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Chapter 3: Shadows in the Halls
Rain tapped lightly against the windows the next morning, a thin drizzle softening the world into silver. Elara pulled her blazer tighter as she crossed the courtyard, the iron gates gleaming slick with water.
The building smelled different in the rain—damp stone and polished wood, tinged with the faint bite of chalk dust. She almost preferred it that way. The grayness outside blurred the stares, made the academy seem less like a spotlight and more like a stage with the curtains half-drawn.
Still, whispers stirred as soon as she stepped through the hall.
"She's early again."
"Doesn't she ever talk to anyone?"
"…Adrian's watching her."
She ignored them, keeping her pace steady.
But the moment she slid into her classroom seat, she felt it: the shift in air, subtle but sharp. Adrian was already there, leaning lazily back in his chair, eyes hooded but undeniably fixed on her.
"Good morning, Mona Lisa," he murmured.
Elara pressed her lips together. "Elara."
His smirk twitched, like her defiance amused him more than silence ever could.
Before she could sharpen a retort, the door opened. A woman swept in—tall, elegant, her heels striking the floor with crisp certainty. She wore the faculty's navy jacket, but with a silk scarf tied neatly at her throat, a dash of red against the gray morning.
"Good morning, Class 2-A," she said. Her voice carried a calm authority that immediately silenced the chatter. "I'm Miss Davenport. I'll be assisting with your literature studies this term."
Literature. Elara straightened unconsciously, pen already poised above her notebook.
Miss Davenport scanned the room, eyes sharp but not unkind. "We'll begin with something simple: interpretation. Words are not just words—they're windows. How you read them reveals as much about you as about the author."
Her gaze swept over the students before pausing, deliberately, on Elara.
"Miss Winters. You're new. Perhaps you'd like to start?"
A ripple of anticipation ran through the class. Elara's throat tightened, but she nodded.
"Yes, ma'am."
Miss Davenport handed her a thin, worn paperback. "Keats. Read aloud the second stanza."
The words were familiar, like old music. Elara let them roll off her tongue, steady and measured. She didn't stumble, didn't falter. And when she finished, she lifted her eyes, pulse steady despite the prickle of attention.
Miss Davenport smiled faintly. "Lovely diction. Now—what does it mean to you?"
The room went silent. Elara knew the trap in that question: there was no single right answer, but plenty of wrong ones. Still, she drew a breath.
"It feels like… the poet is reaching for something fleeting. Beauty that can't stay. He captures it, but he knows it's already gone."
Her voice was quieter at the end, almost swallowed by the rain.
Miss Davenport tilted her head, studying her. "Insightful." Then she turned. "Adrian. Your thoughts?"
All eyes shifted. Adrian unfolded himself slowly, almost lazily, as if he'd been waiting. His voice, when it came, was smooth, practiced.
"Keats wasn't mourning beauty. He was immortalizing it. The fleetingness is irrelevant—because the poem makes it eternal. Winters sees loss; I see triumph."
A murmur of admiration stirred in the class. Adrian leaned back, gaze flicking to Elara with unmistakable challenge.
Two answers. Two worlds.
Miss Davenport's smile widened just slightly, as though she'd caught the spark between them. "Both perspectives have merit. That, class, is the beauty of literature—it reveals not just the text, but the reader."
The lesson continued, but the atmosphere had shifted. For the rest of the hour, Elara felt the invisible tether between her and Adrian, every glance a clash, every silence louder than words.
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By lunch, her head ached with it. She retreated to the cafeteria again, tray balanced carefully, but before she could reach her usual corner, a voice called out.
"Winters! Over here!"
Lila waved from a table crowded with faces Elara didn't recognize.
Hesitant, she approached.
"This is Noah," Lila said quickly, introducing a boy with sandy hair and an easy grin. "And Hana. And Marcus. We were just talking about the literature class."
Noah leaned forward. "You made Adrian look… interested. That's new."
Elara blinked. "Interested?"
Hana, a girl with sharp eyes and neatly clipped bangs, smirked. "He usually crushes anyone who tries to match him. You didn't fold."
"I wasn't trying to—" Elara began, but Marcus, tall and broad-shouldered, cut in.
"Doesn't matter what you were trying. You stood your ground. People notice."
Elara's chest tightened. The last thing she wanted was more notice.
But as the group laughed and argued about Adrian's reputation, something unexpected happened—Elara felt a flicker of ease. A table where no one whispered behind their hands. Where conversation flowed like rainwater instead of cutting like glass.
It wasn't much. But it was something.
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The relief didn't last.
After the final bell, Elara gathered her books, only to find the corridor humming with an odd tension. Students pressed to the sides, clearing a path.
And at the center of that path stood Adrian.
He was speaking quietly to another student, a tall boy from Class 2-B. But the way the crowd watched—silent, expectant—sent a ripple down Elara's spine.
Something about him wasn't just charisma. It was control. A gravity that bent the halls around him.
The other boy muttered something, looking uneasy, and Adrian's smile sharpened just enough to draw a nervous laugh. Then he dismissed him with a flick of his hand, turning smoothly—straight into Elara's gaze.
For a moment, everything else blurred.
Then he stepped forward, closing the space between them.
"You read well today," he said lightly. Too lightly. "Almost like you belonged."
Elara's fingers tightened around her books. "Maybe I do."
His smile curved, a thorn disguised as charm. "We'll see."
And with that, he brushed past her, the scent of rain and ink trailing in his wake, leaving the corridor buzzing in silence.
Elara exhaled slowly. Something told her Saint Clair's Academy wasn't just a school. Not with shadows like that moving beneath its polished walls.
And Adrian… Adrian was standing right at the center of them.
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