The scream echoed like a blade through the stone bones of Blackmoor, bouncing off every wall and corridor. Hope and London didn't wait. They ran—feet pounding against the flagstone floor, magic buzzing at their fingertips.
By the time they reached the east greenhouse, Stephen and Daemon were already there, Daemon kneeling beside Jessa, who was visibly shaken but unharmed. Raphael stood a few feet away, scanning the tree line outside the cracked glass panels, his jaw tense.
"What happened?" Hope asked, crouching beside Jessa.
"I—I saw something," Jessa said between breaths. "It wasn't a person… not really. Just shadows. They moved like smoke, but they had eyes."
"Like the ones we saw at the tunnel?" London asked.
"No," Daemon said grimly, standing. "Worse. The ones we saw before were tracking us. These were waiting."
Stephen's usual humor was gone, his face uncharacteristically serious. "We're not alone in the school."
Raphael turned, his voice low and urgent. "We didn't get a good look, but something's hiding in this wing. It's like the walls themselves are watching."
London glanced around. The air felt heavy. Charged. Wrong.
"Everyone back to the common hall," Hope ordered. "We regroup and figure out what's next."
---
Back in the central hall, tension wrapped around the group like a noose. Celeste arrived moments later, her face pale. She said she found nothing—but her eyes flicked to Daemon more than once, as if silently pleading for something.
"Whoever took Richard knew the school better than we do," Daemon said, laying the map from Richard's hidden book across a table. "We missed something."
Celeste stood back, her arms crossed. The voice from her private encounter still rang in her ears: "This school will crumble. You can either stand on the ruins or be buried beneath them."
She didn't tell anyone.
Couldn't.
Stephen squinted at the map. "Has anyone thought about the Catacombs?"
Hope raised a brow. "You mean the sealed-off tunnels below the west wing?"
"Exactly," Stephen said, excitement twinkling in his eyes again. "Because nothing says 'evil lair' like ancient underground labyrinths filled with probably cursed bones."
Jessa looked at him flatly. "Are you trying to sound like a B-horror movie?"
"It's a gift," Stephen replied with a grin.
London rubbed the back of his neck. "It's not a bad idea. The east tower had nothing. If Richard's being held somewhere—maybe even willingly—it could be there."
"Then we need to check it," Hope said.
Daemon frowned. "The Catacombs were sealed for a reason."
Hope stood tall. "Then we unseal them—for a reason."
---
Later that Night
The group split again, this time with clearer goals. London, Hope, and Raphael would head for the sealed entrance beneath the library. Daemon, Stephen, and Celeste would remain in the hall, poring over Richard's journal for any codes or spells that might help them open the gateway.
As Hope, London, and Raphael slipped through the dimly lit hallways, something between them shifted. The silence wasn't just strategic—it was weighted with shared emotions and unspoken fears.
"You almost kissed her," Raphael said suddenly, quietly.
London stiffened. "What?"
Raphael didn't look at him. "Hope. I saw it."
London's jaw clenched. "Is that a problem?"
"No," Raphael said. "Unless you hurt her."
London didn't reply. He didn't have to. Hope was just ahead, her golden eyes glowing faintly in the dark like a guardian flame.
As they descended into the lower library's hidden stairwell, Hope held up her hand. "Shhh… There's someone already here."
They paused.
Whispers.
Breathless. Hollow. Unnatural.
Then—silence.
Hope nodded, and the group continued down slowly, step by step, until the stairwell opened into a narrow stone hallway… and the door to the Catacombs stood before them. Old, sealed with runes and a lock that shimmered like liquid mercury.
London stepped forward.
Without thinking, he reached out and placed his hand on the door.
The lock flickered—then flared with fire.
Hope gasped. "London!"
But he didn't scream. The fire danced over his palm, wrapping around his fingers like it knew him—recognized him. The runes blinked once… then dissolved.
The door creaked open.
Raphael muttered, "Okay. That was weird."
Hope looked at London, startled. "Why did it react to you?"
"I don't know," he whispered.
But he did. Deep down, something stirred—some echo of whatever he was, whatever had brought him back from the dead.
And that something was waking up.