Chapter Twenty - The Quiet Before...

Sierra’s POV – After Class

The bell rang.

She didn’t move.

She let the rest of the class shuffle out around her—bags thudding shut, chairs scraping back, students spilling into the corridor like nothing in the world had changed. But everything had changed.

The potion sat finished and flawless in her cauldron, a deep obsidian swirl that reflected her face too clearly for comfort. Her fingers hovered just over the glass vial she’d bottled it in.

“Try boneblossom instead of shadowroot.”

Why did he know that?

She didn’t even hear him approach until his voice was beside her—low, casual, like he hadn’t been watching her the entire time.

“You going to stare at it until it evaporates?”

Sierra looked up—and there he was.

Malick. Leaning just close enough to be noticed, not enough to be obvious. His shirt was a little wrinkled from leaning over the cauldron, the cuffs faintly scorched. Shadows curled lazily beneath his sleeves, like smoke stretching toward warmth.

She smirked. “I didn’t peg you for a potions expert.”

“I’m not. I just hate cleaning up blood.”

There was a beat. Then they both laughed. Quietly. Tentatively. Like they weren’t used to it.

The space between them was still. Not awkward—charged. Like both of them were waiting for the other to speak first, to ruin it, to say too much.

Finally, she slid the vial into her satchel.

“Well, I guess I owe you my spleen, or something.”

He tilted his head. “I’ll take a favor instead.”

Sierra blinked. “What kind of favor?”

A shrug. “I’ll let you know when I need it.”

And then, without waiting, he turned and walked with her out into the corridor.

They didn’t talk. They didn’t need to.

Every footstep echoed. Every inch closer they walked, the tension thickened—like their shadows were walking ahead of them, twining together just slightly before falling back into step.

Sierra’s hand brushed his once. Almost accidentally.

Neither of them pulled away.

They reached the next classroom. The stone door was already open, the dark oak archway thrumming faintly with protective runes. Malick stepped in first.

He froze.

Sierra almost bumped into him.

Then she saw why.

The Crows were waiting.

Elara perched delicately at her usual desk—like a queen reclaiming her stolen throne—with her perfect, pale smirk back in place. Patricia sat beside her, whispering into a compact mirror that didn’t reflect anything. Gloria leaned back in her chair, boots on the desk, chewing something crimson.

They looked calm. Polished. Untouched.

But Sierra felt it immediately. Something in the air had changed. She couldn’t smell blood, but she sensed it. Like static. Like rot blooming beneath perfume.

Elara turned her head slowly. Looked straight at Malick. Then Sierra. Then back again.

“Well,” she drawled, “isn’t this adorable?”

Sierra’s POV – In Class

The classroom felt wrong before she even stepped inside. The carved oak door was open, runes humming too quietly. The wards were still active, but… muffled. Like someone had smothered them in velvet.

Malick stepped through first. He stopped short.

Sierra caught herself before she bumped into him—again. But when she looked up, her breath caught in her chest.

The Crows were already seated. Perfect. Composed. Poised.

Elara sat atop her desk like royalty, pale hands folded neatly in her lap, expression unreadable. Patricia leaned on her elbows, whispering into a mirror that shimmered with smoke instead of reflection. Gloria was chewing again—something dark and glistening, her grin lazy, her eyes unreadable.

No blood. No bruises. No traces of whatever they did while they were gone.

But Sierra could feel it. Like rot behind wallpaper. Like thunder before the sky breaks. Something had shifted.

“Well,” Elara drawled, her eyes drifting from Malick to Sierra and back again, “isn’t this sweet?”

Patricia glanced up, feigning surprise. “A matching pair. Should we clap?”

“Not yet,” Gloria said, voice low and sharp. “Show’s just starting.”

Sierra ignored them, sliding into her seat. Malick followed, sitting beside her with a quiet intensity she recognized now—not anger. Not arrogance. Readiness. And even though the Crows looked polished and unfazed… the shadows clung differently today. Slicker. Sharper. Like they’d come back from something they shouldn’t have survived.

The Crows’ POV

They could feel her watching.

And him.

Good.

Patricia tilted her mirror slightly, just enough to reflect Sierra’s face—pale, tense, focused. But underneath it? Fear.

Elara smiled. Everything was falling into place.

While Professor Mirewell droned on about hex stabilizers, Gloria tapped her boot against the floor in a slow rhythm—five taps, then pause. Five taps, then pause. The beat pulsed through the blood-salt pattern Patricia had drawn beneath the desk before class. Faint. Dormant. For now.

Elara crossed one leg over the other and murmured, “Let them think we’re still rattled.”

Patricia smirked. “I think she already suspects something.”

“That’s the point,” Gloria said, eyes still half-lidded. “Fear blooms best in people who know it’s coming but can’t stop it.”

Under her nail, Gloria had carved a single word into the desk.

Vaulisk

The sigil for it was hidden in the curve of the final rune. Only someone fluent in Wither-Tongue would recognize it. Which meant no one in this room would. Yet.

Elara leaned back in her chair, voice like honeyed poison. “Let her follow the breadcrumbs.”

Patricia tilted her head. “And Malick?”

“We’ll let him think he’s keeping her safe,” Gloria said.

The three of them smiled at once.

Later That Night – The Ritual Chamber

It was deeper than the dungeons, past a corridor that shouldn’t exist.

They moved in silence. Cloaks drawn.

The circle was already carved into the ground—blood, salt, obsidian dust. The smell of copper lingered in the air. A crow’s feather at each cardinal point burned with a smokeless flame.

Patricia stepped forward first. Voice smooth, deliberate.

“Korrvak nesh taloum… grahnak velmuirch. Os’hallonn. Drevuuk.”

The runes lit up. The shadows leaned in.

Gloria’s voice followed, lower, harsher, almost reverent.

Elara closed the ritual.

When the final word was spoken, the air in the chamber bent—like something massive had opened its eyes. The shadows rippled.

And then a voice whispered—not aloud, not in the air, but in their minds.

The seed is planted. Water it with fear.

Gloria’s hands trembled. Just once. Patricia didn’t blink.

Elara smiled like someone who’d already seen the ending.

Then the chamber fell still. The flames died. The seed of their plan—and something far darker—had begun to bloom.