THE MORNING LIGHT was soft and gold, spilling through the sheer curtains like honey. I then blinked slowly. The room was quiet, save for the faint scratch of something moving steadily, rhythmically. When my eyes adjusted, I saw Riven.
He sat at the little desk near the window, back hunched slightly, with a pen moving across a paper. His hair was a tousled mess, still damp from washing, and the sunlight cut through it like thin threads of amber. He didn't notice I was awake, and for a moment, I just watched. I don't know why it caught me off guard—maybe because I'd never seen him like that before. Riven wasn't the type to sit still, much less write. The most I'd ever seen him do was carve my name under the willow tree with the bark still bearing faint scars from it. But now, his face was strangely serious, as though whatever he was writing mattered deeply.
I wanted to ask what it was. I wanted to know. But before I could even sit up properly, he froze. He must've heard the bedsheet rustle. In an instant, he turned around, eyes darting to mine. The expression that flashed across his face was unmistakable—surprise. Or something close to it.
"Hey," he said quickly, voice pitched a little too high, too casual. "Morning."
"Morning…" I mumbled, still half-asleep, rubbing my eyes. "What were you—"
"Nothing." He cut me off almost before I could finish, shoving the paper into his backpack with a clumsy motion. "Just… sketching."
I raised an eyebrow, fighting a small smile. "Sketching? Since when do you—"
"Hey, did you know Hunter snores?" he blurted out, pointing to where the dog was sprawled by the foot of my bed, belly rising and falling with the rhythm of sleep. "Like, really snores. Loud. I thought there was a rat in the walls."
I stared at him, his words tripping over themselves, and almost laughed. "A rat?"
He shrugged, scratching the back of his neck. "Big rat."
The way he said it—awkward and painfully obvious—made it clear he was trying to steer the conversation somewhere, anywhere else. It was almost endearing how bad he was at lying. Almost.
I sat up, pushing my hair away from my face. "You're a terrible liar, you know that?"
He grinned sheepishly, scratching his cheek. "Yeah, I've heard that before."
The air between us felt light again—awkward, yes, but familiar. Like the kind of silence that didn't need filling, the kind where glances said more than words ever could. He stood by the window now, one hand brushing over the curtain edge.
"Did you sleep?" I asked quietly.
He looked out, eyes tracing the slow sway of the trees. "A little. I kept waking up. Don't know why. Guess my head just won't shut up these days."
I studied him. There was something in the way he said that. The last few weeks hadn't been easy for any of us. Between the Others, the experiments, and the uncertainty that hovered like fog, peace had become a fragile thing—something we had to hold carefully, afraid it might shatter if we breathed too hard.
Before I could reply, there was a soft knock on the door.
"Alice?" came Miss Byrd's voice, gentle but firm. "Your chore schedule, dear."
"Coming!" I called back, already moving to slide out of bed.
Riven's head snapped toward the door. "I should… probably go," he said, already grabbing his jacket. "You, uh, get dressed. I'll take Hunter out."
I gave him a small nod, grateful he understood without needing to be told. "Thanks."
He whistled softly, and Hunter's ears perked up. The dog yawned, stretched, then followed him obediently toward the window. Before he climbed out, Riven hesitated.
"Hey, Whit?"
I looked up from where I was gathering my clothes. "Yeah?"
He opened his mouth, like he wanted to say something. Something real. But then he stopped, smiled instead, that familiar crooked grin of his. "Don't burn breakfast again."
I rolled my eyes. "That was one time."
"Sure," he said, half-laughing as he walked out of the doorway. "One time too many."
And just like that, he was gone with Hunter at his side. For a moment, I stood there, listening to the quiet they left behind. Then I sighed, shaking my head. He was hiding something. That much was clear. But I didn't know if I wanted to press him about it—or if part of me was afraid to.
I opened the door, stepping out with Riven standing in front. The dog's nails clicked softly against the floorboards as we moved down the stairs. The hallway was alive with the usual late-morning sound—footsteps echoing on the old wooden floors, and laughter and shouts from the younger gifted chasing each other down the corridor. The smell of breakfast still lingered faintly in the air, and a mix of toast, butter, and Miss Byrd's ever-present chamomile tea wafted through the air.
"Feels calmer today," Riven murmured, his voice low.
"Maybe because Ryan's not shouting at anyone yet," I said, half-smiling.
He chuckled under his breath. "Give it time."
We'd barely reached the second flight when a small thud echoed from below—followed by a muffled cry. My instincts kicked in before thought could catch up. I looked down and saw little Augustus, sitting on the bottom step, eyes wide with surprise and tears forming at the corners. He must have tripped over the hem of his own oversized sweater again.
"Oh, Augustus," I muttered, hurrying down the last few steps. "You have to be more careful, sweetheart."
He looked up at me, lip trembling. "I didn't mean to fall."
"I know," I said gently, crouching down in front of him. "Here, give me your hands."
I reached for him without thinking. The moment our palms touched, something sharp and electric shot through my arm. I gasped, pulling back instinctively. It felt like the air had been punched out of me, draining. My fingers went numb. For a second, the world tilted on its axis.
"Miss Alice?" Augustus's tiny voice wavered, alarmed.
Behind me, Riven's tone sharpened. "What happened?"
Before I could even answer, Lucy appeared at the top of the stairs, her expression tight with worry. "Oh no—Augustus!"
She descended in a flash, skirts brushing the steps as her hands began to glow faintly with a soft gold light. The warmth rolled over my skin like sunlight after a storm, pushing away the strange hollowness in my chest. The ache ebbed, replaced by tingling warmth.
"I'm so sorry," Lucy said breathlessly, holding Augustus close. "He still doesn't have full control yet. His power reacts to touch sometimes—it draws out energy from others."
I flexed my hand, still feeling the faint trace of cold where he'd touched me. "It's alright," I managed, though my voice came out softer than I meant it to. "He didn't mean it."
"I didn't mean it!" Augustus repeated, his small face crumpling with guilt.
Lucy crouched beside him, brushing his hair gently. "I know, love. You just have to be careful with your gift, alright?"
He nodded, sniffing.
I gave him a small smile. "See? No harm done."
Behind me, Riven frowned, watching the exchange closely. "That's dangerous," he muttered, almost to himself.
"It's just part of who he is," Lucy said kindly, standing again. "We're still learning how to help him control it. They all need time."
Riven nodded, though his jaw was tight. "I couldn't help but feel bad for the little fella. He couldn't play much with the other kids."
Lucy smiled, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "I know. But that's why we have each other, isn't it? To keep them safe."
I could tell Riven wanted to say more—something protective, maybe even fearful—but he stopped himself. Instead, he turned to me. "You okay?"
"Yeah," I said, exhaling. "Just a little… drained."
He studied me for a second longer, then gave a quiet nod, though the crease in his brow didn't disappear. Hunter nudged my leg gently, as if to check too, and I reached down to pat his head. Lucy gave me one last apologetic look before ushering Augustus down the hall, murmuring softly to him about lessons and control. The golden glow faded from her hands as they disappeared around the corner.
For a long moment, the three of us stood in the quiet corridor, the echo of their footsteps fading.
Riven broke it first. "You should be careful too, Whit."
I gave him a pointed look. "Oh, thank you, Captain Obvious. I'll be sure to let him fall next time."
He smirked faintly, shaking his head. "Didn't mean it like that. Just—be careful. You keep throwing yourself into danger for everyone else. One of these days, someone's gonna have to save you."
His tone was half-joking, half-sincere—and it lingered longer than I wanted it to.
"Don't worry about me," I said quietly, brushing it off. "Go worry about your dog or something."
"Hunter's fine," he said. "You, on the other hand—"
"Blackcap." I cut him off before he could turn it into another lecture. "I'm fine."
He stared at me for a beat longer, then sighed and let it go. "Alright. Fine. But if you faint, I'm not carrying you up the stairs again."
"Again?" I raised a brow.
He grinned. "You don't remember? That night after you almost passed out from training? I carried you like a sack of potatoes."
I felt my cheeks warm despite myself. "You're exaggerating."
"I'm not," he said, mock-offended. "You snored, by the way."
"Get out," I said, shoving his shoulder as we finally started walking toward the kitchen.
He laughed, the sound light and easy, echoing down the hall.
As we turned the corner, I found myself glancing back—toward the staircase, toward the place where Augustus had stood moments ago. The memory of that sharp drain still lingered faintly, a reminder of how unpredictable their world could be, even inside the walls meant to protect them.
Still, for now, I forced myself to focus on what was in front of me—the clatter of dishes from the kitchen, Miss Byrd humming as she scrubbed, and Riven beside me, still pretending he wasn't keeping an eye on me.
***
The rest of the morning passed in a blur of routine—helping in the kitchen, sweeping the hallways, and checking on the younger gifted as they studied. The usual rhythm of life in the home. But every time I passed by the window, my mind drifted back to the way Riven's hand moved across that paper. It wasn't just idle doodling. He'd been writing something real.
Maybe a letter? Or… something?
The thought made my chest tighten unexpectedly. I brushed it off, forcing myself to focus on scrubbing the wooden counters.
Miss Byrd walked past with her apron dusted in flour. "You look distracted, dear."
I quickly shook my head. "Just tired, ma'am."
She gave me a knowing smile—the kind that said she didn't believe me but wouldn't push. "Rest when you can. Peace like this doesn't last forever."
Her words lingered longer than I wanted them to.
When I finished my chores, the warmth of the day still clung to my sleeves. I wiped my hands on my apron, breathing in the quiet, and for the first time in what felt like ages, there wasn't anyone calling my name or asking for help. The courtyard was empty except for the rustle of leaves and the faint hum of cicadas. I caught myself glancing toward the woods—toward the faint shimmer of orange between the trunks.
And somehow, I knew where he'd be. It didn't take long to spot him. There, high up in the crooked oak behind the stables, Riven sat perched on one of the branches like he'd always belonged there. His silhouette was cut clean against the sinking sun—shoulders relaxed, one knee bent, the light catching on his dark hair.
Hunter lay at the base of the tree, tail sweeping lazily against the grass.
For a second, I just watched. He looked so unguarded like that—whatever it was—had been lifted, even just a little.
I walked closer, the dry grass crunching under my boots. "Didn't know you had a thing for climbing trees," I called out.
He turned his head slightly, smirking when he saw me. "Didn't know you had a thing for sneaking up on people."
"I wasn't sneaking."
"You move quietly for someone who insists she's not sneaky."
I rolled my eyes, but before I could think of a comeback, he looked back toward the horizon. "It's beautiful," he said quietly, and something about the way he said it made me stop.
His voice wasn't playful. It was soft—barely there.
"The view?" I asked.
He nodded. "Yeah. Makes you forget for a second that the world's falling apart."
I didn't answer. Maybe because he was right. Maybe because I couldn't look at the sunset without thinking of all the things waiting to destroy it.
Still, I smiled faintly. "Move over. I want to see it too."
He glanced down at me, brow raised. "You? Climbing?"
"Don't underestimate me, Blackcap."
"Wouldn't dream of it, Whit."
The nickname rolled off his tongue so easily now that it felt strange to remember a time when it bothered me.
I gripped one of the lower branches and started pulling myself up. The bark was rough, bits of moss clinging to it, and I could feel Riven watching me the whole time. Halfway up, I shot him a look.
"Stop staring like I'm about to fall."
He grinned. "You are about to fall."
"No, I'm not—"
My foot slipped.
It happened so fast I didn't even have time to curse. My hand lost its hold, the ground spun, and before I could scream, a pair of strong arms caught me mid-fall.
"Got you," Riven muttered, his voice breathless.
I blinked, heart hammering, realizing my face was inches from his chest. He was warm—too warm—and the world suddenly felt too small.
"You—uh—you can let go now," I said, but my voice came out barely a whisper.
"Right," he said quickly, setting me down onto the branch beside him, though his hands lingered a second too long before pulling away.
I exhaled, brushing dirt off my sleeves to hide the heat crawling up my neck. "You're insufferable," I said, though it sounded weaker than I meant it to.
"And yet you keep showing up," he said, leaning back against the trunk, that lopsided smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
I turned away before he could see me smile.
For a while, we sat in silence. The sky shifted through shades of gold and rose, clouds bleeding into the horizon.
Riven was the first to speak again. His tone was different this time. Careful almost. "Alice?"
"Yeah?"
He hesitated, fingers tapping against the bark. His leg bounced slightly—something I'd learned he did when he was nervous.
"Can I ask you something? And promise you won't laugh."
"That depends," I said, watching him from the corner of my eye. "Is it something worth laughing at?"
He huffed a small laugh, shaking his head. "Maybe."
"Then I'll try not to."
He was quiet for another few seconds. Then, softly: "I've liked you for a while now."
The words landed like a stone in still water—rippling through the air, through me. For a heartbeat, I didn't breathe. And he didn't look at me right away; his gaze stayed fixed on the fading sun, jaw clenched like he regretted saying it already.
"I didn't know how to say it," he went on quietly, "and I wasn't planning to. Not really. You… you're you. You come from this world I can't even imagine—wealth, family, purpose. And me?" He gave a small, hollow laugh. "I'm just some kid who learned how to survive. Now lost in this world of the gifted."
I wanted to say something—anything—but my throat felt tight. I'd imagined Riven saying a lot of things to me before, but not this.
He looked down at his hands. "You've got this light, Alice. Even when you're angry, or scared, or pretending you're not. People see it. I see it. And I knew from the start that if I got too close, I'd just…" He trailed off, searching for words. "…ruin something good."
My chest ached. It wasn't pity—it was something heavier, something unnamed.
I swallowed hard, forcing my voice out. "You wouldn't ruin anything."
And I stopped. What on earth was that, Whitlock?
He turned to look at me then, and I realized how close we were—close enough that I could see the way the sunlight caught in his eyes, the faint gold threading through the brown.
He shook his head, smiling like he didn't believe me. "You don't have to say that."
"I'm not just saying it," I said quietly.
There was a pause. The kind that felt alive.
Before I could think twice, before my own doubts could catch up, I leaned in and kissed him—just once, soft and quick, on the cheek.
And he froze. Then the corners of his mouth lifted, slow and stunned, like he couldn't quite believe what happened. "Was that—"
"Don't." I cut him off, looking away as my face burned. "Just… don't ruin it by talking."
He laughed under his breath, low and warm. "Yes, ma'am."
The air between us settled into something new. Quiet, but charged. I didn't even know why I did it—maybe it was impulse, maybe it was because part of me had been waiting for him to say it for so long.
We sat there for a while longer, the branch swaying gently beneath us, Hunter dozing below. I could feel Riven's shoulder brushing mine now and then, and it didn't make me want to move away.
I thought maybe this—whatever this was—was enough. Then, movement caught my eye. Perched on a branch across from us, half-hidden by the leaves, was a familiar shape—wings tucked neatly, eyes gleaming in the fading light. Sebastian tilted his head, but there was something almost smug about the way he blinked at us.
I groaned softly. "You've got to be kidding me."
Riven followed my gaze, then snorted. "What?"
The owl gave a low, disapproving hoot.
I rolled my eyes. "Don't you start. And don't look at me like that."
Sebastian ruffled his feathers, letting out another pointed sound, as if to say 'I told you so.'
I threw my hands up. "Unbelievable. He's probably going to tell everyone."
Riven grinned, leaning closer. "Let him. Maybe then Dwight will finally stop teasing me."
"He did?"
"Yeah."
"Don't even joke about that," I muttered, though I was smiling too.
The sky deepened. We didn't move. For once, there was no talk of the Others, no fear, no weight pressing on us. Just a quiet moment—an ordinary, human kind of peace. And if I could've frozen time right then, I think I would have.
***
The hallway was quiet later that night, lit only by the dim yellow glow of the lanterns that lined the walls. Everyone else had already retreated into their rooms, and the hum of laughter and chatter from dinner long faded into a sleepy stillness. I moved softly, barefoot, the wooden floor cool beneath my feet as I reached for the doorknob to my room.
The moment I opened it, I stopped. The room was dim, lit faintly by the soft blue light of the moon through the window. Riven's things were still where he'd left them—the folded blanket on the cot, Hunter curled at the foot of it, chest rising and falling with each steady breath. But what caught my eye wasn't him. It was his backpack. The flap was half-open, as if hastily closed. A corner of paper peeked out, folded but not tucked in properly. The same paper he'd been writing on that morning.
I hesitated by the door, my fingers tightening on the knob. For a moment, curiosity won. I stepped closer, just enough for the moonlight to fall over the bag. The page was right there, just within reach. I could see faint lines of ink across it, the edge of what looked like his handwriting. I'd never seen him write anything before, not even a list. Riven didn't strike me as the type to put thoughts to paper. But that morning, he had.
I crouched a little, reaching out—then froze when I heard soft footsteps behind me.
"Miss Alice?"
I turned around, startled, and there stood Augustus—tiny as ever, his hair sticking out at odd angles, holding a steaming cup of tea in both hands as if it were the most precious thing in the world.
"Oh, Augustus," I said, relaxing a little. "You scared me."
He frowned, clearly worried. "Did I?"
I smiled. "Just a little."
He stepped forward, the cup trembling slightly in his grip. "I made this for you," he said shyly. "Miss Byrd taught me how."
I blinked, surprised. "You made me tea?"
He nodded, eyes bright. "I thought maybe you'd be tired."
My chest warmed. Carefully, I took the cup from his hands, feeling the comforting heat seep into my fingers. "That's very thoughtful of you. Thank you."
He shuffled a bit, his expression turning serious. "I also wanted to say sorry."
"Sorry?" I tilted my head. "For what?"
"For hurting you," he said quietly. "Earlier. When I touched your hand. I didn't mean to."
The sincerity in his voice made my heart twist. I set the cup down on the table and knelt in front of him, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Hey. It's alright. You didn't do anything wrong."
"But it hurt you," he insisted, his eyes starting to well up. "Mother said I still can't control it. I don't like that I can't."
I smiled softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from his forehead. "It's part of learning, Augustus. We all lose control sometimes. What matters is that you learn from the road bumps."
He sniffled but nodded, trying to be brave. I reached for the tea again and took a small sip. To my surprise, it was actually good—sweet, faintly floral, with a warmth that spread all the way down. "This is delicious," I said, smiling. "You've got talent. It's elegant. Very refined."
His eyes widened at the compliment. "Really?"
"Really. Miss Byrd should hire you to make tea for everyone."
He giggled, his earlier sadness already forgotten. Then, as if remembering something, he looked up at me curiously. "Miss Alice?"
"Yes?"
"What do you think I should be when I grow up?"
The question caught me off guard. I set the cup aside and thought for a moment. "Well, that depends. What do you want to be?"
He looked down, small fingers tracing invisible patterns on his sleeve. "If I can control my gift… I want to be like the Headmaster someday. I want to help other gifted kids. Like how he helps us."
There was no hesitation in his voice. The kind that only came from innocence and hope.
I felt something tug inside me. "You'd make a wonderful mentor, Augustus. You have a kind heart. That's rarer than any gift."
He smiled so wide that it almost made me tear up.
"And who knows," I added, leaning closer, "maybe one day, when I build a home like this one, I'll need a good mentor to guide the next generation. Think you'd be up for that?"
His eyes went round. "You'd really want me?"
"Of course," I said warmly. "I'll even make sure you have your own office. With windows and a kettle just for your tea. What room do you prefer?"
"I like to be in a room with many books. I like reading!"
"That's good. Then I'll make sure you'll have your office filled with books."
He grinned, a burst of laughter escaping him before he threw his arms around me in a quick hug. "I'll do my best, Miss Alice!"
"I know you will," I whispered, hugging him back.
When he pulled away, I ruffled his hair and handed him the now-empty cup. "Now off to bed before your mother worries."
He nodded eagerly, clutching the cup to his chest as he trotted toward the door.
"Goodnight, Augustus," I called.
"Goodnight!" he chirped, before disappearing down the hall.
The room fell silent again. Only the soft sound of Hunter's breathing and the faint chirping of crickets outside filled the space.
I glanced at Riven's bag. The paper was still there, unmoved, the edge curling slightly in the breeze from the open window. For a moment, my curiosity burned again. What was he writing? A letter? Notes from one of his hunts? Something about the Others? Or maybe… something about me?
The thought made me smile without meaning to.
I took a few steps closer, but then stopped.
He had hidden it for a reason. Riven didn't let people see the parts of himself he didn't mean to share. That secrecy was what kept him safe for so long—what made him who he was. And if I respected anything about him, it was that.
I exhaled, shaking my head lightly, and turned toward my bed. "You win this time, Blackcap," I murmured under my breath.
As I lay down, the moonlight poured through the window, silvering the floorboards. I thought about Augustus' smile, his dream of becoming a mentor. I thought about Riven's face when he looked at the horizon. And then I thought about that folded paper still tucked away in his bag.
Whatever he wrote mattered to him. Maybe it was something unfinished. Maybe something he didn't have the courage to say out loud.
I pulled the blanket closer and stared at the ceiling until my eyes grew heavy. Whatever secrets Riven kept, I'd wait for him to tell me in his own time. Because if there was one thing I was certain of now—it was that I trusted him. More than I ever thought I could trust anyone again.