Chapter 30 – Shadows Whisper in Silence
Blackmoor Academy
The school looked no different from the outside—its stone towers proudly defiant against the stormy sky—but inside, tension hummed like a taut violin string. Richard's disappearance had shaken everyone. No one said it aloud, but his absence felt wrong, like the heart of the academy had been removed.
Hope sat in the common room with London, Raphael, Jessa, Stephen, and Daemon. Books lay open, but no one was reading. A storm growled outside, lightning throwing jagged shadows across the walls.
"I don't like this silence," Stephen said, resting his boots on the table. "It's too quiet. Like we're in a horror movie before the ghosts come screaming."
"Wouldn't be surprised," Daemon muttered, flipping a page without looking at it.
"I miss Richard," Jessa said quietly. "It's like... part of the school is gone."
"He's not dead," Hope said, her voice calm but firm. "We would've known."
London, sitting close beside her, nodded. "He's alive. Somewhere. And we're going to find him."
Raphael looked between them and nodded in agreement. "But how? There's no trail."
"That's because whoever took him—or whatever happened—doesn't want us to find him," Daemon replied, his eyes narrowing. "And that means we're running out of time."
Celeste, sitting a bit apart from the group, was quiet. She'd barely said a word all evening. Her hands were clasped tightly on her lap, knuckles pale. Hope noticed but said nothing. She knew what grief felt like—and also what guilt could look like.
Later that night, Celeste couldn't sleep.
The wind howled around Blackmoor like a hungry beast. She wrapped her robe tighter around herself and walked through the silent halls. Her footsteps echoed on the stone. As she reached the corridor near the west wing, a flicker of movement made her stop.
She turned.
Someone stood at the far end, shrouded in shadow.
"Celeste," the figure said in a smooth, honeyed voice.
She froze. "Who are you?"
"I'm not your enemy," he said. A boy stepped out of the shadows. She recognized him—he was a student. Quiet. Always watching. But he had never spoken to her before.
"Then why are you lurking like a villain in the dark?" she snapped, her voice cracking.
He didn't react to the insult. "Because I needed to speak with you... alone. Before others poison you."
"Poison me?"
He walked closer. His eyes glinted, not red or golden like a vampire or werewolf—but something unnatural. "You've seen how they look at you. How your sister overshadows you. You have power, Celeste. Untapped. Ignored. You could do more than follow behind the others."
"You don't know me," she whispered.
"Oh, but I do. I've been watching. I know you've felt out of place, invisible. And when Richard disappeared, did anyone ask you how you felt?"
She blinked. Her lips parted to argue—but the words didn't come.
"You could be something more," he said, his voice almost soothing. "You just have to be willing to stop standing in the shadows of others."
Celeste didn't answer.
He tilted his head. "Think about it. I'll come back."
And then he was gone, like he was never there.
Celeste stood frozen in the hallway, trembling.
---
The Next Morning
Hope was the first to notice Celeste's pale face.
"You okay?" she asked gently.
Celeste nodded quickly. "Didn't sleep well."
London, beside Hope, looked up from his book. "None of us did."
Stephen strolled in dramatically, holding two cups of tea. "I made tea. One for me... and the other, for me again." He winked. "Sorry. I forgot you all existed in my caffeine-fueled greatness."
Daemon rolled his eyes. "You're impossible."
"I prefer 'legendary.'"
Jessa chuckled, grateful for the moment of levity.
But Celeste didn't laugh. She excused herself soon after.
Hope watched her go. Something was wrong. She just didn't know what yet.
---
Later That Day – Library Archives
London, Hope, and Raphael were looking into old headmasters of the school, hoping for clues. Stephen and Daemon joined with their own theories—most of which were ridiculous.
"I bet the school's foundation is cursed," Stephen said seriously. "Or there's a vampire cult under the lake."
Daemon groaned. "Stop talking."
"I'm just saying—people vanish, wolves howl, Hope glows like a Teen Wolf in eyeliner—"
"Stephen!"
"What? I said it with admiration."
But despite the humor, their research bore no real leads.
Hours passed.
And somewhere, far beneath the school, Richard Blackmoor was very much alive—bound in darkness, guarded by ancient wards... and whispering one name over and over.
"Hope... Hope..."