The hidden passage behind Richard's bookshelf had been sealed again. For now, they had agreed not to rush into it. It could be a trap, a dead end—or worse, lead them directly into the lair of whoever had taken Richard.
Back in the main lounge of Blackmoor Academy, the air was charged with tension. Students whispered rumors in corners. A storm had rolled in, dark clouds settling low above the gothic spires of the school. Thunder rolled across the distant mountains. The world felt… different.
Hope sat in the library, knees tucked beneath her on a long velvet bench, staring blankly at a tome of ancient runes. Across from her, London was pretending to read. His fingers traced the spine of a book absently while his eyes kept drifting to her.
"Why are you watching me?" Hope asked, not looking up.
"I'm not watching," London said innocently. "I'm… observing."
She turned a page. "Big difference."
London leaned forward. "You've barely turned a page in fifteen minutes."
"I'm distracted."
"Same."
Their eyes met. And for a second, it felt like everything else—the war drums of mystery, the ache of Richard's disappearance, the haunting feeling that something was closing in—just… faded.
Hope cleared her throat. "We should be researching."
"I am. I've learned that magical tomes are way heavier than they look." He held up his book and let it flop onto the table with a dramatic thud. "Also, that sitting next to you is distracting. For... reasons."
Hope bit back a smile. "You're impossible."
London gave her a warm smile—so unguarded it almost made her forget how lost they all were. "Yeah, but you like me that way."
Before she could respond, a loud crash echoed from the hallway.
Both of them stood instantly. Hope's hand lit up with a pulse of golden energy. London followed, more cautious but alert. They crept toward the sound, rounding the corner where they almost collided with Raphael.
The werewolf's eyes were sharp, glowing faintly in the dim corridor. "I heard it too."
They nodded. The three of them followed the noise deeper into the west wing—an old part of the school that had been abandoned after a magical fire years ago.
"Should we wait for the others?" London whispered.
Hope hesitated. Then shook her head. "If someone's in trouble, we can't wait."
They entered a ruined classroom, charred beams overhead and broken glass scattered like teeth across the floor. Moonlight poured in through a cracked window.
And then—they heard it again.
A soft shuffling.
Raphael stepped forward, claws subtly extending. Hope held her breath.
Something was moving in the dark.
Suddenly—"BOO!"
Stephen popped out from behind a fallen pillar, a scroll of parchment in hand. "You guys are terrible at being sneaky. I could hear you breathing from the hallway!"
Raphael nearly growled. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?"
"Lighten up, Furry Fury," Stephen grinned. "I found something." He tossed the scroll onto a desk.
Hope unrolled it. Her eyes scanned the contents. "This… this is a map of Blackmoor. But it shows secret passageways. Some even I didn't know about."
"And look here," Daemon's voice joined them as he stepped in from behind Stephen. "This symbol marks the room Richard disappeared from."
Hope looked closer. A strange crest was drawn in red ink—a phoenix surrounded by chains.
London's heart skipped. "A phoenix?"
Hope glanced at him. He looked uneasy, distant. Like something inside him had started to click into place.
"Do you know what that symbol means?" Daemon asked.
London shook his head slowly. "No. I mean—maybe? I've seen it before. In dreams. When I woke up in flames."
Stephen raised a brow. "You dream about fire a lot?"
"Not fire. Rebirth." London's voice was low. "Like dying… and waking up again. Naked. Embarrassingly naked."
Stephen snorted. "You died and came back hot? That's so unfair."
Hope, however, stared at the map. "What if this isn't a warning? What if it's a clue left for London?"
Daemon crossed his arms. "That would imply someone knew what London is."
"No one knows what London is," Raphael added. "Not even London."
Stephen leaned in. "I mean, come on. He dies, bursts into flames, and comes back? If that's not a phoenix, I'll start calling Daemon my emotional support vampire."
"Don't," Daemon said dryly.
"I will," Stephen said anyway.
Hope rolled up the map. "We need to follow this trail. Someone wants us to. And if it leads to Richard, then we have no choice."
They turned to leave the room.
London lingered, glancing back at the crest. There was something ancient about it. Familiar. Like a whisper from another life.
Outside, the storm had stopped. The rain had washed the grounds clean, but the air still felt heavy with the promise of change.
As the group walked back toward the main halls of Blackmoor, Raphael nudged Hope and London ahead. "You two go on," he said. "We'll catch up."
Hope glanced at him, questioning, but London took the opportunity to guide her away.
They walked in silence through the shadowed corridor. And then—Hope stopped.
"What's wrong?" London asked.
She turned to face him. "Back there… what you said about dreams. About dying."
He nodded slowly.
"I think you're right," she whispered. "I think there's more to you than any of us knows."
Their faces were close. Closer than ever. Her breath mingled with his. He stepped toward her, their lips barely inches apart.
And then—
"HEY! YOU LEFT ME WITH DAEMON! HE'S NO FUN!" Stephen's voice echoed down the hallway.
The moment shattered.
London groaned. "I swear, he has a sixth sense for ruining good moments."
Hope just laughed. "Come on, phoenix boy. Let's go before he starts singing."
They walked away, not knowing that far beneath them—in the sealed tunnels of Blackmoor—something ancient had stirred. Watching. Waiting.
The game had just begun.