The air in the chamber was thick with tension—no one moved, no one dared breathe too loudly. The spectral fog that hovered around Richard's torn coat shimmered like moonlight caught in a spider's web. It pulsed softly, as if it had a heartbeat of its own.
London's grip on Hope's hand tightened instinctively. "This... this isn't just a remnant," he murmured. "This is magic. Old magic."
Hope stepped forward, her eyes glowing a more intense yellow. Her voice was steady, but her body trembled. "It's a memory trap."
Raphael frowned. "What the hell is that?"
"It's a place where someone's memories can be bound or stolen," Hope said, the words coming to her from some deep instinct buried in her tribrid blood. "It's why Richard's coat is here but not him. He's being... hollowed out. This is The Hollowing."
As if responding to the name, the spectral fog hissed and coiled higher, snaking around the coat in a defensive motion. The music they'd followed began again—clearer this time. A lullaby, but warped. Wrong.
"Can we break it?" London asked, eyes darting around the chamber.
"I don't know." Hope stepped forward, her palm glowing with warm light. "But I can try."
She began to chant softly in an ancient tongue, one she'd only ever read about. Her voice echoed strangely around them, like the walls themselves were repeating the words. The fog screamed. Not audibly—but in their minds. It lashed out like a living thing.
London was knocked back into the wall, grunting as the air was forced from his lungs. Raphael shifted partway into his werewolf form, claws digging into the ground as he roared and leapt in front of Hope.
"Keep chanting!" he growled through clenched teeth, slashing through the fog.
Hope pressed on, tears streaming down her face as the pressure on her mind grew. The spell was unraveling. She could feel Richard—fragments of him. A laugh. A promise. A scream.
Then the chamber exploded in a burst of light and silence.
Everything stopped.
Hope opened her eyes slowly. She was on the ground, her head in London's lap. He looked down at her, his face pale with worry. Raphael sat near the ruined pedestal, panting hard, one arm bleeding.
"What... happened?" she whispered.
London smiled faintly. "You broke the trap. The coat fell. The fog's gone."
"But Richard's still not here," Raphael added grimly. "Just more questions."
Hope sat up, brushing hair from her face. "We need to regroup. Tell the others what we found."
But as they prepared to leave, none of them noticed the faint blue glyph now glowing at the center of the pedestal—a marking in the shape of an eye, watching.
---
Back in the school, Jessa, Daemon, and Stephen emerged from the eastern tunnel into an old, sealed-off chamber. The floor was littered with broken runes and scattered scrolls. Stephen had already claimed one of the scrolls and was waving it around like a wizard with a wand.
"I hereby declare this place to be haunted," he said cheerfully.
"Shut up, Stephen," Jessa muttered.
Daemon, meanwhile, was examining the cracked wall. "There's a hidden panel. Recently opened."
"How can you tell?" Jessa asked.
Daemon glanced at her. "Because it still smells like blood."
Jessa went pale. She moved to his side, fingers tracing the symbols. "Do you think this connects to Hope's tunnel?"
"I think all these paths lead to the same thing," he said. "Whatever took your father—it was preparing for this."
Stephen stepped between them, eyes unusually serious. "We need to be ready. If this is only the beginning, we're going to need help. Real help."
---
Elsewhere, in the dark of the potions wing, Celeste stood silently in front of a mirror. Her reflection stared back, but it felt wrong. Like the glass held someone else.
The figure had appeared again.
"I see your doubt," it whispered.
Celeste clenched her jaw. "I'm not joining you."
"Not yet," it hissed, "but you will. When you realize that they will always choose Hope. Always Jessa. Never you."
The figure vanished before she could respond.
She stood there for a long time, staring at herself. Tears welled in her eyes—but she wiped them away fiercely.
"No," she whispered. "Not me. Not this time."
---
Later that night, the search teams returned to the upper library to regroup. The energy was strained. Everyone was tense.
Hope paced slowly as she recounted what they'd found. "It was like... a memory trap. Not a prison. Something worse. It's eating pieces of him."
Jessa looked down at the map. "Then we know where it's leading. All the tunnels intersect near the old dungeons. There's something below the Hollowing. Something deeper."
"We go tomorrow," Daemon said simply.
"And we go prepared," Raphael added.
Stephen gave a mock salute. "Great. I'll bring the holy water, garlic, and a rubber chicken—just in case."
They all laughed softly, tension breaking for a moment.
Hope leaned against the window later that night, watching the stars.
London joined her silently.
"You okay?" he asked.
"No," she admitted. "But I will be."
He stood close, brushing her fingers with his. "We'll find him."
Their eyes met again—closer this time. Closer than before.
Hope leaned in.
London didn't move.
And just before their lips met again—
BANG!
The door flew open. Stephen stood there holding a plate of cake.
"Who wants midnight chocolate cake?"
London sighed. Hope stepped away, half-smiling despite herself.
"I'll kill him," London muttered.
Hope laughed softly. "No you won't."
Not yet, at least.
To be continued…