Morning came too quickly for how little either of them had slept the night before.
Thorn slipped through the empty corridors before sunrise, creeping as the mist danced along the floor. The infirmary door was locked, but locks at Reichenbach rarely meant much to her. Shadows slipped thin under the frame and clicked the latch from within.
The air inside was sterile, sharp, and antiseptic, yet it had an underlying note of something sour, like iron and sweat.
Danny Cruso lay propped against a stack of pillows, half-conscious. His skin gleamed with a fevered sheen, the silver-like scars standing out like moonlight carved into flesh. The machines beside him trembled faintly. Not loud enough to alarm, but just enough for Thorn to notice. A rhythm. Almost… musical.
She reached for his wrist, but the moment her fingers brushed his skin, the faint vibration pulsed through her.
"Thorn..." Danny's voice cracked, barely audible
"Hey," she said softly, forcing a crooked half-smile. "Still kicking, huh?"
His mouth twitched into a ghost of a grin. "There's my favorite abomination." The words came rough and weak, but the familiar teasing edge was still there. The same way he'd always tried to make her roll her eyes instead of worry.
"Careful," Thorn said, her tone flat but her eyes softer than usual. "Flattery might actually kill you."
He tried to laugh, but it came out as a groan. His head rolled weakly toward her, eyes glassy and unfocused.
"How are you feeling?" she asked, even though the answer was obvious.
Danny managed a dry chuckle that turned into a cough. "Like I was stabbed through the chest with a silver dagger," he muttered. "And then set on fire."
"Then ran over? Twice?" She asked, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. It was an old joke. Last spring, Danny had tried to impress Pippa by transforming during the full moon in the middle of the archery field.
He'd barely gotten halfway before a carriage from the groundskeepers' stables came barreling through, knocking him clear into a rose bush. Thorn had been the one to drag him out, muttering that if he wanted attention, there were easier ways than playing fetch with a horse-drawn carriage.
She arched a brow, voice dry. "That was the funniest fucking thing I had seen all year."
Even half-delirious, Danny managed a weak chuckle that broke into a cough. "Yeah, I could've sworn you said… 'next time, make it three.'"
Thorn's smirk deepened, though her eyes softened. "Yeah, I probably did."
The humor faded quickly, swallowed by the mechanical hum around them. Thorn kept her hand on his wrist, feeling that faint vibration beneath his skin, steady and rhythmic, almost like the echo of that haunting song.
Danny swallowed hard, gaze flicking toward her face. "You shouldn't be here," he said, voice dropping. "If they find out—"
"I don't care," she cut in quietly. "I just needed to see for myself that you were still breathing. I promised Pippa."
His lips parted like he wanted to argue, but another shudder wracked his body, cutting the words short. The machines beside him hummed faintly, pulsing to the rhythm Thorn could now feel in her bones. That tune again. Low, ghostly, and getting stronger.
The machines' rhythmic hum continued, like they were singing quietly to themselves.
"Danny?" Her voice broke slightly as she pressed a trembling hand to his forehead. The heat radiating off his skin was blistering and unnatural. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, so loud she almost didn't hear the door ease open behind her.
"You're not supposed to be in here." Xavier's voice was low and rough from a lack of sleep. Danny furrowed his brows as he glanced over at Xavier.
Thorn turned slowly, jaw tightening. "Neither are you."
He stepped into the room, sketchbook under his arm, charcoal smudged across his fingers. "I needed to see if the markings were still there."
"You mean you came to stare at someone's wounds like they're art," she snapped, though not without a flicker of worry behind her words.
"They're not art," he said, his tone cutting but controlled. "They're the same shapes I've been drawing all night. I need to know if they're exactly the same."
Thorn folded her arms, blocking his view of the bed. "Then take my word for it, they're still there. Now let him rest."
"Thorn," Danny rasped, cutting through their tension. "It's fine. Let him look. It's not like it can hurt me worse."
Thorn hesitated. For a moment, something flickered behind her eyes. Fear, maybe. Not for herself, but for him.
Then it happened.
The song returned, not as a vibration, but as a full-on melody.
It slipped through the walls like smoke, vibrating the metal rails of the bed, the air vents, the very glass of the lamps. The same song from last night. It was soft, haunting, and wrong.
Thorn's head snapped toward the sound. Xavier's eyes met hers instantly.
"You hear that?" she whispered.
He nodded, voice low. "It's louder than before."
Danny stirred, groaning. "You guys… hear it too?"
Thorn blinked. "What do you mean?"
"I told the nurses to turn the music down," Danny said weakly. "They said there wasn't any music playing."
A chill slid down Thorn's spine. The vibrations grew, shuddering through the floor. The walls seemed to hum back as a response. A heartbeat.
The hairs at the back of her neck rose, and the faint ache in her palms flared where the skin was still raw from the day before.
She met Xavier's eyes again. Both of them already knew.
Whatever had happened to Danny…
It wasn't over.
"Shit," Thorn muttered under her breath, stepping back from the bed. The low, thrumming pulse still shivered through the floorboards, faint but steady. It was almost as if the school itself were breathing.
Xavier took a hesitant step closer, careful not to startle either of them. His voice was quiet, almost gentle. "Danny," he said, eyes flicking between the boy's pale face and the twisting scars that glowed faintly under the fluorescent light. "I need to see them. The markings."
Thorn's head snapped toward him. "Absolutely not."
Xavier held her gaze, unflinching. "It might help us," he said evenly.
"They're the same symbols I've been sketching. If I can compare them, maybe I can figure out what they mean."
"Or maybe you'll make things worse," Thorn shot back. Her tone was sharper than she intended, but her voice carried a tremor of real fear beneath it.
Danny stirred weakly, his head lolling to one side as he tried to focus on Xavier. "It's fine," he rasped, voice paper-thin but steady. "If it helps…"
"Danny," Thorn warned, stepping closer to his bed, "you don't have to—"
He managed a faint smirk that tugged one corner of his mouth. "Relax, Thorn. I've survived worse than a murder suspect with a sketchbook."
Danny carefully tugged back the sleeve of his hospital gown. The skin beneath was worse up close. Angry and raw, with silver scars etched deep, like veins of molten metal that had cooled too quickly.
Xavier's expression darkened. He set his sketchbook on the side table, flipping it open to the page Thorn recognized from the night before. The same jagged spirals, sharp angles, and curling lines filled the paper, the graphite nearly tearing through.
He looked between the page and Danny's arm, his breath catching. "They match," he whispered. "Every single one."
Thorn leaned in despite herself. The resemblance was uncanny, with the same rhythm in their shapes, almost as if they had been drawn by the same invisible hand. "How the hell is that possible?" she asked quietly.
"I don't know," Xavier murmured, tracing one of the sigils with his eyes but not his fingers. "But whatever's doing this… It's deliberate. Like someone's carving the music straight into him."
The machines by Danny's bed gave a soft, almost approving hum. Thorn's pulse quickened.
"Okay, that's enough," she said, reaching to pull his sleeve back up his arm. "He needs rest, not a damn art critique."
Xavier didn't argue. He closed his sketchbook gently, his jaw set.
The silence that followed wasn't empty. It buzzed, low and constant, the same note still echoing faintly in the walls.
Thorn looked up, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Whatever this is, it's not done with him yet."
Xavier nodded, his eyes on the closed sketchbook. "Then we'd better figure it out before it decides it wants another canvas."
Danny's breathing had evened out, the feverish rise and fall of his chest steady but fragile. Thorn lingered beside the bed for a moment longer, her fingers hovering above his wrist before she finally pulled away.
"Get some rest, wolf-boy," she murmured, barely loud enough for him to hear. "And don't do anything stupid."
Danny's lips twitched faintly. "No promises," he breathed, eyes still closed.
Thorn straightened, brushing a lock of hair from her face. She nodded toward the door. "Come on," she said quietly.
Xavier followed her out, careful not to let the door creak. Once they were in the corridor, Thorn turned, allowing a ripple of shadow to slide from her fingertips. It slipped under the frame, curling up the lock until it clicked shut again from the inside.
"Security's not great around here," she said dryly, more to fill the silence than to make a joke.
Xavier glanced back toward the door. "He'll be okay?"
Thorn hesitated before answering. "He has to be."
They stood there for a beat longer, the faint hum of the wards vibrating through the stone around them, until Thorn finally started walking.
Xavier fell into step beside her, the silence between them charged but not uncomfortable.
By the time they reached homeroom, the chatter had dimmed to anxious murmurs. Students hunched close, trading speculation in whispers that died the moment someone new entered. Both Thorn and Xavier slipped into their usual, unassigned seats near the back.
Neither spoke. The sound of notebooks opening and pens scratching was enough to fill the space where words might've gone.
When the door opened, even that sound stopped.
Mr. Calder walked in, his posture unusually stiff, the lines around his mouth deeper than usual. He set his satchel on the desk and looked over the room, as though counting them, or maybe just buying time.
"Good morning," he said finally, his tone steadier than his eyes. "Before we begin, I've been asked to read a statement from the administration regarding yesterday's incident in Professor Hale's class."
A ripple of whispers broke out and then vanished again.
Mr. Calder unfolded a thin parchment stamped with the academy's wax seal. "The administration would like to assure all students and faculty that the situation has been contained and is being handled with the utmost care. Daniel Cruso is currently under medical supervision in the infirmary. His condition is stable."
Thorn's fingers tightened around her pen, knuckles pale.
"At this time," Calder continued, "there is no indication of contagion, or of any ongoing threat to the student body. The headmistress would like to remind everyone that speculation and the spreading of rumors will not be tolerated. If you have questions, please direct them through the appropriate channels."
He cleared his throat, folding the parchment carefully. "Parents and guardians have been notified. Classes will proceed as scheduled. You are safe."
Safe. The word hung in the air, hollow.
Mr. Calder set the letter aside, rubbing the bridge of his nose before straightening again. "All right," he said quietly. "Let's try to have a normal morning, shall we?"
No one moved.
Finally, chairs creaked and notebooks reopened, the rhythm of routine returning out of habit rather than comfort.
Thorn exhaled slowly, glancing toward Xavier without turning her head. "That was a whole lot of nothing," she muttered under her breath.
"Yeah," Xavier murmured, eyes still on the desk. "Which means there's more they're not telling us."
Neither of them spoke after that. The scratching of pens filled the silence again, but it didn't seem like focus. It felt more like a distraction. Mr. Calder continued with the announcements, his voice even but thinner than usual, each sentence landing like a stone dropped into still water.
When the bell finally rang, no one moved right away. The scrape of chairs and shuffle of feet came slowly, as though the room itself was reluctant to wake. Thorn gathered her things without a word. Xavier followed her into the corridor, the air there colder somehow, heavier.
By late afternoon, the whole academy carried that same uneasy quiet.
Teachers whispered to each other in doorways. Students moved faster between classes, their shoulders drawn tight, as they avoided eye contact.
Conversations died the moment the faculty passed. The usual laughter from the courtyards was gone, and replaced by the echo of hurried footsteps and the faint hum of the wards in the walls.
The administration's statement had said they were safe.
But safety at Reichenbach had always been a matter of opinion.
For the first time since the school year started, the academy was holding its breath.
Xavier had tried to sketch in the library during lunch, but a siren student had leaned too close, peering over his shoulder.
"What are those?" she'd asked, eyes narrowing at the twisting sigils. Xavier slammed the sketchbook shut so hard it startled even himself.
"Mind your business." Xavier spat, eyes wide and unsure, as the girl raised her hands in defense.
"Sorry, Damn. I didn't know murderers could be so bossy."
Xavier's face fell at an instant. Murderer.
That's what everyone at Reichenbach thought of him as, and there wasn't a way for him to change their minds. The court of public opinion had already won.
Xavier huffed, shoving his sketchbook into his bag with more force than he meant to. The chair scraped back against the tile in a harsh, grating screech that made half the library flinch and glance up. He didn't care.
He slung the strap over his shoulder and stalked out, his pulse hammering in his ears. By the time he reached the courtyard, the cold air hit him hard enough to clear the noise in his head.
Thorn was already there, sitting across the table from Pippa, who was spewing some nonsense about a boy in her class. Another foil blood pouch rested in Thorn's hand, the faint metallic sheen catching the light, as she half paid attention to her roommate.
"We need somewhere private," he muttered as he came up behind her, voice low and unsteady from the walk.
She didn't turn right away, only tilted her head slightly, her thumb tapping idly against the pouch. "That sounds ominous."
She arched a brow, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "You planning to confess something, or is this about the music?"
"Both, maybe," he said dryly. Thorn turned back to Pippa, who was giving her a look of apprehension, her fingers toying with the end of her honey-blonde braid.
"Relax," Thorn remarked, giving the shorter girl a disarming glance.
She considered Xavier's words for a moment, then smirked. "Fine. I know a place." Thorn stood up sharply, grabbing her bag off the floor. One hand still wrapped around the foil pouch.
They walked north, past the last line of lamplit corridors, until the air turned colder. The cemetery loomed ahead, half-swallowed by fog. Moss-covered angels leaned against rusted gates, and the mist hung heavy between the headstones.
"Here?" Xavier asked skeptically.
Thorn shrugged, stepping through the gates. "The school doesn't bother the graveyard. It's been here since before the school was even built. It's the only quiet place left on campus," she crossed her arms over her chest, looking up at Xavier.
"Unless you prefer an audience."
He followed reluctantly. "Bizarre choice."
"That's the point."
The air inside hummed faintly, a low vibration beneath their boots. The resonance was stronger here; Xavier could feel it thrumming through the ground.
Thorn knelt, pressing a palm to the dirt.
"Reichenbach's authority ends here. The wards don't reach all the way out here. It's why the dead don't rest easy."
"I know Mr. Calder mentioned them. But what are the wards?"
"They're like these invisible, humming fields of magic that guard the campus from outside threats and keep the supernatural chaos inside from spilling into the human world."
"So the music?"
"Should be stronger out here, nothing keeping it away from us."
Xavier crouched beside her, sketchbook balanced on one knee. He began tracing the sigils into the soil with a stick, carefully and deliberately.
She braced a hand against the earth and closed her eyes. Shadows stirred in response.
Cautious at first, then steady. They slipped from beneath rocks and gravestones, curling like ink in water. Thorn wasn't trying to attack; she was listening through them, testing the air the way a bat listens for echoes.
"Let's see if it reacts to this," she said under her breath.
The shadows crept across the sigils, tracing the shapes Xavier had drawn.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then the ground shivered.
Thorn gasped, jerking back, the cold slicing up her arms like frostbite.
"Thorn?" Xavier's voice sharpened. "What is it?"
"It burns," she managed through gritted teeth. "But not like fire... it's… It's in the air."
He dropped the stick, grabbing her wrist before she could fall back. The reddish-gold veins beneath her skin pulsed faintly, in sync with the rhythm of the melody.
"Goddamint, Thorn, Stop. Pull back," he said quickly.
"I can't," she hissed, closing her eyes tightly. "It's holding on."
Xavier grabbed a handful of dirt and smeared it across the sigils, breaking the pattern. The sound stopped instantly, leaving only the ragged echo of their breathing.
The shadows wrapped around Thorn's wrists slowly faded away, back behind the headstones and mausoleums. While Thorn leaned against a headstone, catching her breath.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
The last traces of black smoke faded into pale, trembling hands. "Guess we're onto something," Thorn said, voice rougher than she meant it to be.
Xavier met her gaze, still crouched in the dirt. "You think?" His tone was half disbelief, half awe as he shook his head.
He let out a breath and dropped entirely to the ground, leaning back against the cold stone. "Do you have a death wish or something?" he snapped, frustration bleeding through the edges of his voice. "What the hell was that?"
Thorn shot him a sharp look, her eyes flashing in the dim light. "What was that?" she snapped. "That was me trying to keep up while you're out here scribbling curses into the dirt like it's extra credit."
Xavier turned toward her, jaw tightening, but he didn't interrupt.
"We're not going to figure anything out if we keep screwing around," she went on, brushing the dirt from her palms. "Whatever this thing is... it almost killed Danny. And it'll try to kill someone else if we don't get ahead of it." Her voice softened just enough to let the truth slip through. "The school clearly doesn't give a damn. Not about this, not about him. Not about us."
For a moment, Xavier didn't respond. The anger in his face faltered, just a fraction, replaced by something quieter. Fear, maybe. But underneath it, guilt.
"So, it burns?" he asked, voice low, the edge dulled now. His tongue ran over his bottom lip as he studied the ground, where his own frantic smears had blurred the symbols into chaos. A few loose strands of hair had fallen into his eyes, half-shadowing the furrow in his brow. "Like silver?"
"Yeah." Thorn's answer came softly, the bite gone from her tone. "It's like the music was trying to poison me or something." She flexed her hands again, eyes tracing the dirt where the sigils had once been. "I could feel it crawl under my skin, like it wanted in."
"We have to find out who's playing the music," he murmured. Half to her, half to himself. The words came out like a vow.
Thorn let out a quiet breath that might've been a laugh, though there was no humor in it. "Yeah," she said, glancing up at him. "Before the whole Furnace goes down in flames."
For a moment, the only sound was the wind moving through the trees, carrying that faint hum again, soft, distant, and waiting.
Xavier's voice cut through the stillness, low and grim. "It wouldn't just be the Furnace, Thorn. If this spreads, it'll take the whole academy with it."
His eyes flicked toward the north, where the faint outline of the towers glowed against the fog. "Half the student body are wolves and fangs. If they start becoming affected…"
Thorn's smirk faltered. "Then Reichenbach stops being a school." She looked down at her hands, the faint scorch marks still ghosting her palms. "And it becomes a cage."
Silence fell again, thick, uneasy. The hum returned, barely audible, as if it agreed.