E L L E
By the time we reach the dorm wing, Luke is still half a step ahead of me, like he can shield me from the whole building. His hand brushes mine once, steady, and the echo of his words lingers: You’re not walking anywhere in this place without me. I should feel safer. Instead, the corridor feels heavier, like Ravenshade itself is waiting for me to slip.
The east dorm corridor is too quiet after an evening meal, the kind of quiet that feels arranged. I know better than to walk it alone, but Luke got pulled into training with his team and promised he’d catch up. I told myself I’d be fine. I lied.
I tell myself I’m only here for my journal. I left it in my locker before dinner, and I need it for tomorrow’s history assignment. That’s the reason. That’s all, but as soon as I step into the row, my gaze snags on the number halfway down.
My locker.
Something prickles at the base of my skull, faint at first. Not a sound exactly, not even a vibration, more like pressure building inside my head. My hand twitches toward the strap of my backpack, the excuse I keep repeating in my head. Just grab the journal. Nothing else. I force myself to keep walking..
“Well, if it isn’t Ravenshade’s favorite ghost story.”
Tobias Vale leans against the wall like he owns it, arms crossed, grin too wide. Two of his friends flank him, the kind of boys who laugh harder the crueler the joke gets.
My pulse stutters. I tighten the scarf around my throat. “Move.”
“Relax,” Tobias drawls, pushing off the wall. His eyes flick to the row beside me, 234, 235, 236 and then, the one that matters.
He smiles when my steps falter. “Go on, Wrenwood. Prove the rumors wrong. Open it.”
The words scrape down my spine. “No.”
His friends snicker an one mimics a whispery voice, “Elle.. Elle…” The sound cuts sharp because it’s too close to real.
Heat rushes up my neck. “Shut up.”
Tobias steps closer, blocking my path. “Come on, curse-girl. It’s yours anyway. Everyone’s waiting for you to show your true colors. Unless you’re scared.”
Of course I’m scared, the metal hums faintly even now, like it’s listening. I curl my hands into fists to hide the tremble.
“You don’t know what you’re asking,” I manage.
He tilts his head, mock-innocent. “Then show us. Open it.”
Behind him, his friends are grinning like it’s the best entertainment they’ve had all week. The corridor feels narrower, colder. My gaze snags on the dull numbers stamped into the door, 2, 3, 7 and my chest tightens. It would be so easy to reach out. Too easy.
A voice cuts through the tension. “Back off.” Luke storms toward us, hair damp from training, hoodie half unzipped. His jaw is set in a line I know too well, the one that usually comes right before he throws a punch.
Tobias lifts his hands, feigning innocence. “Relax, Hart. We were just having fun.” Luke ignores him, stepping directly between me and the locker. “You call this fun?” His eyes are hard, but his hand finds mine, warm and steady. “Daring her to mess with something none of you understand?”
One of Tobias’s friends mutters, “It’s just a locker.”
Luke whirls on him, voice sharp. “No, it isn’t, and if you had half a brain, you’d know that.” Tobias smirks, trying to hold his ground, but unease flickers in his eyes. “Guess curse-girl doesn’t need you to fight all her battles.”
“She doesn’t need to prove anything to you.” Luke’s voice is rougher now, not anger exactly but fear. Fear that tastes like love. His grip on my hand tightens as he pulls me firmly away from the locker row. I stumble a step but don’t resist.
When we’re clear of them, his words lash low, almost shaking. “Don’t you ever listen to them. Do you hear me, Elle? Ever.” I flinch, but not from his anger because I can feel what’s underneath it. He’s scared for me, scared of what the locker might do and scared of losing me to it.
“I wasn’t going to,” I whisper, though the hum in my chest betrays me. His chest rises, tight with everything he doesn’t say. Finally, he just shakes his head, tugging me farther down the hall like distance alone can protect me.
The sound follows anyway. A low vibration, metal rattling against hinges. Locker 237. I stop short, breath catching. The air tastes sharp, like frost before snow. Luke keeps moving until my arm jerks taut, forcing him to turn.
The locker handle trembles in its socket, the whole frame shuddering as if something inside wants out. The clang echoes down the hall, louder than it should be, like the building itself is amplifying the sound.
“No,” Luke mutters, stepping in front of me again. He plants himself like a wall, shoulders squared, fury rolling off him. “Ignore it.”
But I can’t because the vibration hums in my bones, in my teeth, like the metal has found my frequency. My feet itch to turn back, to touch it and to open it.
“It’s calling me,” I whisper.
Luke’s head snaps toward me. “Don’t say that.” Panic edges his voice. “Don’t ever say that.” The locker crashes again, one violent slam that shakes the whole hall, dust drifting from the rafters. Tobias and his friends stumble back fast, all the bravado drained from their faces.
Luke grabs my hand, holding tight. His grip borders on painful, but it’s the only thing keeping me steady. The noise stops as abruptly as it began. The silence afterward feels heavier and sharper. And that’s when it hits me: the locker isn’t reacting to Tobias’s stupid dare. It’s reacting because of me.
The silence hangs heavy, pressing against my ears. Even Tobias and his friends don’t dare make a sound. Then, from behind the metal, something low and guttural rolls out.
A growl.
Not creaking hinges or shifting books. This is deep and alive, wrong in a way that makes the air thrum and every instinct flare with one message: predator. Cold lifts across my skin and my pulse jumps, then races. Luke steps closer, putting himself between me and the locker. “Back up,” he snaps at Tobias and the others.
They don’t argue now. Their shoes scrape the floor as they retreat, swearing under their breath, fear leaking through every word. The growl comes again, longer this time, followed by claws scraping against metal. The locker jolts under the force, rattling like whatever’s inside is trying to break out.
I can’t look away. My throat tightens, but my eyes stay fixed on the handle, now coated in a thin layer of frost. Ice creeps through the painted numbers, making 237 gleam pale in the dim light.
Luke clamps onto my wrist, his grip harsh. “Elle. Look at me.”
“I hear it,” I whisper, the words cracking.
“You don’t. You hear nothing.” His voice trembles around the lie. His eyes burn with panic, trying to pull my attention away from the locker and back to him, but the growl tears through the air again, sharper, closer and now there’s breath behind it. Then the lock gives a single, sharp click, loud as a shot, like the door is about to burst open.