Semua Bab Ashwyck Academy for the Damned: Bab 21 - Bab 29

Lucien:The iron door groaned as I shoved it open, its echo ricocheting down the stone stairwell like a warning bell. Good. Let them hear me coming. Let them think twice. The air in the wine cellar was damp and metallic, cold enough to bite through my shirt. Old barrels loomed in crooked rows, the scent of oak and age and forgotten spills mixing with the sharper tang that fueled my darkest desire.I found the cask farthest back, turned the brass tap, and let the red spill into a goblet until it nearly overflowed. My throat burned for it—anything to quiet the gnawing in my veins. I swallowed the first glass whole, the liquid slick and warm, nothing like what I truly craved. A poor imitation.The second pour trembled in my hand, not from weakness but from the thing thrashing inside me. Hunger, rage, desire—so tightly wound they were indistinguishable. I tilted the cup, watched the dark surface ripple. Not enough. Never enough.Because what I wanted wasn’t in this cellar.Her.Damn her.

Isadora:I had missed a whole class, and the weight of it pressed against my shoulders like armor I hadn’t asked for. The hallways of Ashwyck Academy stretched before me as I exited the Royals Lounge, long and shadowed, their stone floors echoing the click of my boots with every step. The air smelled faintly of wet stone and old parchment, a mixture that should have been comforting but felt like a warning instead. Every turn of the corner, every whisper of a door opening, reminded me how utterly… exposed I was.I needed some semblance of normalcy, some fragment of mundane life in this twisted castle of the damned. The closest thing I could think of was lunch with Loralie. She the lighthouse in this never-ending storm—effervescent, impossibly bright, and just a little too interested in my missteps.I rounded the corner into the sunlit cafeteria, and the chaos swallowed me whole. Students clustered at tables, some chatting in low, magical murmurs, others sparring with hidden wards and p

Lucian:The moon hovered above Ashwyck Academy like a cold eye, its pale light cutting through the mist curling along the stone paths. I moved silently, predatory, my boots whispering against the wet cobblestones. The night carried its usual scents—damp earth, ivy, lingering incense from classrooms—but beneath it, beneath the ordinary, there was something else.Her.Isadora Gravelle. Sweet, intoxicating, something ancient hidden in the hum of her blood. And it wasn’t just her blood—it was the chaos that clung to her, the way she dragged the Royals into her orbit, the way she made men like Rhett, Kai, and even that infuriating shadow Silas react as though she were the sun itself. But we all know what happens when you fly too close to the sun, don't we?I should have been above it. Detached. Calm. Arrogant. I should have been the one standing over them all, unshaken, untouchable. But the moment her pulse thrummed faintly across the academy grounds, I felt that old edge—bloodlust sharpen

Isadora:By the time the last bell tolled across the Academy, dusk had already begun to drown the spires in violet shadow. A bruised sky pressed low over the courtyard, the scent of rain riding the wind like a warning. I welcomed it. Rain muted everything—sight, sound, thought. I needed the quiet.The Royals had been conspicuously absent today. No silken taunts from Lucian, no predatory half-smile from Kai, no molten stare from Rhett or the unnerving silence of Silas. They had scattered like startled crows, each pulled by some unseen distraction. Blessed reprieve. After last night’s nightmare, I was too raw, too hollowed out, to play their relentless games.My final class—Demonology—let out with a slow shuffle of boots and whispered spells. Students filed past me in clusters, their chatter a low hiss that barely touched the stone walls. I packed my satchel methodically: leather-bound grimoire, ink-stained quills, a vial of shadow-salt. My fingers trembled despite the measured movement

Isadora:The morning air was cold against my cheeks as I got dressed and left my dorm, dragging my feet across the cracked stone floors of Ashywick’s endless corridors. Every step felt heavier than the last. My body ached in ways I didn’t remember being capable of, and my mind—my mind was a storm I couldn’t quiet. I had barely slept, though my dreams had been filled with shadowed corridors, flames, and whispers that seemed to follow me even when my eyes were open. I still carried the residue of panic in my chest, like a stone pressing on my ribs.I ran a hand along the banister, feeling the cold of the iron bite through the thin sleeve of my cardigan. The halls were empty, except for the faint hum of enchantments placed to guide students through the maze of the Academy. I wondered how many of those spells had been created by the founders themselves—or if the current faculty had merely discovered them and twisted them to their own designs. Either way, I felt their weight pressing down