21:43 — West Wing, Inside the academy
While most of the school had settled into their housings, still buzzing from the chaos of check-ins and last-minute protocol updates, a smaller group—the chosen, the knowing—vanished into the walls.
Literally.
Behind a panel in the West Wing's janitor's corridor, disguised by centuries of wood and whispered rebellion, a slice of the past pulsed back to life.
The Arcade.
Long shut down by the school board after an "incident" no one would talk about but everyone vaguely feared, it had become St. Bernard's best-kept open secret. A place that didn't belong to any House, wasn't logged in any schedule, and wasn't bound by any of the school's rigid labels.
It belonged to them.
When the girls arrived, the party was already breathing. Lights dim, shadows long. Music vibrating low and hot through the air. It wasn't polished, it wasn't preened—it was just real.
Casual.
Unfiltered.
There were only about 25 to 28 students in total, a curated chaos of cool. Air hockey clattered in the back. Someone had dragged in a mini console, two boys hunched over a round of street fighter. Others were gathered by the curved bar that served soda, energy drinks, and punch laced with something a little more wicked.
Alia stepped in like she belonged there.
Tessa grinned immediately, eyes catching the rhythm of the beat. Zuri scanned the space like she was preparing for war. And just as they found a spot near a glowing neon table—
"There she is."
Cade slid into frame like a scene-stealer. Cool grin, chain loose over his black shirt. Behind him, Malik followed with the quiet confidence of someone who didn't need to announce his presence—his jaw too sharp, his sleeves rolled with purpose.
"Miss Caldwell," Malik nodded to Tessa. "Would you care for a tour?"
"Don't have to ask me twice," Tessa said, already taking his arm like they were in some kind of Netflix teen drama. Zuri, despite her narrowed eyes, followed a beat later with a tired sigh.
Alia was left standing with Cade.
"Guess it's just us," he said, hands shoved into his hoodie pockets, smirk crooked.
"Unfortunately," she deadpanned, but without the venom she usually dipped her sarcasm in.
Cade tilted his head like he noticed.
They drifted through the arcade slowly, dodging laughing students and darting lights. Someone offered them cups—Alia took one. Just a sip. Warm. Punchy. Dangerous in a soft way.
He showed her the shelf of retro games someone stacked near the console corner. Talked about how his brother used to beat him at them. She told him about the time she nearly got suspended from prep school for hacking into a teacher's schedule and swapping all her lunch breaks.
Their laughs got longer. The space between them got smaller.
Eventually, they ended up on a cushioned bench near the window wall, the lights behind them casting gentle hues against their faces. He leaned back. She crossed her legs toward him.
"You always this chill outside class?" he asked, nudging her arm with his knee.
"Depends. You always this tolerable?"
"Only around you."
A pause. Not awkward. Not urgent. Just full of that subtle tension that swells when people stop pretending to be anything but interested.
They leaned closer.
Closer.
And just as Cade's hand brushed her waist and their lips hovered—
Somewhere off to the side, a laugh too loud, a stumble too careless—someone brushed past the edge of their space, the smell of alcohol trailing after them. Alia barely registered it, keeping her focus on Cade… but a small frown creased her forehead.
How did they even sneak that in?
Alia shifted back slightly, letting her gaze linger on him for just a beat longer. "I'll be right back," she murmured, standing. Her boots clicked softly on the floor as she weaved through the crowd toward the drinks table, hoping for a moment to collect her thoughts… and maybe her composure.
Cade stayed seated, watching her go, a crooked smile tugging at his lips.
At the punch table, Alia let out a breath, trying to gather her thoughts as she poured herself a cup of whatever was in there.
"Alia?"
A voice. Soft, syrupy.
She blinked.
Kenzie.
Shoulder-length hair tucked behind her ears, eyes wide with innocent surprise. She was in Noctis too—had roomed with Alia the term before, though their dynamic had been nothing to write poems about.
"Didn't expect to see you here," Kenzie smiled, arms loose at her sides. "You look good."
"Hey, Kenz," Alia said, trying to keep the disorientation from leaking into her voice.
Kenzie said a few things. Nothing intense.Just the usual party talk. Then she left with a gentle goodbye, fading into the crowd like nothing had happened.
But something had.
The spell was broken. Alia stared after her, blinking like she'd just resurfaced.
Alia stayed back, letting the party crowd keep her hidden. She didn't wanna go back yet, didn't wanna face him just yet. She shifted her weight lightly, fingers brushing her jacket cuffs as a reminder that she was still in the real world. Eyes flicked over the chaos, scanning exits and movements without tilting her head too obviously.
She sipped her drink slowly, each gesture controlled, purposeful. Boots whispered over the ground as she weaved along the courtyard edges, tracing shadows and empty spaces. Every step was quiet, every pause calculated—her body coiled just enough to pivot or vanish if needed.
She stumbled upon a stairway that lead down from ground level into a low-level somewhat basement. Something about it looked forbidden and knowing Alia, she went after it.
She tread down the stairs a little too slowly for someone who was seeking escapades. It had a couple corners which she turned until she met a wall standing in her way. It was tall and a different color from usual wall. Too odd to notice, too old to ignore–it had to be a door.
She tilted her head against the door to listen for any sound being made then she pushed it a little, just enough to make a rattling sound. Her fingers weaved through the flat surface before she found a small console, pressed flat into the door.
It lit up, turning out to be a screen and it was asking for a pass.
If a pass was what she needed, a pass she was gonna get.
She smirked and turned back, heading towards the party. She had discarded her cup when she got back up and when she turned to walk the other way, she walked into Cade who had been looking for her earlier when she didn't get back quickly.
"Hey troublemaker, been looking for you," Cade told her with his usual boyish grin.
"Needed a breather, got carried away," she responded, practically talking to herself. Her hands fiddled with the ends of her hair as she looked over his shoulder.
He tilted his head, that flirty glint returning.
"You always go looking for the hornet's hive when you shouldn't." He remarked, stepping closer to her.
"Um, I think it's called nest instead" Alia corrected and Cade chuckled
"Wanna get back to where we were?"
She hesitated, she exhaled while he held her waist closer. He leaned in again—slow this time. One hand lightly resting on her behind her neck
And then—
It hit.
A flash in her mind.
Something that didn't belong there. A memory. Or a ghost of one. Eyes darker than Cade's. A voice she wasn't supposed to be remembering. A scent that wasn't in this room.
Her stomach flipped. The fuzzy feeling was back.
Alia pulled back—fast.
"Shit—sorry. I… I need air."
"Wait—hey, you okay?"
"Yeah, I just—" She waved a hand vaguely and started to move her feet.
He followed. Concern etched in his brow, but no pressure.
"You sure? Do you want me to—?"
"No," she cut in quickly, too quickly. "Just… stay. I'm fine. Really."
He didn't believe her. But he didn't press either.
She left.
Didn't even tell Tessa or Zuri.
---
00:23
The stone path that led from the Arcade back to the Northwest Girls' Housing was quiet—eerily so.
Alia walked barefoot, her boots dangling from her fingertips. The cool night air nipped at her ankles, and her thoughts swirled like the punch still humming in her veins. She didn't stumble, but she wasn't entirely steady either. That image—that flash—lingered in her mind like a bruise she couldn't see yet.
The hallway lights inside the dorms were warm and clinical. They buzzed slightly overhead as she padded toward the elevators. Her hair was slightly tousled, sleek strands falling over her chartreuse roots, and her black top hung a little crooked on her shoulder. She pressed the elevator button and waited.
A ding.
She stepped in, hit her floor, leaned back.
One deep breath. Then another.
By the time the doors opened—
She froze.
Down the hallway, right near the turn past the bulletin board, Carmen was walking by. Alone.
She was in a loose charcoal sweater, dark pants slung low and cuffed at the ankles. No rings tonight. Just that ever-present chain glinting under her collar and sleeves rolled up. Her hair was messier than usual, like she'd tied it up earlier and let it fall apart.
She stopped when she saw Alia. Didn't speak. Just turned slightly—caught in motion like a still from a film.
Alia cursed under her breath. Just a whisper. A prayer. Of all the moments.
She ducked her head, tried to keep walking. Maybe if she didn't make eye contact—
Too late.
Carmen's hand reached out. Not rough—but not featherlight either. Her fingers curled around Alia's forearm.
Alia stopped, startled, turning to look at her.
There was a flicker in Carmen's expression.
"Where did you get alcohol?" she asked, her voice lower than usual, just above a whisper—but laced with something sharp.
The scent of it had reached her nose—soft but unmistakable. That faint sweetness that always followed spiked punch and half-meant decisions.
Alia didn't answer. Didn't twitch. Just stared.
Not guilty.
Not defiant either.
Just… silent.
Her eyes flicked down to Carmen's hand still wrapped around her arm.
It took Carmen a heartbeat to realize.
She let go immediately. Fingers curling back into her palm like she'd touched something hot. Her mouth parted, like she might say something. Might lecture. Might scold.
But instead—
"I'm sure you know what you're doing," Carmen muttered.
Flat. Dismissive. Too neutral to be honest.
Alia blinked.
That wasn't what she'd expected. No speech? No sovereign rage? No protocols will be breached?
Just that line. Cold. Loose. Like Carmen was trying too hard not to care.
And that made it worse.
Alia's lips parted slightly, her brows lifting—just a fraction, like she didn't believe it either.
But Carmen had already turned.
She didn't walk away fast.Just resumed her pace like the moment hadn't happened. Like she hadn't just grabbed someone without thinking. Like her chest wasn't tight with something she didn't have a name for.
Alia stood in the hallway for a second longer, her eyes following Carmen's back.
The silence between them had a pulse.
Then she turned and walked to her room.
Her grip on her boots tightened just a little.
---
00:34 — Northwest Girls' Housing, Room 314
She was under her blanket, but not asleep.
Her boots were by the door. Her jacket had fallen halfway off her desk chair. She hadn't even washed her face.
She didn't move.
Her scar still tingled.
Her cheeks were still warm.
And Carmen's voice echoed in her skull like an old song you didn't mean to remember.
"I'm sure you know what you're doing."
Liar.
She didn't.
Not tonight. Not lately. Maybe not ever.
The alcohol had worn off faster than she expected. What lingered now wasn't intoxication—it was something heavier. Sadder. Louder.
That almost-kiss.
Her fingers curled around the edge of her blanket.
Why did she pull away?
She knew why.
That flash in her head—uninvited. Intimate. Unsettling.
She didn't know what it meant yet. But her gut hadn't let her stay.
And then Carmen.
Just standing there like some inconvenient poem with judgment in her eyes and warmth in her hand.
Alia turned her head into her pillow.
"You're so dramatic," she whispered to no one.
But she didn't stop thinking about her.
Didn't stop wondering what she meant to Carmen.
And maybe—what Carmen meant to her.