The sky had dimmed to navy velvet when Mason and Tessa found the Hayes siblings lounging near the firepit outside the East Wing. Lilliana sat curled with a steaming mug, while Logan lazily tossed a pebble into the fire, watching sparks dance.
"Survived the grand Hayes family dinner?" Mason asked as he flopped beside Logan, eyebrows raised in amusement. Tessa settled beside Lilliana with equal curiosity.
Logan gave an exaggerated groan. "Barely. It was a lot of dramatic staring, long silences, and wine no one actually drank."
Lilliana giggled into her cup. "Dad asked Caleb about his future plans. Caleb answered in a single syllable. Mom countered with an existential monologue. It was… tense."
Mason leaned in. "Tense how?"
"Like, knife-on-the-table, nobody-blinks-first kind of tension," Logan replied.
"And Caleb?" Tessa prompted.
"Silent," Lilliana said. "Moody. Classic Caleb."
As if summoned by the mention, Caleb appeared from the shadows, dark coat swaying around his legs, eyes trained forward like he hadn't just walked into the middle of a conversation about him.
Mason, never one to miss an entrance, grinned. "And speaking of brooding shadows…"
Caleb raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
"You always show up right when we're talking about you," Mason continued, voice smooth. "Starting to think you enjoy the attention."
"Or maybe I just have good timing," Caleb muttered, moving to sit beside Lilliana.
"Oh, you definitely have something good," Mason quipped, eyes lingering just a little too long. Logan choked on a laugh while Tessa elbowed him.
Lilliana covered her face with her hands. "Please, I'm begging you—don't flirt over the firepit."
Mason simply smirked. "I'm just appreciating fine architecture."
Caleb looked at him flatly. "You're exhausting."
"And yet, here you are," Mason said sweetly. "Drawn to me like a moth to emotionally repressed flame."
Before anyone could add fuel to the flirt-fest, a gust of cold air blew through the courtyard, harsh and unnatural. The fire stuttered briefly, flickering blue before returning to orange.
Everyone went still.
"What was that?" Tessa whispered.
Logan stood, eyes narrowed. "That didn't feel right."
Lilliana looked up at the sky, scanning for clouds. "No storms in the forecast."
Then a sharp sound echoed in the distance — like a bell tolling off-key.
"That came from the North Tower," Caleb said, already standing. "No one's supposed to be in that wing."
A cold prickle spread through the group. The North Tower had been off-limits since the start of term—sealed for "renovations," though no construction had ever been seen.
"Guess our peaceful night is over," Mason said, voice quieter now, but his grin had vanished.
Caleb was already walking again.
Mason watched him go, then looked back at the group. "If he dies investigating some haunted tower without me, I will never forgive him."
The North Tower bell tolled once more—louder this time, deeper, like a war drum echoing through the heart of the Academy. Within minutes, the entire student body was ushered toward the Grand Courtyard. Professors, cloaked and stern, stood in tight formations, their eyes scanning the perimeter with a sharpness that suggested this was more than a drill.
Mason, now beside Caleb—of course—stood with Logan, Lilliana, and Tessa in the center rows. Whispers buzzed like wasps.
"Why are we out here? What's going on?"
"Someone said the wards flickered."
"Do you think it's an attack?"
"Quiet!" barked Professor Rourke. The crowd fell silent.
Freya Hayes stepped onto the elevated stone platform at the front. Composed, elegant—and this time, visibly tense. Her eyes swept across the students like she was counting something only she could see.
"There has been a breach in the North Tower. We are still assessing the damage. This is not a cause for panic," she said coolly, even though her hand flexed at her side.
Mason leaned closer to Caleb. "She says it's not a cause for panic. That always means it's time to panic."
Caleb didn't respond, but his eyes never left the North Tower in the distance.
Freya continued, "You are all to remain in groups. No one—no one—is to approach the restricted wings without authorization. Professors—"
A loud, cracking sound split the air. It came from above.
Everyone's eyes shot skyward.
The protective dome—one of the oldest spells cast over the Academy—was webbing with fractures. Glowing lines spread like lightning across glass.
Then, without warning, a section of it shattered.
And all hell broke loose.
From the dark rip in the sky, creatures descended—black, winged things with gleaming eyes and jagged forms. Like shadow and bone woven together, they screeched as they dove, scattering the crowd in chaos.
Screams. Spells. Teachers raised wards; students ducked and scrambled.
Caleb's hands moved in precise, fluid gestures—shadowy blades forming in his palms. He didn't hesitate.
Mason blinked. "Hot and deadly. Great."
He followed Caleb into the fray, conjuring shields of iridescent light, deflecting one of the creatures with a blast that left a shimmering trail. Logan and Lilliana backed toward the statue circle, flanking Tessa, who was still trying to gather her energy.
Professor Rourke shouted, "Keep them away from the archives!"
"Already on it," Freya snarled, casting a sweeping barrier that cut through three shadow creatures mid-air.
Another creature dove straight toward Caleb.
Before he could react, Mason's magic lit up the sky—an explosion of violet and silver that disintegrated the thing mid-flight.
Caleb turned. Their eyes met.
"Didn't want your face scratched," Mason said with a wink, slightly breathless.
Caleb gave him the smallest of smirks. "Appreciate the concern."
"Anytime, handsome."
But something shifted in that moment—a deeper roar echoed. The last of the creatures retreated suddenly, almost as if yanked back by some invisible leash. The skies fell quiet, too quiet.
Freya stood tall again, shoulders tense. "This wasn't a random breach. They were testing us."
Logan stepped forward, blood on his sleeve. "Testing us for what?"
Freya's expression was grim. "For whatever's coming next."
The courtyard smelled like burnt ozone and stone dust.
Healers were rushing from student to student, casting swift diagnostics, muttering under their breath as they tried to mend both physical and magical wounds. The shattered section of the dome above the Academy flickered with temporary patchwork spells—pale and shaky.
Mason sat on the edge of a broken bench, his shirt torn at the collar, hair tousled from battle. "Well, that was dramatic."
"No kidding," Logan muttered, dabbing at a cut on his arm.
Tessa looked pale. "I've never seen anything like that before. They didn't just attack randomly. They… they moved with purpose."
"Like they were after something specific," Lilliana added, eyes narrowing.
Caleb stood apart, arms crossed, his face unreadable.
Before anyone could say more, Professor Rourke strode into the circle of students like a storm in human form. "Caleb Hayes. A word."
Logan straightened. "Wait—what for?"
Freya, who had appeared behind him, answered instead. "He's not in trouble."
But the edge in her voice suggested it wasn't entirely true.
Caleb followed them toward the War Room, silent.
Mason watched, brow furrowed. "Does that happen often?"
"Too often," Lilliana said flatly. "Any time something goes wrong and they don't have an explanation, they look at him."
Inside the War Room, the tension coiled tight. The professors sat like a tribunal—Rourke, Freya, and a few others Caleb didn't know well. Their questions came fast.
"What did you feel before the barrier fractured?"
"Did you sense anything unusual in the shadows?"
"Were you drawing on anything when the attack started?"
"No," Caleb said each time, calm, clipped. "I was just as surprised as everyone else."
Freya's eyes locked with his. "Are you still hiding your abilities from us, Caleb?"
That question hung like frost in the air.
He didn't answer immediately.
"No," he said finally, but his voice was tight.
Freya didn't push further. "You're dismissed."
Back outside, the others swarmed him like moths to flame.
"What did they ask?" Logan demanded.
"Same old paranoia," Caleb replied dryly.
Mason raised a brow. "They really think you've got some secret demon in your back pocket?"
Caleb arched an eyebrow at him. "Do you?"
Mason grinned, stepping closer. "I don't know… secrets are sexy. I'm hoping it's something dramatic."
"Try not to get your hopes up."
Before Mason could say something flirty in response, Freya stepped into the center again.
"This school is no longer just an institution. It's a target. Until we know more, there will be restricted movement, paired patrols, and curfews. You will stay alert—and alive."
And then, softer, more private, she glanced at her children—especially Caleb.
"Some of you know more than you think."