The sky above Blackmoor Academy brooded with gray clouds that pressed low over the grounds like a warning. A stillness had fallen since their narrow escape from the tunnels, and yet an unease clung to every hallway, every whisper among the students.
Hope stood at the top of the bell tower, her eyes scanning the horizon. Her yellow irises pulsed with the faint glow of her tribrid essence as the wind tugged strands of her hair free from her ponytail. Below, the school was split into three search teams, all combing the grounds, forest edges, and even the old crypts for signs of Richard.
She wasn't with any of them.
London appeared beside her without a sound. "You're not supposed to be up here alone."
Hope didn't turn. "I needed the height. The silence."
He leaned against the stone wall next to her, arms crossed. The wind fluttered his coat, and for a second, he looked every bit the enigma he truly was. Though he'd laughed with them, joked with Stephen, and teased Raphael, there was always something deeper beneath his gaze now—ever since his resurrection.
"Any memories? From before you woke up again?" she asked softly.
London shook his head. "Just fire. Pain. And then air." He looked down at his hands. "Do you think I'm... wrong somehow?"
She turned to face him finally. "I think you're powerful. And I think you're scared of what that means."
Their eyes locked. The space between them felt charged, as if the storm clouds above had dipped closer just to witness the moment. London took a step closer.
Hope didn't back away.
He brushed her hair behind her ear, and the world seemed to hold its breath. His fingers lingered on her cheek.
Their lips were inches apart—
—when the bell tower's trapdoor banged open.
Raphael climbed through, breathless. "We found something. In the east wing. Stephen says it smells... wrong."
London pulled back, heart racing. Hope blinked, frustration flickering in her eyes. But the mission came first. Always.
"Let's go," she said.
The east wing was rarely used, boarded up since the fire ten years ago. As they entered the scorched corridor, the flickering torchlight cast long, twisting shadows.
Stephen stood near an open panel in the wall, his face unusually serious.
"Whatever was here… it's old. Older than Blackmoor. And it's leaving behind this... weird humming. Daemon's checking the lower tunnel."
"We were just there," Hope whispered.
"I know. But this is new. And Celeste... she's acting strange again," Stephen added with a frown.
They all turned to see Celeste standing by herself near a shattered window, arms crossed, looking deeply conflicted. Her eyes flicked toward Hope, then away.
Hope approached her. "What's going on, Celeste?"
"Nothing," Celeste snapped too quickly.
"If you know something about my father—"
"I don't!"
Stephen whistled low. "Tense much?"
Hope gave him a sharp look. But as Celeste stormed away, something in her body language screamed of guilt.
Elsewhere, Daemon emerged from the lower passage beneath the east wing. His usually composed expression was grim.
"The tunnel ends in a sealed chamber. But there are markings on the walls—old language. Not witch, not vampire. Something else. I copied them."
He handed the sketch to Hope, who narrowed her eyes.
London leaned over her shoulder. "I've seen this before. In a dream. Right before I died."
That silenced everyone.
Even Stephen. "Now that's creepy."
Daemon turned sharply. "If London's dreams are tied to this place, then he might be more connected to Blackmoor than any of us."
Hope glanced at London. "Or he's the key to saving it."
Before Daemon could argue, Jessa and Raphael returned from their sweep. Raphael's nose twitched as he stepped inside.
"There was a scent. Someone we know was here recently. Someone who didn't want to be seen."
"Trent," Hope said immediately.
Jessa looked shaken. "Why would he be here? What does he want with our school?"
No one had an answer.
But the storm outside cracked loudly, as if the heavens themselves were replying.
Later that night, the teams returned to their quarters to regroup. Hope and London sat on the stairs near the west balcony.
She leaned against him lightly, her head resting on his shoulder. For once, they allowed themselves to simply breathe.
"What if your power is meant to protect us all?" she murmured.
"Then I hope I don't fail you," London whispered.
Hope closed her eyes, letting herself feel the quiet warmth between them.
But somewhere in the dark halls of Blackmoor, a shadow moved.
And Trent... Trent was not alone.
[To be continued in Chapter 50: The Blackmoor Reckoning]