "He broke free of his chain and went for the nearest one. Bought me time to run. He's been with me ever since."
I looked at Hunter, who'd curled up between us like a living shadow, and my throat tightened. "He's incredible."
"Yeah," Riven said quietly. "He is."
Something about the way he said it made me want to reach across the space between us. Instead, I smiled and asked him for another story. He told one, then another. Some were sad. Some made me laugh until my sides hurt.
I laughed—really laughed—and it startled me how strange it felt in my own mouth. When was the last time I'd let it out like that, without thinking of who might hear, without the weight of everything pressing down on me? I couldn't even remember. The room seemed to breathe with me, softer somehow, warmer. For a little while it was just the two of us, crumbs scattered across the floor, and Hunter curled up at our feet. Outside, the weather kept on, but in here it was only a sound in the distance, like another world.
By the time he left, the sky had gone pale with morning light.
The next day, Ryan called me over after drills. "You've been holding back," he said, crossing his arms. "You're strong, Alice, but you're not in control. We're going to fix that."
And so began my training—hours of learning to pull my gift into shape instead of letting it spill out like water. Ryan was patient but strict, pushing me past the edges of my comfort until my palms ached and my body hummed with power. It was exhausting, honestly.
That night, I sat on my bed, sore and drowsy, when a small hand tugged at my sleeve.
I blinked and looked down. "Morgan?"
He didn't say anything at first, just held up a new drawing. My stomach flipped before I even saw it.
This one showed the house.
I took it carefully, my fingers trembling. "What is this?" I asked.
Morgan's voice was small. "I don't know. It came from a dream."
The paper felt heavier than it should. My breath came short.
I smoothed Morgan's hair with my free hand, forcing my voice steady. "It's alright."
But when he left, the drawing still in my lap, a chill settled in my spine like ice water. Something was coming. And this time, I feel like spilling what I learned to Ryan.