E L L E
I wake up to whispering, and cheap infirmary curtains don’t block anything.
“She said his name.”
“No, she reached for him.”
“Luke looked wrecked.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. My head feels stuffed with cold air, like the frost crawled inside my skull and stayed. My hands ache and my scarf is damp under my cheek. Every part of me remembers collapsing, the ground is freezing and the whisper that slid under my skin like a blade.
“Elowen…” My stomach turns. The curtain shifts and I see a hoodie and messy hair— Luke. He steps in slowly, like he’s not sure I want him here. His eyes go straight to the faint frost line on my wrist.
“Elle,” he says quiet and hurting. A trio of first-years hovers near the doorway. They don’t even pretend they weren’t staring.
“She fainted for attention.”
“No, for Ashriel. Did you see the way she said his..”
Luke shoots them a look sharp enough to cut stone. They scatter, but their whispers slither back anyway, through the curtain, and through the hall.
“She froze the ground.”
“She grabbed Ashriel’s hoodie.”
“She didn’t even look for Luke.”
Luke closes the curtain again and the space between us feels bruised.
“You okay?” he asks. I nod, it feels like lying.
“You’re shaking,” he murmurs.
“I’m fine,” I say, though my voice barely holds itself up. He doesn’t argue instead he just looks at me like he’s trying to figure out how to hold me together without touching me. But he’s scared and he keeps glancing at my wrist where the frost still lingers.
All I can think is: I didn’t reach for Ashriel on purpose. I didn’t ask for him to catch or ask for the whispers, or my knees to give out, or for his name to rip out of my throat like muscle memory. But I did say his name and Luke heard it.
“I didn’t mean to” I whisper.
“You scared me,” Luke says. “More than anything ever has.” His voice cracks, and something inside me twists.
“You collapsed and I tried to reach you, but the frost shoved me back.” I look down because I don’t want him to see whatever guilt is burning on my face.
“And then you…” He swallows. “You said his name.” There it is, the thing hanging between us is like a live wire.
“Luke, I wasn’t even conscious.”
“Maybe.” His jaw tightens. “But you still said it.” He sits on the edge of the bed but doesn’t come closer. He keeps his hands curled in his sleeves, like he doesn’t trust himself not to reach for me anyway.
“I thought you trusted me,” he whispers. “More than him.”
“Do you?” Luke asks. “Trust him more than me?” It hits harder because he asks gently, like he already knows the answer but needs to hear me say it isn’t true.
“I get that you’re going through something I can’t understand,” he says. “I get that, but every time something happens, he’s there first. And I’m just watching it happen.”
“It’s not like that,” I manage.
“Then tell me.” His voice breaks. “Tell me you don’t feel anything for him.” I open my mouth but nothing comes out. Hope drains from his face and the old heartbreak he’s carried for years settles deeper.
“Okay,” he whispers. “I get it.” I reach for him and frost sparks under my palm. The curtain rustles again. The air shifts and that too-cold tightness settles over my skin.
Ashriel doesn’t come in, he just stands at the gap, watching me. Calm on the surface, but there’s tension under his expression.
Luke mutters, “Unbelievable.”
Ashriel’s eyes slid to him, then to me. “Are you steady?”
“I’m fine,” I lied.
The air hums once, faint, like a pulled string. Ashriel hears it but Luke doesn’t or maybe he does, and that’s worse. I need to leave, I can’t stay between them like a cracked mirror. My legs wobble when I stand, but I pretend it’s fine. Luke goes to steady me and I step back without thinking.
“I just need air,” I say. Ashriel shifts like he’ll follow, but Luke blocks the curtain.
“I’ve got her.” A muscle in Ashriel’s jaw twitches. “She shouldn’t be alone.”
“And you don’t get to decide that.” Their eyes lock, the same way storms look right before they tear a roof off a house and I slip out before the tension breaks open. The hallway is crowded but too quiet. People stare at me like I’m radioactive, but none of that matters, because the second I step into the hall, something pulls inside me.
“Elle?” Luke catches up. “Don’t go that way. Hey! Elle.” But my feet already know where they’re going. The lockers get older and colder the farther we walk. When I reach 234, the air drops ten degrees.
Luke shivers. “Please stop.” I wish I could but Locker 237 hums, the same sound in my ribs, like a second heartbeat. Frost creeps along the seam and a groan vibrates through the hall.
“Elle,” Luke whispers as I take one more step.
CRACK.
The locker jerks forward and cold air spills out like smoke. Inside, the darkness shifts into something else—a low, wrong shape that breathes.
“Luke…” I whisper.
He squeezes my wrist. “Don’t move.” It breathes louder now, a wet rasp, like someone struggling to pull air through broken glass.
“Elle, we need to go,” Luke says. Frost curls around my ankles and something shifts inside the locker. Bone scrapes against metal, then a hand slides out—gray and paper-thin, fingers too long, the wrist bent at the wrong angle, nails torn away. Luke wraps an arm around my waist, trying to drag me back, but the frost keeps climbing.
The hand reaches farther, feeling the air. Feeling for me. My lungs seize.
“Luke,” I whisper, “it knows me.” The hand curls once and from deeper inside the locker, something drags my name through the dark.
“Elowen…” The hand lunges.