The Addams girl had been watching.
She always watched.
Wednesday had seen Enid slip into Dirk's room, seen the warmth in her smile when she emerged the next morning. She didn't scold her roommate, didn't comment, didn't need to. Her silence was louder than words.
But inside, Wednesday Addams burned. Not with jealousy—never that—but with something far worse in her world: fascination.
Dirk Sanchez was slipping through her fingers. And she would not allow it.
---
The Trap
That night, Dirk once again found himself walking the quiet halls. Nevermore after dark was a different beast: shadows twisted, floors creaked with secrets, and the cold air carried whispers of forgotten tragedies.
This time, he wasn't surprised when Wednesday emerged from the dark like a phantom. She carried a notebook in one hand, a fountain pen in the other.
"You should stop lurking," Dirk said dryly. "It's becoming a habit."
Her gaze didn't waver. "It's only a habit when it fails to produce results."
"And what result are you hoping for tonight?"
Wednesday opened her notebook. Her voice was sharp, precise. "Answers."
---
The Interrogation
She began without preamble.
"Your control of alchemy was flawless—far beyond what this academy teaches. Who trained you?"
Dirk's lips curved faintly. "I taught myself."
Her pen scratched furiously across the page. "Unlikely. Self-taught prodigies rarely demonstrate such restraint. Which means you either had a master… or you're lying."
Dirk stepped closer, towering over her. His voice was calm, steady. "What if the truth is stranger than both?"
She looked up, eyes glinting. "Then I'll find it."
---
Pressing Deeper
Her questions cut sharper now.
"Where were you before Nevermore?"
"Why do you never sleep?"
"Why do you avoid mirrors?"
Dirk's jaw tightened slightly at the last one, and Wednesday's eyes narrowed in triumph. A reaction—small, but real.
"You see?" she said softly, almost triumphantly. "Even stone can crack."
Dirk leaned in, his voice dropping to a low murmur.
"Be careful, Wednesday. You may not like what you discover if you peel too deep."
Her pulse quickened, though she masked it with a steady expression. "On the contrary," she whispered. "The darker, the better."
---
The Shift
They stood inches apart now, shadows and moonlight painting their faces. Dirk's calm was unshakable, but Wednesday's composure strained at the edges. She wanted to unmask him, dissect him, consume every secret he hid.
And he knew it.
"Tell me," she pressed, voice husky with the weight of curiosity, "what were you before this place?"
Dirk's eyes locked on hers. Silence stretched. Then, finally, he spoke.
"A ghost."
The word landed heavy, chilling the space between them.
Wednesday's pen froze mid-stroke. For the first time, she didn't know what to write.
---
Retreat
Dirk stepped back, his broad frame fading into the shadows as he turned away.
"You wanted answers," he said without looking back. "Now you'll spend the rest of the night wondering if I lied."
Wednesday's chest tightened—not with anger, but with something far more dangerous.
Obsession.
Her hand clenched the notebook so tightly her knuckles whitened. She had wanted to unravel Dirk Sanchez. Instead, he had unraveled her.
And she hated him for it.
Almost as much as she needed more.