The mark wasn't there when she went to sleep.
Ivy had checked—twice. Rolled up her sleeve in the bathroom mirror. Nothing but skin, pale from winter, freckled faintly along the inside of her wrist. She'd touched it. Scratched it. Whispered the ripple-word under her breath like a curse.
Nothing.
She hadn't expected it to work again.
But sometime between sleep and half-sleep—between the creaking radiator and the soft hum of midnight crows outside—she dreamed of a door.
It wasn't dramatic.
It was just... there.
A nondescript black door at the end of a narrow, curving hallway. Ivy stood in front of it barefoot, in her school clothes, clutching the photo she'd found in the locker that no longer opened. The picture was warm. Breathing.
She reached for the door.
But before her hand touched the knob, the dream changed. The hallway folded inward, and she woke up with a gasp.
The key was already in her hand.
The same black skeleton key from the ripple-room.
And on her wrist—fresh, faint, and violet as bruised moonlight—curled a mark.
A spiral of mirrored lines, shaped like a crown halfway broken.
She ran her thumb over it. It stung faintly, like a paper cut.
It glowed once.
And then went still.
---
She didn't wait until morning.
She dressed in silence, pulled on her boots, and slipped out through the fire escape just before 1 a.m.
The streets were dead quiet. The kind of quiet that didn't just feel empty—it felt forbidden. Like the city itself had paused, holding its breath.
Morley's campus gates were locked, but the ripple didn't care.
She whispered the word—Neh'varein—and the lock clicked without her touching it.
She walked inside.
The school was even worse at night.
The glass didn't reflect. The floors didn't echo. The silence pressed at her ears like water.
And yet she knew where to go.
She turned left at the old trophy case, past the wing with the rusted locker. Everything looked normal—except the hallway wasn't ending.
It curved.
Like in her dream.
And at the very end stood the door.
Same black surface. Same rounded handle. Same faint feeling that it had always been waiting.
Ivy stopped in front of it.
The key pulsed in her pocket.
She didn't reach for it.
She reached for the doorknob.
It turned before she touched it.
---
She heard footsteps behind her.
One pair.
Calla.
"Are you seriously about to walk into a Veil-born door alone?" Calla whispered.
Ivy didn't look back. "It's my dream. I opened it."
"That's what I'm afraid of."
Ivy turned now.
Calla wasn't wearing her usual smugness. She looked tired. Uneasy. Her eyes flicked to the mark on Ivy's wrist, and her mouth tightened.
"You've been marked."
"I noticed."
"Do you even know what that means?"
"No," Ivy said. "But I'm guessing you're about to tell me."
Calla stepped closer. She didn't raise her voice, didn't lecture.
"It means the ripple is inside you now. Not just reacting. Reading. Your dreams, your thoughts, your fear. That's how the door got here."
"It was just a dream," Ivy whispered.
"Dreams are gates," Calla said. "And yours are old."
Ivy turned back to the door.
She placed one hand on the wood.
The moment her skin met the surface, the mark on her wrist flared—a rush of heat, a sound like breath held too long, and the door pulsed beneath her palm.
"I have to go in," she said softly.
Calla didn't stop her.
She stepped back instead.
"Then I'll be here when you get out. If you do."
---
The door opened like silk.
No creak. No protest.
Just a soft exhale of air that smelled like thunder, ink, and something too old to name.
Ivy stepped through.
---
At first, she thought she was in the school again.
The same layout. The same tiled floors. Same cracked wall outside the biology lab.
But then she noticed—
There were no windows.
And the lights overhead flickered in a pattern that tickled her brain.
Like a language.
Every step echoed differently.
Like the space wasn't solid.
She passed a hallway mirror, expecting to see herself.
But the reflection was someone else.
Same eyes. Same face.
But this version wore the mirror crown.
She was older.
And she was crying.
Not loud. Not broken.
Just a single tear, sliding down one cheek.
The crowned Ivy raised her hand and pressed it to the glass.
So did Ivy.
But they didn't match.
The reflection smiled.
And whispered something Ivy couldn't hear.
Then vanished.
The hallway trembled.
The floor warped under Ivy's feet, just for a second.
She kept walking.
At the far end of the corridor, another door waited.
This one was made of glass—and inside it shimmered another Morley.
A version where snow fell through the ceiling and students floated when they stepped too hard.
Ivy reached for the handle.
Before she could touch it—
A hand grabbed her shoulder.
She turned.
Eli.
His face was calm. His eyes weren't glowing.
But his voice—
"You're walking too deep."
Ivy stared at him.
"I need to know what's behind that door."
Eli didn't blink.
"If you open it, something will open on the other side."
She looked down.
The mark on her wrist was glowing again.
"Then help me," she whispered.
Eli paused.
Then said:
"You have to speak the second word."
---
End of Chapter Fourteen