We didn't move.
The footsteps stopped just outside the door—pausing, like whoever it was was listening. Or waiting.
The handle twitched, but never turned.
Serena's breathing had gone silent. She pressed a hand to my arm, signaling me not to move. I obeyed.
The silence stretched thin as a wire.
Then the footsteps turned.
Slower this time.
Deliberate.
Whoever it was didn't rush. They walked away like a hunter unsure whether to strike—or satisfied just to let us know we'd been seen.
Only after the corridor faded back into silence did we finally move.
"We can't stay long," Serena whispered. "This place might already be marked."
We quickly packed the charred ledger and glass shard, sealing what remained of the burnt pages into a fireproof pouch. I glanced one last time at the torn line scribbled across the back:
"I wasn't the one who altered the glyph. I only rewrote what I was ordered to—"
The rest was lost to flame.
We took a long, winding route back across the academy, avoiding all main corridors, weaving between maintenance halls and unused stairwells.
But when we returned to my room, something was waiting.
A folded slip of paper, nailed to the door.
No name. No seal.
Just one line:
"Some questions even fire can't burn—and you are one of them."
Serena stared at the words for a long moment. "They know who you are now."
"No," I murmured, my throat tight. "They're reminding me."
Inside, I opened the window. Let the night air wash over us, scatter the smoke still clinging to our clothes and thoughts.
Then I lit a faint shielding ward—dim, invisible to the eye, but pulsing faintly beneath the skin.
I wouldn't be sleeping tonight.
Too many doors had opened.
And one of them… was never meant to exist.