By the time the sun rose, Reichenbach had already shifted.
The air felt heavier, like the wards themselves were bracing for something unseen.
The cemetery was colder than usual that morning. Damp stone, candlelight, the smell of graphite and dirt. A light blue hue painted each headstone and mausoleum as birds flew overhead, heading south for the winter.
Xavier crouched on the floor, sketchbook open, pages covered in half-finished sigils. Each line glowed faintly, not from the ink but from the way the air vibrated around it. The resonance hummed low, crawling through his ribs.
Thorn was supposed to meet him before class. She was late. Or maybe he was early; he hadn't slept enough to know the difference.
He'd been tracing the melody for hours, each repetition pulling the sound tighter, closer. Until it stopped being something outside him and started living under his skin. Breathing when he did.
"Breathe," he muttered to himself, voice shaky. "It's just resonance. Just pattern."
He hummed the melody he heard from the forest under his breath. The lines flared brighter, responding as if they were a living thing. Gold light bled through the page, the hum deepening, folding in on itself until it matched his pulse, then overtook it.
The air thickened. Xavier's ribs ached from the pressure. His ears rang like glass splitting under strain. Almost as if the power was too much for just one person to hold.
A wet drop splashed onto the page. Blood. He blinked, dazed, realizing his own nose was bleeding.
"Xavier!" Thorn's voice cut through the reverb, sharp and furious. She slammed the sketchbook shut just as the glow peaked, the sigils flaring white-hot before going dark.
The echo broke. The sound died. The air around him exhaled.
"What the hell are you doing?" she snapped, breathless, slamming his sketchbook in her hands against his chest, pushing him backwards as he lost his footing.
"You can't fix something if it breaks you first."
He wiped his nose on his sleeve, blood smearing into charcoal dust left over from his frantic drawing. His breaths came ragged, uneven. "You don't understand-"
"Oh, believe me, I do."
"No." His voice was louder this time, rough and splintering. He met her eyes, wild and glassy, and for a heartbeat she saw something raw flicker there, something not even fury could hide. Pain. Agonizing, simmering pain. "You don't."
He sat back against the side of the tombstone, breath ragged. "I already survived worse."
The words hit the air and stayed there. Heavy and final.
Thorn blinked, the edge in her tone faltering. "What?" she asked, quieter now. "The accusations at Nevermore?"
Xavier swallowed hard, the motion slow, deliberate. He looked down at the dirt, hands flexing once against his knees. "They weren't just accusations," he said quietly. "A friend, someone I trusted, planted evidence. Got me arrested. Put in a cell."
Thorn didn't move. She'd heard fragments before. Passing mentions, rumors warped by distance and fear, but never from him. Never in his own voice. Xavier didn't really talk about Nevermore. Not about the friends he'd left behind, or the one who'd betrayed him. So she didn't dare interrupt. She just listened.
He rubbed at his wrist absently, thumb tracing a line as if remembering the feel of cold metal. "The cops don't let you sleep when they think you're a murderer," he went on, his tone flattening, like reciting something learned by repetition. "They don't feed you. They keep the lights on until you forget what darkness looks like. You start to count the seconds between footsteps in the hall just to prove you still can."
He paused, his gaze was distant and unfocused. "After a while, you start to wonder if they're right. If you really are what they say you are."
The silence that followed was heavy, almost sacred. Thorn's throat tightened.
She looked at him, really looked at him. The way his hands shook as he spoke, the tremor in his voice, as his eyes never left the ground. Like he was reliving the worst of it. For the first time, she saw not the boy who drew monsters, but the one who'd been made into one.
She sighed, running a hand through her hair that the wind had pushed into her face. Thorn crouched down to his level, forcing his attention on her and not the ground that was so suddenly entertaining.
"I know what that feels like," she said cautiously. "Being looked at like something that shouldn't exist. Like something no one wants around."
He looked up at her, the lines around his eyes tight.
"But pushing yourself until you break," she went on, her voice steady but gentle, "isn't going to change their minds. You'll just give them proof."
Xavier froze, the words hitting something he couldn't name.
She didn't push it. She just reached out, took the sketchbook from the ground where Xavier had left it, and held it carefully this time. "Come on," she murmured, standing and handing him his sketchbook. "We're going to be late for homeroom."
He didn't move right away. Just sat there, staring at the girl who seemed to understand him better than he understood himself sometimes. When he finally stood, he reached out for his book and followed Thorn without a word.
Thorn didn't look back. She didn't need to.
And somewhere behind her, Xavier was silently grateful for that.
They climbed the narrow steps out of the cemetery in silence. The morning light cut through the fog in pale ribbons, specks of dust swirling in the cold air. The world felt quieter up here. Muted, like the academy itself was sleeping.
Thorn adjusted her school-issued cloak against the chill. Xavier kept a few paces behind, sketchbook tucked tight against his chest as though it were fragile. Neither of them spoke. There wasn't much to say that wouldn't shatter the uneasy calm between them.
The day itself was anything but calm and quiet. The whispers seemed to grow louder as students started to look at each other like they were one second away from snapping. Fear and unease took a hold over the campus and refused to let go.
By the time she descended the stairs from Gothic Lit later that morning, the static still hadn't faded. Pippa had her arm hooked around hers, chattering to fill the silence. Something about which nail polish, "Starlit Vein" or "Cherries in the Snow," looked more "witchy but approachable." Thorn let her talk. It was easier that way, allowing Pippa's voice to drown out the hum that hadn't left since the cemetery.
The corridor below was thick with the low murmur of students changing classes, the sound fractured by the echo of shoes on old stone. That's when Thorn saw them. Three faculty members stood in a tight semicircle at the end of the hall. Mr. Hale, Mrs. Vanguard, and Principal Maren's aide, Miss Darlow.
And at the center of their attention... Xavier.
He stood just outside the Alchemical Theory room, sketchbook under his arm, eyes steady but wary. Their voices were low, too formal to be casual, too sharp to be fair.
"Sigil interference," she heard Hale say, the phrase clipped like a verdict.
"Unauthorized study," Mrs. Vanguard added, each word enunciated with surgical precision.
Miss Darlow's tone was the worst. It was soft and almost pitying. "Dangerous curiosity."
Pippa slowed beside her, eyebrows raising. "Oh boy," she muttered under her breath. "Go stand by your man."
Thorn's head turned, slow and deliberate. "Say that again," she said lightly, "and I will drain you in the middle of this hallway."
Pippa's mouth snapped shut, wisely. Thorn unhooked her arm and started forward.
The crowd parted around her. They always did.
Her boots hit the stone with measured, echoing steps that seemed to command attention wherever she went. She stopped beside Xavier, her expression unreadable.
"This is none of your concern, Ms. Rosales," Mrs. Vanguard said, her voice as smooth as ever, but Thorn caught the way her hand tightened around the chalk she carried, the white dust trembling at the tips of her fingers.
"Oh, but isn't it?" Thorn tilted her head, tone deceptively casual. "I'm assuming this is about what happened in Weaver's class yesterday. You know, where two wolves went feral, almost killed their teacher, and put the whole class in danger? After we were told that the first incident with Danny was contained with no chances of spreading,"
The silence that followed was sharp enough to taste.
Mr. Hale's jaw flexed. Mrs. Vanguard's gaze flicked toward him once, just long enough to confirm what they both already knew: this wasn't a conversation they wanted to have here.
When Mrs. Vanguard looked back at Thorn, her composure had returned, but her stance had shifted. A fraction more distance between them. A half-step back, she likely didn't realize she'd taken.
"Very well, follow me." Mrs. Darlow sighed, turning on her heel before making her way down the corridor to Principal Maren's office.
"You didn't have to do that," Xavier whispered quietly.
"Yeah," Thorn replied. "I did."
The corridor beyond the confrontation seemed to stretch endlessly, the harsh chill of Reichenbach's old stones sinking into the silence that followed them.
Thorn walked first, her steps deliberate, echoing like punctuation marks through the empty hall. Xavier followed half a pace behind, sketchbook clutched under one arm, shoulders drawn tight. Neither spoke. The air between them felt heavier now, not with tension, but with everything unsaid.
Ms. Darlow's heels clicked against the flagstone ahead of them, a steady, self-important rhythm. She didn't look back once. Her crimson cloak caught the morning light in quick, sharp flashes as they turned the corner toward the west wing.
The farther they walked, the more the atmosphere shifted. The chatter of students faded behind them, swallowed by the quiet of the administrative hall. Here, the ceilings rose higher, the arches sharper. Every inch of the place was designed to intimidate. Polished marble floors, portraits of former headmasters watching from their gilt frames, and faintly glowing runes etched along the walls for security and truth-binding.
Thorn hated it instantly.
They reached a door of blackened oak, carved with the Reichenbach crest.
Darlow stopped, straightened her cloak, and knocked once. The sound reverberated like a gavel.
"Enter," came a voice from inside.
Principal Maren's office was an exercise in control. Nothing was out of place. Papers aligned to precise angles, shelves dustless, curtains drawn just enough to let in pale light. The soft scent of sandalwood and ink hung in the air. The woman herself sat behind an immaculate desk of dark walnut, posture regal, hands folded neatly before her.
Her eyes were an unsettling grey. Sharp, assessing, and much too calm.
"Ms. Darlow." Maren's tone was smooth but edged with impatience. "You may leave us."
Darlow inclined her head, relief flickering in her expression before she slipped out, the door closing gently behind her.
Now it was just Thorn and Xavier.
Maren's gaze swept over them. First Thorn, then Xavier. Two students who couldn't have been more different, yet somehow stood united in quiet defiance. A hybrid born of shadow and fear; an exile branded by scandal and silence. They didn't belong on the same side of anything, and yet, there they were, shoulder to shoulder, standing like they'd already chosen each other long before this room ever demanded it.
"Mr. Thorpe," she began, her voice steady and practiced. "You've been here less than a semester, and already your name has crossed my desk more times than I care to count."
Her eyes cut to Thorn. "And you, Ms. Rosales, seem determined to make a habit of being in the wrong place at the wrong time."
Thorn crossed her arms, "If the right place is letting people die, then yeah. Guess I'm bad at following instructions."
A muscle in Maren's jaw ticked, but her expression didn't change. "You may find that sarcasm won't serve you well here, Miss Rosales. Reichenbach has rules for a reason."
"Right," Thorn said flatly. "Because those rules worked so well for Mrs. Weaver yesterday."
Xavier shot her a look. Half warning, half admiration, but didn't intervene. Not when she had been saying everything that he had been thinking.
Maren leaned forward slightly, fingers steepled. "What happened in Herbal Lore & Greenhouses is under investigation. Until we understand what triggered the incident, I suggest you both avoid further involvement. Do I make myself clear?"
"Crystal," Thorn said.
Xavier nodded once. "Yes, ma'am."
"Good." Maren's eyes lingered on him a moment longer, her tone softening just enough to sound rehearsed. "You came here to rebuild your reputation, Mr. Thorpe. Don't throw that opportunity away."
She looked to Thorn then, and her following words were colder. "And you, Miss Rosales, would do well to remember that this academy tolerated your enrollment out of merit, not mercy. Don't test the difference."
The silence that followed was thick and deliberate.
Thorn's hands curled in her pockets, nails digging into her palms. "Is that all, Principal Maren?" she asked quietly, her tone carrying a hint of teasing.
Maren's lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "For now."
Thorn turned on her heel before she could say something reckless. Xavier hesitated only long enough to give Maren a short nod before trailing after her.
The door closed behind them with a dull click.
The hall outside felt colder than before, the silence almost echoing. Thorn didn't slow down, but Xavier caught up easily, his shoulder brushing hers as they walked.
"Well," she muttered finally, her voice dry as dust. "That went great."
Xavier exhaled through his nose, tired but almost smiling. "For us? That's practically a win."
Thorn's lips curved slightly, the ghost of a smirk playing there. "Guess you're right, Thorpe. We're still breathing. That counts for something."
"Barely," he said, and for once, she didn't disagree.
They didn't talk again as they left the administrative wing. The tension from Maren's office followed them down the marble steps and into the main hall, clinging like smoke. The air outside was sharp with the scent of rain and iron, one of those Reichenbach mid-mornings where the light never fully arrived.
They walked down the path in silence, boots crunching over gravel slick with drizzle. The wind bit at them, tugging at Thorn's cloak, curling her hair across her cheek.
"Why is everyone here so afraid of you?" Xavier asked finally, his voice almost lost to the wind. His hands were buried deep in his pockets, shoulders hunched against the cold. "I mean... Maren, Vanguard, even Hale. They looked at you like you were about to detonate."
Thorn didn't answer right away. She just exhaled slowly, breath fogging the air in front of her. "I can't say for sure," she said at last. "Everyone here has kind of made up their own story about me."
She glanced sideways at him, lips quirking, but it wasn't humor so much as resignation. "So while one person thinks I'll strangle them with shadows, another swears I eat familiars when I'm bored."
Xavier blinked, caught between disbelief and something that felt dangerously close to laughter. "You're joking."
"I'm not."
The corner of her mouth twitched. "Apparently, there was a bet going around last year about whether I sleep in a coffin. I told them it depended on the bedding."
Xavier barked out a laugh before he could stop himself. It wasn't loud, but it was real, sharp against the cold. Thorn's eyes flicked toward him, amused despite herself.
"Why don't you correct them?" he asked, his tone softer now, once the laugh faded. The question wasn't mocking. He was genuine. Curious.
Thorn looked ahead, toward the spires jutting into the fog like broken teeth. Her breath came out in slow, steady clouds. "Because once someone's made up their mind about you," she said finally, "they don't change it. They just wait for you to prove them right."
Xavier studied her profile as they walked. The wind tugging her hair loose, the stubborn lift of her chin, the quiet finality in her voice. She wasn't bitter when she said it. Just… certain. Like it was something she'd tested enough times to know the outcome.
"So you let them think you're the monster," he said quietly.
Thorn's lips twitched into something like a smile, small and sharp. "It's easier than proving I'm not."
The wind picked up again, rattling the iron gates behind them. Xavier didn't respond. He didn't need to. There was something in the way she said it. Matter-of-fact, tired, and maybe even a little sad.
"I don't think you're a monster," he said softly, looking from her down to the stone path under their feet.
Thorn didn't answer right away. Her boots clicked over the uneven stone, each step measured.
"You don't know me," she said at last, her voice low. "Give it time."
"I've had time," Xavier replied, almost before he could stop himself.
That made her glance over. Just a flick of her eyes, quick and assessing, like she was deciding whether or not to take Xavier seriously. "And?"
He shrugged, looking up toward the gray sky instead of her. "Still not seeing the monster part."
She huffed, a sound that might've been a laugh if it wasn't so thin. "You're either naive or stupid, Thorpe."
"Probably both," he said, and that earned him the slight turn of her mouth. A ghost of a grin that didn't quite reach her eyes but lingered anyway.
Xavier's lips twitched into a sly smile, the first genuine one she'd seen from him in a while.
"You were right, you know," he said, glancing sideways at her through the drizzle that started. "Ms. Ashford is a freak."
Thorn blinked at him, then let out a short, startled laugh that echoed too loudly against the stone walls. It was so unexpected, so sharp in the grey air, that even Xavier looked caught off guard.
"Yeah," she managed between breathless chuckles, brushing wet hair out of her face. "Of course, I was right. I had Ashford for Freshman Comp my first semester. She never gave any of my essays higher than a B."
"Harsh," Xavier said, feigning sympathy.
"Oh, it gets better," Thorn said, her grin widening, her voice warming with that old, dangerous humor. "Danny and I swapped essays for one assignment. Same topic, same formatting, just our names switched. He got a perfect grade." She paused, savoring the beat before delivering the punchline. "I got a seventy-nine."
Xavier laughed, and this time it wasn't restrained. It broke out of him, bright and sudden, cutting through the heaviness that had been sitting on both of them for days. He bent his head, hand over his mouth like he was trying, and failing, to keep it quiet.
"You're kidding."
"Wish I was," Thorn said, shaking her head. "When I asked her why, she said my 'tone was too aggressive for academic discourse.'"
Xavier tried to stop laughing, but the mental image only made it worse. "You? Aggressive? No way."
Thorn gave him a sidelong glare that would have terrified anyone else. "Careful, Thorpe."
That only made him grin more. "Guess I'll add 'fearless grading bias' to Reichenbach's growing list of charms."
They reached the edge of the courtyard, where the fog thinned, and the iron fence loomed tall against the grey horizon. The wind caught Thorn's cloak, twisting it around her legs, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.
The laughter had drained out, but not the warmth it left behind.
Thorn exhaled, long and slow. "You know," she said quietly, eyes fixed on the spires in the distance, "sometimes I forget what it's like to laugh like that. Feels… weird."
Xavier's grin softened. "Yeah," he said. "But good weird."
She hummed in agreement, a gentle sound that might've been mistaken for indifference if not for the soft smirk at her lips.
For a while, they didn't move. The wind rolled through the courtyard, tugging at Thorn's cloak and making Xavier's hair fall into his eyes. The fog wrapped around them like the world was holding its breath, two silhouettes half lost to the mist, the academy rising behind them, old and watchful.
Then Thorn shifted, pulling her hood up against the drizzle. "Anyway," she said, her tone slipping back toward casual, "I've got to get to Empathy & Barriers before Professor Lune starts psychoanalyzing my empty chair again."
Xavier blinked, breaking from his quiet reverie. "Empathy & Barriers?" He let out a calm laugh. "That sounds like emotional torture disguised as coursework."
"It is," Thorn said dryly, already starting toward the North Wing path. "Half the class cries by week three."
He fell into step beside her, hands in his pockets, that familiar sardonic lilt back in his voice. "Yeah, well, I've got Advanced Clairvoyance with Mrs. Draven. Total hardass. She made a kid cry last week for 'looking at fate too casually'. Like, what the fuck does that even mean?"
Thorn glanced at him sidelong, a smirk pulling at her mouth. "See? I'm never wrong."
"About people, or about the universe being cruel?" he asked.
"Both," she said, no hesitation, no apology. The grin that followed was quick and fleeting. Xavier caught it as it cut through the gray like a spark.
Xavier chuckled under his breath, shaking his head as the two of them passed through the wrought-iron fence. The bell tower tolled somewhere above, each chime rolling through the fog like the slow heartbeat of the academy itself.
For once, neither Xavier nor Thorn hurried. Their boots hit the cobblestone in rhythm. It was quiet, steady, and almost easy.
When the path split, one staircase climbing toward the North Wing, the other leading east, Thorn slowed. She turned just enough for her hair to catch the weak mid-morning light, crimson threads against the fog.
"See you at lunch, Thorpe," she called, voice lazy but soft around the edges.
Xavier lifted a hand in half a wave, the hint of a smile ghosting across his face. "Try not to traumatize your classmates before then."
"No promises," she tossed back over her shoulder, already ascending the stairs.
He watched her go, boots echoing up the stone steps, cloak fluttering like smoke, and for a brief, dangerous moment, the cold didn't feel quite so biting.