Night had settled over Nevermore Academy like a velvet shroud—quiet, watchful, and entirely too expectant.
Wednesday stood before the Edgar Allan Poe statue.
The bronze caught the light in that familiar smug tilt she'd noticed earlier—right before she'd spotted the faint watermark etched on the book he clutched.
The same watermark tied to the Nightshade Secret Society. The same society she had been searching for.
If there were any clues left on campus, she was certain they would be here.
Nevermore remained an enigma, a nest of secrets wrapped in riddles, each one more irritatingly theatrical than the last.
But sometimes the truth didn't bother hiding in the shadows.
Sometimes it stared directly at you with a carved smirk.
Wednesday raised her eyes to Poe's expression, unimpressed as always.
"Don't worry, Edgar Allan," she said, her tone flat and unhurried. "I see it. And I'll get the last laugh."
She stepped closer, lifting her flashlight to sweep across the engraved text on the stone book. The riddle sat there quietly, as if waiting to be solved—or judged.
Wednesday preferred the latter.
With steady, efficient movements, she wrote the answers directly on the note.
"The opposite of moon." — Sun.
"A world between ours." — Nether.
"Two months before June." — April.
"A self-seeding flower." — Pansy.
"One more than one." — Two.
"Its leaves weep to the ground." — Willow.
"It melts in the sun." — Ice.
"Its beginning and end never found." — Circle.
"Every rule has one." — Exception.
She glanced at the list. The first letters lined up neatly, almost too conveniently.
SNAP TWICE.
"Predictable," she muttered.
Raising her hand, she snapped her fingers—once, twice. The sound echoed softly in the courtyard.
A mechanism clicked inside the statue, followed by the slow, reluctant grind of old gears shifting into place.
Poe's figure eased backward, revealing a narrow hidden door at its base. A breath of cold, stale air drifted out, carrying the smell of dust, stone, and secrets that had been left alone far too long.
Wednesday descended the staircase, her flashlight cutting through the dim passage.
She swept the beam across the walls.
That's when she saw it.
A framed photograph.
She stepped closer, the light settling on familiar faces.
Her parents — Morticia and Gomez — younger.
Wednesday's expression didn't change. She studied the picture for a long, silent moment.
Secret societies.
Hidden rooms.
Her parents involved.
All the things she already expects.
She moved the flashlight again and spotted the same book she'd seen in her vision. She picked it up and slipped them into her bag without hesitation.
But before she could turn, someone grabbed her from behind.
A hand clamped over her mouth, and a black bag was pulled over her head before she could react.
***
'Let's assess, shall we?'
Bag over her head for optimal disorientation.
Wrists tied tight enough to numb her fingers.
And no confirmation yet on whether this was a threat or an inconvenience.
'Definitely my kind of party.'
The bag lifted, and Wednesday found herself surrounded by hooded figures in owl masks.
"Who dares breach our inner sanctum?" one of them demanded.
"You can take the mask off, Bianca," Wednesday said. Her tone carried a level of disappointment normally reserved for failed dissections.
'And just like that, my hopes smashed against the rocks of bitter disappointment.'
'My foe wasn't a psychotic killer. Just a group of high school clowns.'
The hooded figures froze, eyes widening behind their masks. One whispered, "She… she knows?"
Slowly, hoods came down one by one. Her classmates. Nothing mythical. Nothing impressive.
Wednesday raised an eyebrow.
"Wait—I prefer you keep your mask on," she said, her gaze settling on Bianca.
Bianca's jaw tightened. "How did you even find this place, Wednesday?"
"I have my ways."
Then her eyes shifted toward the stairwell.
"And Ethan… you should come out. I can see you."
Bianca snapped her head around. "He's here? That arrogant guy?"
For a moment, silence.
Then slow, deliberate claps echoed from the staircase.
Ethan stepped forward into the dim light, looking perfectly relaxed for someone who had been hiding.
"As expected," he said, amused, "these morons didn't even notice who was right behind them. But you? You somehow spotted me."
He wasn't mocking—he was impressed.
Ethan hadn't planned to be part of this. He'd only been heading out for a drink when he noticed Wednesday sneaking across the courtyard. Curiosity made him follow her, staying in the shadows, confident he was unseen.
He was certain he hadn't made a sound.
So when she pointed him out so easily, it surprised him. He didn't know whether he'd slipped up… or whether Wednesday's observation skills were simply far better than he expected.