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*****
The next night, the Harvest Festival began.
Banners hung across the festival area, stalls were set up along every corner, and the annual Harvest Festival was in full swing—bright, cheerful, and utterly false.
Every student of Nevermore Academy was expected to attend.
Principal Weems insisted it was "an important tradition," though most Outcasts knew it for what it truly was: a carefully crafted performance meant to reassure the townspeople that Nevermore and Jericho existed in harmony.
In reality, it was one more pageant designed to soothe Jericho's fragile ego.
Because every smiling lantern, every reenacted tale, every cheerful little plaque served one purpose
To glorify Joseph Crackstone.
The righteous founder.
The holy man who "purified" the land.
The visionary who shaped Jericho with faith and discipline.
At least, that's what the town believed.
The truth—buried, sanitized, and rewritten—was far uglier.
Crackstone wasn't a hero. He was a zealot who believed Outcasts were an infection. A butcher who burned and slaughtered innocents in the name of purity. A monster who tried to erase an entire people.
But history is always kind to those who write it.
So the town celebrated him with festivals, parades, and carefully curated myths.
And Outreach Day, another tradition forced onto Nevermore students, existed for the same lie—public service dressed up as goodwill, masking the same old prejudice beneath a polite smile.
If Jericho ever discovered the truth behind their beloved founder…
If they ever realized they'd spent generations honoring a sadistic psychopath…
There would be no reenactments. No statues. No lantern-lit festivals under the night sky.
But ignorance was a powerful lantern—it kept the darkness comfortably out of sight.
Tonight, the lie glittered brighter than ever.
And in that glittering lie… the real story was finally about to begin.
***
Wednesday wandered through the Harvest Festival beside Enid, her expression flat and unamused as a flickering lantern.
The air smelled of caramel, fried dough, and small-town delusion—none of which improved her mood. Crowds moved between the stalls in bright, noisy clusters, laughing and chattering about things Wednesday considered profoundly trivial.
In contrast, Enid radiated sunshine so aggressively it was almost blinding.
"Oh my gosh—look! They're selling glow-in-the-dark wolf ear headbands!" Enid squealed, bouncing on her toes.
"And they have a booth where you can bob for apples! And—Wednesday, they're doing butter sculpture contests! Who even sculpts butter? This is amazing!"
Wednesday blinked slowly.
"Your bar for amazement is subterranean."
But Enid barely heard her; she was already dragging Wednesday toward the main path, tail-wagging energy in every step.
Wednesday's eyes, however, weren't on the attractions. They were sharp, scanning every face, every shadow between the stalls. She wasn't here for the carnival atmosphere.
She was here because Ethan—annoyingly smug, frustratingly cryptic Ethan—had invited her.
And then failed to show up.
Unacceptable.
She paused, her gaze narrowing as she surveyed the crowd from the center of the festival square. Still no dark hoodie. No red eyes. No irritatingly confident smirk.
"Looking for someone?" Enid asked, chewing a rainbow-colored candy stick.
"I'm looking for the person responsible for wasting my time," Wednesday replied dryly.
Enid raised a brow.
"…Is that your way of saying Ethan?" Enid asked, nudging Wednesday gently.
Before Wednesday could respond, someone stepped into their path.
"Wednesday? Are you… searching for someone?" Xavier asked, appearing with that hopeful half-smile he always wore around her—like fate had finally handed him a second chance.
Wednesday turned to him with an expression as cold as a morgue drawer.
"Who are you?" she asked flatly.
The smile died instantly.
While Xavier tried—and failed—to recover what little dignity he had left, Wednesday's attention had already shifted back to the crowd.
But Ethan's was nowhere near the festival stalls.
He was busy doing something far more important.
Distracting Principal Weems.
Because if Weems kept her hawk-like attention glued to Wednesday tonight, the Rowan encounter—the first flick of the domino that would set the real story in motion—would never happen.
And Ethan wasn't about to let canon derail itself.
Principal Weems stood nearby Wednesday, arms crossed, posture stiff and watchful as a mother hawk guarding her nest.
Her eyes scanned the crowd constantly, searching for signs of Wednesday's inevitable chaos.
Which meant she could not—under any circumstances—be allowed to intervene.
"Principal Weems," Ethan greeted smoothly, appearing beside her with the kind of quiet, sudden arrival that would've startled anyone else.
"Mr. Corvin," she said. "Shouldn't you be enjoying the festival?"
Ethan gave her a polite, harmless smile.
"I was curious," he replied. "You push this festival harder than a school safety lecture. What makes it so special?"
"It's a vital tradition. One of the few events where Jericho and Nevermore publicly come together. Our participation keeps that relationship intact."
Ethan nodded, the picture of polite interest—even though his mind was elsewhere.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Rowan hovering near a booth, pale and nervous, clutching something against his chest.
Not long after, he stepped directly into Wednesday's path.
Ethan's gaze sharpened as Rowan "accidentally" collided with her shoulder.
Wednesday froze.
Her pupils dilated.
The festival sounds—laughter, music, crackling lanterns—seemed to drop away around her, swallowed by a sudden psychic stillness.
And then her vision hit.
The Quad burning.
Fire roaring through the night.
Rowan screaming—
Rowan being dragged by a monster—until a sudden fist slammed into the creature's face.r