The courtyard was finally calm.Not the "ah, peace at last" calm — more like the awkward silence after someone farts in church. The kind of calm that hums with leftover chaos. The air still smelled like burnt ozone, holy rage, and daddy issues.
Students were scurrying off toward their dorms, feet clacking like panicked little tap dancers. The Headmistress, though — bless her eternally stressed soul — lingered a moment longer. She stood there pretending to be composed, chin up, hands behind her back. But her left eye betrayed her. It twitched every few seconds like a Morse code message for "I need a vacation."
My father, Lord Astaroth, observed her like she was some kind of curious mortal bug. And for the first time in, like, a hundred years, I saw something strange in his eyes.Respect?Disgust?Constipation?Couldn't tell. The man's poker face could win celestial wars.
"Please follow me," the Headmistress said finally, her tone stitched together with leftover authority and mild terror. "Mr. Astaroth. Mr. Seraphiel."
She gestured toward her office like it was the last place on Earth she wanted to go but had no choice.
Dad gave her one of those nods that somehow said "I agree" and "I couldn't care less" at the same time.Classic Astaroth move.That's my dad — the king of complex emotional unavailability.
Meanwhile, Mr. Celestial Skincare™ himself — Seraphiel Valanir — let out the most dramatic sigh in Heaven or Hell. Probably to make sure everyone saw how burdened he was by our inferior demonic presence. He muttered something that sounded holy, probably an insult in Angelic Latin like "may your eyeliner smudge."
And just like that, the Headmistress, the Holy Glowstick, and my Dad strutted off toward her office. The air that followed them felt ten degrees lighter, but not in a good way. More like "wow, those two could blow up a dimension if they sneeze wrong" kind of way.
The remaining students looked at each other like survivors of a reality TV elimination. Then, naturally, they started gossiping."Did you see the flames?""Was that really the Cerebrus?""Do you think curfew now includes angelic lightning bolts?"
Yeah. Just your average day at Supernatural Hogwarts.
I was halfway through deciding if I should sneak out before someone remembered I still existed—
"Hey."
That voice.
Even if I hadn't known her long, I'd recognize that tone anywhere.Seraphina. Or Phina, depending on her mood — which was currently somewhere between annoyed and mildly homicidal.
I turned around and saw her standing there, arms crossed, hair messy from the chaos. Beside her was Lyra, quiet as usual, eyes still wide like she'd just witnessed someone open the gates of hell. Which, technically, we all had.
"Where've you been?" Seraphina demanded. "I scanned the sea of students looking for you. Literally."
I raised an eyebrow. "You miss me already? Wow, not even a full day and you're obsessed. Can't blame you though—"
She cut me off with the sharpest glare known to man. "Oh, please. I don't care about you. I care that without you, the dorms won't lock. And if the dorms don't lock, we'll be smote by divine curfew patrol."
"Ah, so I'm your survival ticket. That's all I am to you girls?" I brushed a hand through my hair just to annoy her. "Damn, I feel used."
Seraphina rolled her eyes so hard I swear I heard the sound barrier break. Lyra stayed quiet, hugging herself, looking smaller than usual. Probably still haunted by that weird dream she mentioned earlier.
"Let's go to our dorm before we get psychic-spanked," I said, trying to lighten the mood.
"I beg your pardon?" Seraphina shot me a look.
"It's a figure of speech," I said. "I'm not fluent in Heaven's HR-approved vocabulary."
Lyra gave a tiny nod. "Okay," she murmured, folding her arms tighter and walking toward the West Wing.
Ha. What a day.From being stuck with three girls I barely know, to watching my dad nearly start the apocalypse with a literal angel, to now being locked in a magic dorm with emotional ticking bombs.Totally normal. Completely average. Someone give me a medal.
Click.
The dorm door sealed itself shut, glowing with faint runes that drifted like lazy fireflies.
At first, no one moved. Then Seraphina tried the handle. It didn't budge.
"It won't open," she sighed. "Of course it won't open. Why would anything in this cursed academy work normally?"
I grinned. "Maybe it's divine punishment for calling your angelic supervisor a 'celestial lightbulb.'"
"Shut up, Xavier."
"Gladly. Just as soon as someone finds me dinner."
But my attention wasn't on her anymore. It was on the girl in the corner — the quiet one. The mysterious one. The one whose presence didn't quite fit.
Her eyes glowed faintly, reflecting the runes like shards of moonlight. Her aura was off. Not angelic. Not demonic. Just… something else. Something that felt like the void between dreams.
I stepped closer before I could talk myself out of it. My hand reached out, catching Lyra's wrist gently.
"Hey," I said.
She flinched slightly, looking up at me with those unreadable eyes.
I pressed her softly against the wall — not aggressively, just enough to hold her attention. My hands framed her head, trapping her in that sliver of space that hummed with magic and tension.
"I just need the truth, Lyra," I said, voice low but steady. "I know I sound like a bad detective, but something about tonight doesn't add up."
Her lashes fluttered. "Know what exactly?" she whispered.
"Her name," I said. My tone slipped, losing the sarcasm for just a heartbeat. "The mysterious girl. The one that doesn't belong here."
Lyra's eyes didn't blink. She just stared, deep and unbreaking, like she was peering into something buried inside me.
Then her lips parted—
"She is Demetiia."
The name rolled off her tongue like a curse—and suddenly the temperature dropped, the runes around the door flickering like dying stars.
And for the first time that night, I stopped joking.Because something in the way she said that name…didn't feel human.