It was just past midnight when I slipped out of bed.
The hallway was dark, but not silent. Ravencroft had its own soundtrack after hours: the groan of old wood, the ticking of the grandfather clock at the end of the corridor, the occasional gust of wind that made the windows sigh like ghosts.
I didn't know why I got up. Only that I couldn't sleep, and something in me kept tugging toward the library like a thread pulling through cloth.
I padded quietly through the South Wing, my blazer draped over a nightshirt and leggings, bare feet cold against the stone floor.
No one was supposed to be out after lights out.
Which made it easier to breathe.
---
The library was a cathedral at night.
Silent, high-vaulted, heavy with the scent of old paper and something fainter—like lavender or candle wax or time itself. The only light came from a few enchanted wall sconces that flickered gently as I passed.
I wasn't sure what I was looking for.
Maybe I just wanted to feel like this place didn't control me. That I could move through its shadows without being swallowed.
I wandered past rows of antique volumes, some so thick their spines bowed the shelves. Eventually, I ended up in the back corner, beneath a stained-glass window that glowed blue with the moonlight.
And that's when I saw it.
Not a book.
A letter.
Tucked between two encyclopedias like it had been hidden, but not very well.
I glanced around—still alone—then slid it out carefully.
There was no name on the envelope.
Only a seal pressed into wax.
A raven in flight.
My fingers tingled.
I should've left it.
I opened it.
---
> To those who walk between walls:
You are seen. You are chosen.
But before you may enter, you must prove you know how to stay silent.
You'll receive no further instruction. Only observation.
Speak of this—and lose the chance entirely.
Signed,
V.O.
I read it three times before folding it back and tucking it into my blazer pocket.
V.O.
It didn't take much to guess.
Velvet Order.
The name still felt like a myth to me—something whispered by bored rich kids, like a ghost story at a bonfire. But now it felt more like a net. And I'd just stepped into it.
---
I didn't hear the footsteps until they were close.
I spun around, heart in my throat.
There he was.
By the edge of the aisle. Half in shadow.
I didn't move. Neither did he.
We just stared at each other across the ancient floorboards, the light from the sconces flickering between us.
"I thought you said no one noticed when you were gone," I said.
His eyes didn't leave mine. "I never said I wouldn't notice you."
I took a step back, but only because the moment felt too loud.
He came closer, slowly, like I was a question he wasn't ready to answer.
"Do you always wander around at night?" he asked.
"I couldn't sleep."
"Because of me?"
It wasn't cocky. It wasn't even a tease. It was honest.
I didn't answer.
He didn't push.
His eyes flicked down to my pocket. "You found it."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
He gave the faintest smile—more sad than smug. "You should put it back."
"Why?"
"Because nothing about that is meant for someone who still believes in rules."
I looked away, suddenly cold. "Then maybe I'll start breaking them."
His voice dropped lower. "That's the problem with people like you."
I turned toward him, defensive. "People like me?"
"You want to belong," he said. "Even if it kills you."
Silence stretched between us like a drawn curtain.
I didn't know whether I hated him in that moment or wanted him to say more.
"You should go back," he said finally. "Before someone notices you're missing."
"Why do you care?"
"I don't."
But his voice was softer than before.
And when I passed him on the way out, I felt him turn—like a shadow reaching.
---
Back in bed, I stared at the ceiling, heart still not steady.
I hadn't told anyone about the letter.
I hadn't asked for it either.
But it had found me.
And now I wasn't sure whether I was being watched…
or followed.
---
The next morning, the fog over Ravencroft was heavier than usual.
Breakfast passed in a blur. I couldn't focus. I didn't see him at the Corvin table, and I tried not to look for the other one at all.
But I felt eyes on me.
Always.
After second period, someone brushed past me in the hallway. I caught the faintest scent of winter air and something darker—like cedar and ink. When I looked down, there was a folded scrap of paper tucked between the pages of my book.
> Meet me after curfew. The greenhouse.
No name. No signature.
Just the memory of his voice when he said, Some people are built to be seen. Others… to see.