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Chapter 17 - morning splash

Chapter 17 – Scarlet's POV

If there's one thing worse than being blind and cursed, it's waking up in your school uniform to four idiots and a bucket of cold water.

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I woke to silence.

Not peace.

Not fear.

Just… silence.

Like something had folded itself around me — heavy, but soft. The kind of quiet that hums under your skin.

I blinked, even though I couldn't see.

Darkness.

Still. Still blind.

But not empty.

Somewhere beneath the noise of my own breath, I felt… presence. Like the air around me was thinking.

"Stone above. Oak to your left. Fire, faint. Four steps away."

The voice wasn't mine.

It wasn't even spoken. It just was.

Placed behind my eyes like a thought I didn't come up with.

Low. Feminine. Calm.

"You are not blind, Scarlet Stormborne. You are shifting."

I sat up slowly. My body ached. My eyes burned, but not from light — from nothingness.

"Who are you?" I whispered.

No answer.

Just a warm, heavy awareness behind my ribcage. The voice didn't speak again — not with words. Just with impressions.

The size of the room. The location of the door. The firepit still glowing, faintly. The breath of four boys sleeping across the suite.

I wasn't seeing.

But I was knowing.

"You must lose what you trusted to build what cannot be taken."

The voice again. Whispering directly through my bones.

"Am I going crazy?"

"No."

A beat of stillness.

"You asked to see truth. Now you will learn to sense it."

I pressed a hand to my chest, breathing slowly.

The voice wasn't threatening.

It was like being wrapped in old starlight.

"I am the first."

Then… nothing.

---

I must've fallen back asleep.

Because the next time I woke up—

I was being drenched.

Ice water. Everywhere.

My brain didn't process anything except COLD and BETRAYAL.

"WHAT THE ACTUAL—?!"

I flailed. Like a cat in a thunderstorm. Legs kicking. Arms everywhere. My soaked scarlet uniform clinging to me like fabric-shaped regret.

My hair slapped my face. I gasped and choked, trying to peel the collar of the shirt off my neck—

And that's when I saw them.

Or heard them.

Or felt their smugness vibrating through the air.

The Four Idiots.

Dexter stood at the foot of the bed, holding an empty silver bucket like a trophy. Damian was bent over, cackling like this was the best moment of his life. Devon was trying — and failing — to hide behind his hand. And Draven? Draven had the audacity to stand at the back and smirk silently like the villain in a teen soap opera.

"Oh my GOD," I hissed. "I hate all of you."

Dexter gave me a dramatic bow. "Happy first morning in the Den, Lady Crimson Splash."

"Not a thing," I growled.

"It is now," Damian said proudly.

"I'm going to set you all on fire."

"Careful," Devon added with a grin. "You look like a soggy matchstick right now."

"I will end you."

"I'm not sure you're in a position to threaten anyone," Dexter said. "You're still dripping."

I shoved the soaked blankets off and stood — my boots squelched against the floor. The hem of my pleated scarlet skirt stuck to the backs of my legs. My tie had somehow looped over my shoulder like a sad scarf.

"This is not funny."

"It's extremely funny," Devon corrected.

I glared blindly in their direction. "I hope Syraen eats your souls."

Dexter gasped dramatically. "The dragon has favorites!"

"You dumped an iceberg on me!"

"It was filtered spring water," he said innocently. "With, like, two ice cubes. Maybe five."

I grabbed the first thing I could find — a pillow — and hurled it full force.

It hit someone.

"Ow—!" Devon ducked. "She's got aim!"

"YOU WOKE ME UP WITH A BUCKET."

"I gave you a towel," he said, dodging another throw.

"I'm literally in the same uniform I passed out in last night!"

"Yeah," Damian said, "You should probably change. You look like a dramatic wet sandwich."

I screamed into my own sleeve.

"You're all dead. Every single one of you."

Draven finally spoke.

One word.

"Worth it."

---

I didn't mean it.

(Not entirely.)

Because for the first time since Crescent Hollow swallowed me whole…

I was in something.

Part of it.

Soaked, blind, humiliated — but not alone.

And somehow, that felt more terrifying than the voice in the dark.

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