SEBASTIAN CAME BACK AT DUSK, wings cutting through the low clouds like a warning. He didn't circle the way he usually did when he was just keeping watch. No lazy arcs, no drifting shadows across the grass. He just came straight down to the window ledge with a sharpness in his movements that immediately told me something was wrong.
"Miss Alice," he said, voice rough from shifting the second his claws touched the sill. His feathers melted into dark feathers, his wings dissolving into the frame of his back until he stood there, breath unsteady. "Something's moving near the woods."
My stomach clenched. The air around him still carried the bite of the forest, damp and uneasy.
"Have you seen them?" I asked, standing so fast the chair legs scraped the floor.
"I couldn't get close enough to see faces," Sebastian said, shaking his head. "But their movements… it wasn't wandering. It wasn't hunting. It was methodical. They're probably the same men from the organization."
For a heartbeat, the room seemed to tilt. Every word from him sounded too much like the shadows that had been haunting me since the night I first opened Ryan's files. The Others. Or maybe something worse.
I didn't let myself hesitate. "We need to check it out."
Sebastian's gaze flickered toward the grounds beyond my window, then back to me. "Not alone."
"I wasn't planning on it," I muttered, already moving toward the door. My pulse drummed in my ears as I found Riven in outside my window, leaning casually against the wall as if he'd been waiting for me. Hunter was stretched at his feet, tail twitching in his sleep.
"What's with the face?" Riven asked when he saw me, pushing off the glass pane.
"We need to go check something," I told him, quick and low. "Some of the Others are likely scouting."
The easy curve of his mouth vanished. He knelt, nudging Hunter awake with a gentle hand. "We're going?"
"Yeah. But I need Harriet and Dwight too." My voice came sharper than I meant it to, but I didn't care.
We found them sitting near the edge of the courtyard, half in shadow. Harriet had a book open across her lap, and Dwight leaned forward with his elbows braced on his knees, talking quietly. They looked up as we approached, their faces mirroring the unease in my chest.
Sebastian spoke before I could. "This is very alarming."
Harriet closed the book with a soft thud, her expression unreadable as always, though the smallest shift in her posture told me she'd already made up her mind. "Miss Byrd believes we're still all asleep," she said evenly. "We have a window. Let's use it."
She had Miss Byrd's trust, I realized—not just because she was reliable, but because people always trusted Harriet. If she said she'd keep me and Dwight busy in the gardens for hours, no one questioned it. I should've felt bitter about that. But instead, for once, I was grateful.
"Fine," Dwight said, standing, though his gaze flicked toward Riven with that same quiet suspicion he never seemed to lose. "But if this goes bad, it's on all of us."
The words lodged in my ribs, heavy and unspoken: it was already on me. I was the one who had pushed them into looking deeper, the one who couldn't leave the shadows alone. If it led to disaster, that would be my fault to carry.
Still, I nodded. "Yeah, but let us all take care."
***
The trek to the woods stretched longer than usual, though maybe that was just the weight of silence pressing down on us. Rain had passed through earlier, which left the soil damp with every footstep muffled into the earth. Sebastian was flying up above, always a few paces ahead, with his head tilted as though listening to something we couldn't hear. Harriet kept walking beside Dwight, while he, on the other hand, assisted her. Riven walked just behind me, Hunter close at his heel, and the faint scrape of his boots grounding me against the hum in my chest.
Hours blurred together. The forest thickened, and the branches overhead knotted so tightly that only threads of light broke through. I couldn't tell if the chill that crept down my spine came from the air or from the feeling that every step pulled us closer to something waiting.
When Sebastian landed from another low pass and motioned us forward, I braced myself. "Right here."
We followed him through a tangle of vines that clung to the side of an object, so hidden beneath moss it looked like the forest itself had tried to bury it. Tucked against the roots of a massive tree that half-swallowed by the earth was something that didn't belong to time. It kind of looked like a transmitter. Its casing was new, but crimson rust formed at the edges. As I was studying it, the faint pulse of a red light flickered from it, steady, almost like a heartbeat.
My breath caught. "It's still active."
Riven crouched close, studying it. "Signal's weak, but it's uniform. Someone must've been keeping this alive."
"It's repeating," Harriet said, kneeling beside him.
I forced myself closer, crouching with them. The blinking wasn't random. Three short, two long, three short again. Then pause. Then repeat. The rhythm sank into me until I could almost hear it behind my eyes.
"What does it mean?" Dwight asked, his arms crossed tight.
"It's not words," I murmured, leaning forward. "It could be coordinates. Or a sequence. Look—the spaces between, the clusters. It's pointing to something."
Riven's gaze flicked toward me, surprised, but he didn't speak. Instead, he looked back at the light, his brow furrowed like he was seeing it differently now. Harriet didn't say anything either, but her silence wasn't dismissive. It was careful, measured—as though she was waiting for me to keep going.
My throat felt dry, but I forced the words out anyway. The light then blinked again, steady, merciless.
I hated how much it made little sense.
"It's hard to decipher what this transmitter was telling."
"What if we poke it?" Dwight asked.
"No, don't do that," I said.
He was about to poke it with a stick, but chose not to touch the transmitter.
Harriet was the first to stand. "We have to move before someone comes back to check it."
She was right, but leaving it there felt like leaving behind a bomb that was already counting down.
"Let's just check this back when we can. For now, we need to go back. After all, we have no idea what this transmitter's been blinking about," I said.
On the walk back, silence clung tighter than before. I kept my eyes ahead, but I could feel Riven behind me, close enough that his presence pressed warm against the chill in my chest. Dwight's gaze drifted between us and Harriet, suspicion etched into every glance, but he didn't speak.
The blinking rhythm of that transmitter pulsed in my head long after we left it behind. A message, a map, maybe even a summons. And whatever it was leading to, I knew one thing with certainty: we couldn't keep ignoring it. But for now, I swallowed it back, pushing it deep into the quiet corner of my mind that I reserved for things I couldn't carry out loud. Because if I gave voice to the fear curling in my chest, it might become real before I was ready.
When we were about to trek outside the forest, Harriet's collapse didn't come with warning, only the sound of her knees striking earth and the way her body seemed to fold in on itself. One moment she was beside of us, the next, she faltered—steps stuttering, her pale face flashing against the gloom—and then she dropped.
"Harriet!" Dwight's voice cracked as he lunged to catch her before she hit the ground. His arms closed around her shoulders, bracing her as if she were weightless, his voice low and urgent as he called her name again.
My own heart hammered against my ribs. For a moment I just stood there, useless, staring at her limp body. But then I forced myself forward, sinking to my knees on the damp ground. "She's not—she's not waking up." My hands shook as I reached for hers. Cold. Too cold.
Dwight didn't hesitate. "We need to get her back to the home!"
Riven shifted behind us, sharp eyes scanning the treeline. "Move fast. Sebastian and I will be on the lookout. Stay safe, you three."
Together, Dwight and I lifted Harriet. She was lighter than she looked, her head slumping against my shoulder. She's still breathing, which was a good sign.
Every step back toward the house felt longer than the trek out. My arms ached beneath her weight, but I refused to let go. Beside me, Dwight kept whispering her name like it would tether her to consciousness, like it might be enough to keep her here with us.
After a few seconds of walking, Riven melted into the shadows of the trees together with Sebastian who cut a wide arc above. They didn't follow us all the way back—they couldn't. If anyone saw them near the grounds, it would unravel everything. So they disappeared into the forest, and it was just Dwight and me hauling Harriet through the quiet night until the light of the house broke through.
—
Dr. Crowe met us at the door the second Dwight shouted for help. The doctor's sharp eyes narrowed as he ushered us inside. His hands were surprisingly gentle as he took Harriet from us, laying her onto a cot in the infirmary.
"What happened?" His voice was clipped but not unkind, already checking her pulse, her pupils, and her breathing.
"She just collapsed, Doctor," I said, struggling to keep my voice even. "One second she was fine and the next she…" My throat tightened.
Crowe looked up, suspicion narrowing his gaze. "This isn't fainting. Something is interfering with her system." He held up her hand. The faint shimmer of power that always seemed to linger beneath her skin—the quiet hum of someone gifted—was dim, flickering. "It's draining. Being pulled from her."
The words made my stomach flip. "Draining?"
Dwight leaned closer, panic tightening his features. "What does that even mean?"
"It means someone or something has disrupted her equilibrium." Crowe's brow furrowed deeper as he checked her over, fingers moving with precision. "This isn't natural fatigue. It's an attack. And I want to know how it happened."
I froze.
Beside me, Dwight stiffened but said nothing, his hand hovering over Harriet's arm like he could will her back awake.
Crowe's eyes snapped to me, calculating. "Alice. You were with her."
My pulse pounded. He couldn't know. If he knew we'd been near that transmitter, if he even suspected what we'd been doing, it would unravel everything we'd worked to keep secret. Ryan would know. The whole house would know. And all of this—all of us—would be punished.
"She—she was attacked," I said finally, the words tumbling out in a rush.
Dwight's head whipped toward me, eyes widening, but I kept going. "By one of the men in black. We didn't… we didn't tell anyone because we didn't want to start panic. But it's true. It has to be why she's like this."
Crowe's lips pressed into a tight line, his hand pausing over Harriet's wrist. "The Others," he said under his breath. "You're certain?"
"Yeah." My voice was steadier than I felt. "But please—please, you can't tell anyone. If Ryan finds out we strayed beyond the grounds, it'll put all of us at risk. He'll probably lock us down. We won't be able to protect ourselves."
The silence stretched. Dr. Crowe's eyes searched mine like he could dig the truth out of me if he just looked long enough. I forced myself to hold his gaze, even as my palms dampened with sweat.
Finally, he exhaled. "You're asking me to keep something very dangerous from the headmaster."
"I'm asking you to protect us," I countered, my voice barely above a whisper. "If Ryan knew… we'd be punished, and meanwhile, the Others would still be out there. Isn't it better that we know and can prepare?"
He didn't answer. Not right away. He glanced back at Harriet, his expression softening as he placed a damp cloth on her forehead. "She'll recover," he said eventually, though his tone was heavy. "But the substance—whatever they used—it's foreign. I'll need time to understand it."
Beside him, Harriet stirred faintly, her lashes fluttering. Her voice came quiet, hoarse: "I'm fine."
"No, you're not," Dwight said sharply, leaning closer.
Harriet's lips twitched like she wanted to argue, but she didn't have the strength. She managed only: "Just tired. Nothing more."
Dr. Crowe's mouth thinned. "Don't dismiss this. Something nearly took your power from you."
Her eyes opened just enough to meet his, steady even in her weakness. "Then let it," she murmured. "It won't matter."
I stared at her, stunned by the calm in her tone, the way she said it like she wasn't afraid at all. Like she'd already accepted whatever this was.
"Harriet—"
But she cut me off with the smallest shake of her head, her hand twitching as though to wave me silent. Her gaze flicked toward Dwight, then back to me. She wasn't going to explain. Not now. Maybe not ever.
Crowe sighed, straightening. "You're stubborn. All of you. Fine. I'll keep this between us—for now. But if she worsens, if there's any change at all, I will go to Ryan. Secrets don't save lives, Miss Whitlock."
I swallowed hard, the words digging deep.
His eyes lingered on me a moment longer, filled with questions he didn't voice, before he turned away to gather his supplies.
***
That night, I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the shadows stretched long across the floor. Harriet's face—pale, drawn, her voice soft with that terrifying calm—wouldn't leave my mind. Something was draining her. Something had touched her in a way that wasn't just physical. And I hated how powerless I felt watching it happen.
Dwight had been quiet after we left the infirmary, his eyes haunted in a way that unsettled me more than his anger ever could. He hadn't blamed me—not yet—but his silence carried a weight I couldn't ignore. Riven, Sebastian, Hunter—they were all waiting somewhere in the woods, away from prying eyes, while I sat here trying to act like the walls of this house were still safe. But the truth pressed heavier than ever: they weren't. Not anymore.
As I lay on my bed with the faint creak of the house settling around me, my mind kept slipping back to the warehouse.
That brief flash of silver in the Other's hand which he injected into Harriet. The sharp sting as the needle pierced her skin. At the time, everything had been chaos. We barely escaped with our lives. I told myself Harriet was fine, that she brushed it off because it was nothing. But lying there now, staring into the dark, I could hear the small catch in her voice when she told us not to worry. I could see the way she collapsed in the woods, how pale she'd been in Dwight's arms.
It wasn't nothing. It felt like a clock, invisible but counting down. And none of us knew when it would strike zero.
I turned on my side, restless. Suddenly, a knock on my door disturbed my restless mind. When the door opened, I saw that it was Morgan. I motioned him to enter, to which he obeyed. I let him lay on my bed as he was curled up with a blanket I put on him, head drooping after spending hours with his crayons scattered across my floor. He refused to sleep in his own room most nights now, and I hadn't argued. He'd been through enough.
But his drawings—that was what unsettled me most.
When he tugged my sleeve and pressed another paper into my hands, I'd braced myself. And sure enough, the crayon lines were sharper than before, the shapes less childish, the shadows darker. A gate, broken wide open. A man alone, surrounded. The longer I looked at it, the more the hairs at the back of my neck lifted. It wasn't just the image—it was the way it felt. Wrong. Heavy, like it carried something real. I'd told myself his sketches were just dreams. Strange, unnerving dreams, sure, but nothing more. Except Morgan himself couldn't explain them. He'd just shake his head and say the same thing: It comes from the dream. I don't know why.
And every time, it made my chest feel tight.
I slipped out of my blanket and picked up the paper again, holding it beneath the sliver of moonlight cutting through my curtains. The gate was jagged, as if blown apart. The man's outline was crude but unmistakable: shoulders hunched, head lowered, faceless yet strangely human. Around him, dark shapes closed in. The more I stared, the colder my blood ran.
Was this a warning? Something still to come? Or something already happening somewhere else?
I sat at my desk, careful not to disturb Morgan, and traced the lines with my finger. Part of me wanted to crumple it up, to shove it deep in a drawer and never look again. But another part—the louder part—knew I couldn't. Not after the fire he'd drawn. Not after the faceless men he sketched weeks before we even saw them.
I rested my chin in my hands, my thoughts a tangle.
If Morgan's drawings really were… more than dreams… then we were standing on the edge of something bigger than I could grasp. And Harriet's collapse, the warehouse, Ryan's secrecy—it all tied together in ways I wasn't ready to face. But ready or not, it was coming.
The door creaked softly behind me. I spun, clutching the paper, only to see Dwight's tall frame slipping into the room. His eyes flicked toward the sleeping Morgan, then to me, then to the drawings scattered across the floor.
"You're awake," I said quietly, shutting the door behind him.
"So are you," he replied, his voice lower than I meant it to be.
He walked over, crouched down, and picked up one of the pages—a rough sketch of flames curling around the outline of our home. His mouth tightened. "What are these?"
"Morgan."
Dwight set the paper back down carefully, almost reverently, as though afraid pressing too hard might change what it meant. "They're not just drawings, are they?"
I hesitated. "I don't think so."
He sat back on his heels, rubbing his hands together. "I keep thinking about Harriet." His voice cracked faintly on her name. "About what happened to her. It doesn't add up. She's strong, Alice. Stronger than anyone I've met. For her to collapse like that—"
"It was the injection," I said quickly, maybe too quickly. "It has to be. Whatever they injected to her… it's draining her."
Dwight's jaw clenched. "And we don't even know what it was. Or how to stop it."
Silence stretched. Morgan shifted in his sleep, murmuring something, and we both froze until he settled again.
When I spoke, my voice was softer, like admitting it out loud might make it real: "It feels like something's counting down. Like we're running out of time."
Dwight didn't answer. He looked at my crumpled blanket draped over my side of the bed, at the empty cot where I'd lain earlier before Morgan entered. His face softened in a way I'd only seen a handful of times—unmasked, vulnerable.
"She keeps on brushing it off," he muttered finally. "She keeps on telling us it was nothing. But I saw her eyes. She's scared."
And the truth was—I had too.
I wanted to say more, but my throat ached with words I couldn't give shape to. So instead, I held up Morgan's newest drawing. "Look at this. Tell me it doesn't feel like a warning."
Dwight leaned closer, eyes narrowing as he studied the jagged gate and the lone figure. "It looks like a trap."
"Or a prophecy," I whispered.
His gaze flicked to me, uneasy. "You think this kid sees the future?"
I shook my head, though the motion felt weak. "I don't know. I don't know what to think. But his drawings… they're too close to the truth. Too close to ignore."
We sat there in silence, the weight of it pressing heavier than any words.
For the first time, I realized how tired Dwight looked. Not the kind of tired you fixed with sleep, but the kind that came from carrying too much for too long. His shoulders were slumped, his hands restless. And suddenly, I understood: it wasn't just Harriet he was worried about. It was all of us.
Later, when Dwight left, I sat by the window with Morgan's paper clutched in my hands, staring out at the shadows that pooled beneath the willow. I wanted to pretend this was just a dream. That the Others weren't hunting us. That Harriet hadn't collapsed. That Morgan's drawings didn't feel like threads pulling us closer to something terrible. But the truth was, denial wouldn't save us. And deep down, I knew this picture—the gate, the man alone, the circling shadows—wasn't just crayon on paper. It was a warning.
I was too consumed by my thoughts when a knock against my window broke my reverie. When I turned, I saw Riven, his expression caught between urgency and relief.
"Blackcap?" I whispered, crossing the room and fumbling the latch.
He climbed through in one practiced motion as soon as I unlatched the window. Normally he moved with an ease that made it seem effortless, like slipping into a place he belonged. But tonight, that ease was gone. His breathing came uneven, shoulders taut, eyes shadowed as though something inside him hadn't yet caught up with the safety of these walls.
"I had to see you, Whit," he murmured.
My pulse tripped at the sound of my name on his lips. "What happened? You look—" I stopped, searching his face. "—like you've seen a ghost."
He dragged a hand through his damp hair, shaking his head as if the gesture could clear whatever haunted him. "I thought you were in danger."
I blinked. "In danger? From what?"
His jaw flexed. "It's… it's stupid. I know it sounds that way. But I saw you getting hurt. And I couldn't shake it." His voice dropped, quiet but sharp with conviction. "I had to make sure you were here. Safe."
A chill worked its way down my spine. "Riven, what are you talking about?"
His gaze faltered for a fraction of a second before locking back onto mine. "I dreamt of you," he admitted, the words falling heavy between us. "I saw them dragging you away—the men who attacked us before. I watched it happen. And I couldn't…" He swallowed hard, breath rough. "I couldn't just sit out there wondering if it was real."
For a heartbeat, silence pressed in. I stared at him, at the raw tension carving lines into his face, at the way he hated saying it but forced himself to anyway. He stood there stripped of all the armor he usually carried, and something inside me shifted—softened. My chest tightened, not with fear, but with a strange, aching warmth I didn't want to name.
I wanted to reach out. To tell him I was fine. To admit I'd been thinking about him more than I cared to confess, that somewhere between everything we'd endured, he had become something more than just a boy who waited for me under the willow tree.
I parted my lips to speak—
—but the door creaked open.
"Miss Whitlock."