The next morning, the rain had stopped, but the world still felt broken. The sky was pale and sickly, like an old bruise fading too slowly.
Damp air clung to everything, heavy with the smell of wet stone and dead leaves.
Sarah woke feeling like her chest had been stuffed with cotton, dull, slow, and tired of trying.
She didn't go near the music wing.
Even thinking about that silent piano room made her stomach turn. The keys had felt like cold teeth. The silence after her failed audition had been louder than any scream.
And Mr. Ezekiel's face, the disappointment, pity, maybe even anger was still burned into her memory.
So, she walked.
Sarah let her feet take her wherever they wanted. She drifted through the quieter parts of the academy, far from the classrooms and common spaces.
Her steps echoed in empty hallways, her reflection followed her in tall windows, ghostlike. She didn't know what she was searching for, maybe silence that didn't hurt or maybe a place where she could breathe without feeling watched.
Eventually, she found herself in the East Wing, the abandoned, half-forgotten part of the school where her room was.
Everything here felt older, colder, dust clung to the walls. The light bulbs buzzed faintly, like tired insects. Paintings lined the hallway, all strange and stiff. Their painted eyes followed her as she walked, and she hated how alive they seemed.
She was halfway to her room when a voice came from behind her.
"You shouldn't have been out there."
Sarah spun around fast, her heart jumped up into her throat.
It was him.
The boy from the storm.
He leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, dressed now in the same academy uniform she wore, black and neat but on him, it looked wrong. Like it didn't belong to him or like he had stolen it. His dark hair was damp, falling into his eyes, and in one hand he held a sketchbook, fingers curled tightly around it.
Sarah stared at him, frozen.
He hadn't made a sound, he stood there like a shadow that had decided to take shape.
"The sculpture yard," he added. His voice was quiet, deep, and rough, like a warning.
"During a storm. Not smart."
"I was just walking," Sarah said, barely louder than a whisper.
His eyes narrowed, not angry just sharp and cold. He looked at her like he was searching for something beneath her skin.
"This place isn't meant for wandering," he said. "It's not a garden. It's not safe."
The way he said it made her feel small. Not just because of the words, but because of the weight behind them, like he knew something she didn't, like he had seen things that had already started watching her, waiting for her to slip.
"I didn't know it was off-limits," she said quickly.
He didn't laugh, but the corner of his mouth twitched like he wanted to.
Not very kindly.
"Everything here is off-limits," he said. "Especially the places nobody talks about."
He stepped closer.
She didn't move, but her entire body tensed.
He was taller than she remembered. Close enough now that she could feel the cold coming off him like he carried the storm inside him.
His eyes moved over her like he was taking note of every crack in her armor. Her messy hair, her shaking hands, the way she pressed her arms close to her chest like she was trying to disappear.
Then he spoke again, softer this time, but dead serious. "You need to leave. Go back to wherever you came from."
Sarah stared at him.
"What?"
"This place," he said slowly, "it eats people like you."
The words hit her like a slap.
People like her?
What did that mean? People who were too quiet? Too fragile? People who froze in front of pianos and had nightmares every night? People who saw ghosts in mirrors and didn't know how to make them leave?
He didn't know anything about her.
But something in the way he looked at her, like he already knew how her story would end, made her feel like maybe he did.
"I don't know what you're talking about," she muttered, trying to sound braver than she felt.
"Yes, you do," he said. His voice was flat, but his eyes burned. "You think this place will fix you. That it's a sanctuary. It's not."
He held up his sketchbook for a second, then dropped his hand again. "It's a graveyard. They dress it up, call it an academy. But underneath? It's rot. They don't want to help you. They want to watch you fall apart."
Sarah didn't know what to say. Her mind was a mess of fear and confusion. She had no proof he was wrong. The school had already started feeling like a cage. A beautiful, cold cage. And she hadn't even been here a full week.
She wanted to ask him everything.
Who are they? Why do you care? What happened to you?
But she didn't ask, she knew without needing to be told that he wouldn't answer.
His face had already shut down. His body, his expression, even his silence they were all saying the same thing: Don't ask, Don't follow, Stay away.
Then, after one long look at her, he took a step back.
His face turned blank again, like he was pulling a door shut inside himself. Whatever emotion had flickered there, anger, worry, regret, it vanished like smoke.
"Stay out of the yard," he said. "And stay away from me."
He turned to leave.
Sarah opened her mouth without thinking. "Wait!"
He paused, shoulders stiff, but didn't look back.
"What's your name?" she asked. Her voice came out soft, like a question she wasn't sure she had the right to ask.
For a few long seconds, he stood still.
Then, without turning around, he spoke.
"Julian."
The name didn't sound like something he owned. It sounded like something he was trying to forget.
And then he walked away. His footsteps were soundless, like he'd never been there at all.
Sarah stayed where she was, her arms crossed tight, heart thudding in her chest.
The hallway felt colder than before.
She turned slowly and walked the rest of the way to her room. Her thoughts were racing, but none of them made sense. Julian, the yard, the things he'd said, the look in his eyes, the certainty in his voice. It had felt like a warning, but it also felt personal like he'd seen her falling, long before she realized she was even slipping.
When she got to her room, she didn't turn on the light. She just sat on the edge of her bed, still and quiet, listening to the faint groan of the wind against the windows.
This place eats people like you.
It hadn't sounded like a threat.
It had sounded like the truth.
And somehow, that was worse.
She thought of the way his voice had dropped, like he was giving her a secret, one last kindness before turning into a stranger again. She thought of how still he had been in the rain, how he moved like the world was something he didn't belong to anymore.
What had this place done to him?
And what would it do to her?