I woke up to the soft chime of my alarm and blinked against the warm light filling the dorm. The sheets were tangled around my legs, and for once, I didn't feel like I was crawling out of a grave. I stretched, letting out a sigh, then rolled out of bed with a sleepy smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.
The dorm was quiet, peaceful. My roommate hadn't come back last night—Ethan was probably passed out in Misha's room again. Not that I minded. It gave me time to just exist, to get dressed without rushing, to hum while brushing my teeth like I didn't have a single worry in the world.
Because, honestly, I didn't.
I tugged on my uniform, half-buttoned the shirt before realizing I'd skipped breakfast yesterday and today I wasn't about to let that happen again. I actually liked the mornings here—the quiet shuffle of students, the early breeze that carried the smell of fresh bread from the bakery near the east wing. I even liked the way the sunlight hit the courtyard just right.
My tie was crooked. It always was. I didn't care. Somehow it added to my charm—or so Misha said when she wasn't trying to fix it for the hundredth time.
I checked my reflection once in the mirror—not out of vanity, just habit—and smiled at the familiar face staring back. I looked... content. Normal. Not haunted or brooding. Just a guy, sixteen, navigating the weird chaos of academy life with two best friends and an overachieving sister who always made sure I stayed on top of things.
Marienne.
She'd probably already gone ahead to the library, notebook in hand, already four steps ahead of the rest of us before the day even started. I'd catch up. Maybe annoy her with some terrible joke and steal her coffee.
The knock on the door came right on cue. Not hurried or loud, just a lazy little rhythm that I'd know anywhere.
"Castor, you up? Misha's threatening to leave without us again," Ethan called.
I swung the door open, grinning. "Tell her I'm deeply wounded she didn't knock herself."
"She said you're not worth the effort," Ethan said with a shrug, clearly amused. "I told her you'd say that exact thing."
I laughed, stepping into the hallway. "You two need to stop ganging up on me."
"Then stop making it so easy."
We walked together down the wide halls of Dicarthen, morning sun painting the marble floors in gold. Students were everywhere—laughing, chatting, cramming last-minute notes. Professors strolled past with coffee cups and tired eyes. The academy had never felt more alive.
And me? I fit into it. No shadows. No secrets. Just Castor Whitmore—top of his literature class, mild flirt, lover of croissants, twin brother to the most terrifyingly brilliant girl in school.
And yeah, it was just another normal day.
Exactly how I liked it.
As Ethan and I rounded the corner past the greenhouse, the familiar sound of laughter and chatter filtered through the courtyard. The academy was already buzzing, and the crisp morning air carried the scent of dew and distant flowers. A few first-years dashed by, already late for their early lessons, and I gave them a lazy wave, not that they noticed.
"Castor!" a voice chimed behind us—sharp, elegant, and unmistakably smug.
I turned just in time to see the Demara sisters approaching in perfect sync. Two blonde blurs of nobility, dressed immaculately, as always. Aria, the older one, gave me a measured smile, and her younger sister, Nicole, offered a small wave, clutching a stack of books she definitely hadn't read yet.
"Good morning, ladies," I said with an easy grin. "You're both suspiciously well-dressed for a Tuesday."
Aria arched an eyebrow. "We're well-dressed for every day, Castor."
"And here I was, thinking I was special."
"You're special in the way a particularly stubborn weed is special," she replied with a smirk.
Nicole giggled. "But a charming weed."
"I'll take it," I said, mock-bowing before excusing myself with a glance toward the east steps. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go find someone who actually tolerates me."
"That would be a very short list," Aria quipped as they walked past.
But I barely heard her. Because there she was—Marienne.
She stood at the top of the academy steps, flipping through a leather-bound notebook, brow furrowed in that way it always was when she was trying to calculate the death rate of some forgotten war. Her dark hair caught the sunlight just right, and even from a distance, she radiated that calm, confident presence she always carried like a second skin.
"Oi," I called out. "I was wondering if you'd finally stopped existing entirely in books."
She looked up, eyes narrowing with practiced disapproval. "You're ten minutes late."
I raised my hands. "Blame Ethan. He overslept again."
Ethan, walking behind me, muttered something about betrayal, but Marienne didn't seem to care. She stepped forward and—shockingly—handed me a pastry wrapped in paper.
"You didn't eat again yesterday," she said plainly. "Try not to starve. It's annoying."
I blinked at her, half stunned, half touched. "Wow. This is love. Real, sisterly love."
"It's pity."
Ethan chuckled, already pulling Marienne into some conversation about political theory or magical legislation—I don't even know. I just stood there for a moment, watching her talk, hearing her voice blend into the morning like it belonged here. Like she belonged here. Like we belonged here.
And for the first time in what felt like forever, I didn't feel like I was chasing a ghost or walking through a dream. I was grounded. Solid. I had friends, a future, and most importantly, I had her.
Marienne Whitmore. My sister. Alive. Brilliant. Here.
And everything was... right.
I made my way through the grand halls of Dicarthen with an almost annoying bounce in my step. The sun was warm, the courtyard bustling, and for once, I wasn't late. A rare miracle. I turned toward the east wing, where the student council office sat, slightly elevated like some untouchable sanctum—though honestly, I walked in there like I owned the place half the time.
I knocked once, then pushed the door open without waiting.
"Good morning to the most feared and fabulous women of Dicarthen," I said with a grin, stepping in.
Snowflake was perched on the edge of the desk, arms crossed, wearing that usual look of sharp boredom mixed with icy judgment. Ovari Helios stood beside the window, sunlight reflecting against her dark uniform badge, her long braid coiled neatly over one shoulder. Her gaze flicked toward me the moment I stepped in, measuring and unreadable—but not unfriendly.
"Castor," Ovari said, her voice calm as always. "You're early."
"I'm trying a new thing. Punctuality. Thought I'd spice up my reputation."
Snowflake scoffed. "You don't have a reputation. You have a collection of excuses and a very loud laugh."
"I'll take that as affection."
Ovari let the tiniest smile curve at the edge of her mouth. "We were just going over details for the upcoming school trip. It's official now—end of this month. Three days away from the Academy."
I raised an eyebrow. "Field trip? To where? Please don't say another historic battlefield. I still have dust in my shoes from the last one."
"City of Orléne," Snowflake said, flipping a page in the file she was holding. "Architecture, archives, a night market, and possibly a boat tour if someone doesn't manage to set it on fire."
I gave a mock salute. "No promises."
"I expect you to behave," Ovari said, but there was a flicker of amusement behind her firm tone. "You'll be representing Dicarthen."
"Me? A symbol of academic excellence and subtle diplomacy? Always."
Snowflake rolled her eyes so hard I was sure she could see her own brain. "You're the reason we have fireproof policies in the dorm kitchens."
Still, the vibe was light, easy. Like everything had fallen into place, and we were all just playing our roles in a world that—for once—wasn't breaking apart.
I leaned back against the wall, glancing between the two of them. "Honestly? A trip sounds nice. Could use the fresh air. Just don't make me share a room with Ethan again. The man talks in his sleep. Loudly."
Ovari gave me a sideways glance. "Noted."
And just like that, it was another normal day in Dicarthen.
Everything was fine. Everything was right.
Yeah, everything was fine. I told myself that over and over again, yet I seemed uneasy.
I decided to take all my classes today. Not just sit in the back and stare out the window like usual, but actually participate. Professor Jonathon looked mildly startled when I raised my hand before he even finished his question. I answered it right. I answered all of them right. Ethan looked at me like I'd grown a second head, and Misha tried to copy my notes halfway through the lecture. I didn't even mind.
It felt... good. Not the boring kind of good, like checking off a to-do list, but the kind that makes your chest feel lighter. Like this was how things were supposed to be.
After the final class, I made my way to the courtyard and found my usual bench under the maple tree, the one that turned bright red in autumn. I collapsed onto it with a sigh, stretching my arms over the backrest. Dicarthen's golden hour always hit just right—soft light bathing the cobbled path, laughter echoing across the grass, and the faint chime of the campus bell in the distance.
That's when I saw them.
The seniors were gathering at the far end, by the old fountain. Most of them in their polished coats and pristine boots, chatting with easy arrogance. And among them stood Cassius Veldane—hair perfectly swept back, posture like he thought he carried the world on his shoulders. Which, in a way, he probably did. The Veldane name carried weight. He always had a smug smile, like he knew something you didn't.
Next to him, like moonlight beside flame, stood Rose Ravencroft.
Elegant, poised, cold as ever. Her dress uniform was immaculate, not a crease in sight, her pale hand clutching a leather-bound book like it might bite someone if she let it go. While Cassius was all fire and bravado, Rose was calculated chill. They were alike in the way statues were alike—carved to perfection, made to be admired. But if Cassius boasted, Rose judged. Both proud. Both untouchable.
Still, they stood together like matching pieces from rival sets.
I watched the two of them exchange a few words—quiet ones, judging by the tilt of Rose's head and Cassius's subtle smirk—and I couldn't help but marvel at how odd yet seamless this Academy was. So many nobles, so much history, and yet no one batted an eye when commoners like Ethan or Misha shared classrooms with them. Dicarthen had its secrets and power plays, sure, but here on the surface, the world spun just fine.
People coexisted. Laughed. Teased. Competed. No one was being hunted or haunted. No one was missing. No one was broken.
Just a normal day, I thought, leaning back with a faint smile.
And for the first time in what felt like forever... I actually believed it.
Marienne snuck up behind me like she always did, her voice soft in my ear. "You're gonna catch a cold out here."
I turned, only to be greeted by her signature smirk and two steaming paper cups in her hands. She handed me one without asking—black, no sugar, just how I liked it.
"Thanks," I said, raising it in a silent toast.
She plopped down beside me, her long coat fluttering slightly as she adjusted herself. "So," she said, blowing gently on her coffee. "Spring break's almost here. You ready to see Mom and Dad?"
I nodded, my heart feeling oddly warm. "Yeah, I think they'll be happy to see us both. It's been a while."
Marienne chuckled. "Dad'll pretend he doesn't care but then start crying mid-dinner. And Mom will say I've lost weight even though I haven't." She rolled her eyes affectionately.
I laughed into my coffee. "And then they'll ask if I'm finally seeing someone."
"They always ask that," she smirked, then paused, her eyes turning soft. "You know, it's weird. I used to hate this place. First year here? I wanted to drop out. But now…" She looked around the courtyard like it held a hundred memories. "These walls grew on me."
"Same," I said. "We've had some damn good times here."
Marienne smiled, her expression distant. "Remember when we snuck into the west wing after hours? You were too scared to touch anything, and I found that old book that screamed when you opened it?"
I laughed. "I still think about that scream sometimes."
She laughed too, but it trailed off a little too long.
Then she said, "I wonder how long this version of me will last."
My brow furrowed. "Huh?"
Marienne kept staring ahead, eyes glazed slightly. "You know… the version you're talking to right now. How long will she hold on before the real one slips through again?"
I blinked. "What are you talking about?"
She finally looked at me. Her eyes were no longer warm—they were sad. Deeply, unbearably sad. "You're trying so hard to pretend, Castor. But the world you're in… isn't this one. You can't hide here forever."
My breath hitched. The coffee in my hand felt cold.
"Marienne," I said, voice suddenly dry, "what the hell do you mean by that?"
She reached out and touched my arm. "You know what I mean. Somewhere deep down… you know I'm not real."
The courtyard went still. The air, once warm and full of life, now felt suffocating.
"No," I whispered. "Don't do this."
But she only looked at me with something like heartbreak. "It's time to wake up, brother."
The world began to dissolve like wet paint under rain. One by one, the sounds of Dicarthen—the laughter, the chatter, the wind brushing against ivy-covered walls—faded into a void.
I stood up from the bench, heart racing, as the sky turned an unnatural grey and the buildings seemed to pull away like shadows unraveling from light. I looked around frantically, calling out for Marienne, but she was gone.
And in her place stood… him.
My father.
Blood soaked his once-pristine cravat, and the side of his head was caved in, still dripping. He looked at me with those familiar eyes, once full of stern expectation—now hollow, oozing with something that almost looked like accusation. He didn't speak. He just stared.
Then, Cassius appeared behind him.
A knife buried deep in his chest, lips still moving in a silent scream. His fingers twitched, reaching for something—or someone. His body slumped forward like it had done that night. The blood beneath his feet was spreading, staining the marble black.
Next came the parole officer. His neck bore a deep slice, as though carved by glass. He walked forward slowly, hands shaking, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, begging to be heard but uttering no sound.
And then—Rose.
Her skin had turned pale, almost translucent. Finger-shaped bruises ran across her throat like vines. Her eyes were wide, too wide, like she'd died with the last thought stuck in her head. I staggered back when she stepped forward, arms limp, as if asking, Why?
Before I could even breathe, another man came into view—a stranger, face unfamiliar. A blade stuck out of his stomach, crimson blooming across his shirt like a grotesque flower. He collapsed right in front of me, gasping, twitching.
I couldn't move. My knees buckled and I hit the ground, palms scraping stone that no longer felt like stone.
They all stared at me. None of them spoke. None needed to.
I knew what they were. What they meant.
I did this.
Or some part of me did.
I screamed. I didn't know if it was aloud or just inside my head, but I screamed so hard my throat tore.
And then silence. Thick. Swallowing. Eternal.
The world snapped back into focus like a taut wire suddenly released. My vision steadied, the nightmare lingering like smoke behind my eyes, but the cold rush of reality cut through me fast.
I was back in the corridor. The note.
I looked down at it still clutched in my hand. I know who killed Rose.
My fist closed around the paper until it crumpled completely, the sharp corners digging into my palm. My breath came out fast—shallow, erratic.
"Sophie."
I didn't even think. My legs moved before my mind could catch up, and I shoved through the hallway, dodging students who looked up at me in confusion or concern.
She had just turned the corner.
"SOPHIE!" I shouted, and she glanced back, wide-eyed—but it was already too late. I lunged forward and tackled her, the momentum sending both of us sprawling to the ground. I pinned her wrists down before she could wriggle free, my knee on the cold floor beside her, breath heavy.
She looked up at me, not scared—just… calm. Smirking.
"What the hell was that note?" I growled. "What game are you playing?"
Her lips quirked into something unreadable, and for the first time, I felt a different kind of chill crawl down my spine.
Because she wasn't surprised I'd found her. She had expected it.
Sophie lay beneath me, the smooth stone floor cold against our skin, but the words that left her mouth next made my blood run colder than anything else ever had.
"You want to know who killed Rose?" she whispered, her voice almost gentle—mocking. "You're looking at him."
I froze.
"What?"
She tilted her head slightly, as if I were a child missing the obvious. "You. Castor Whitmore. You killed her."
I stared at her, my hands tightening around her wrists unconsciously. My mouth opened, but nothing came out.
"You drugged her at the party," she said softly, watching my face like a hawk, waiting for the denial she knew wouldn't come. "Took her to the cellar you bought months ago. You choked her. Watched the life leave her eyes."
"No…" I breathed. "No, I—she—she passed out—then someone hit me—"
Sophie's smile widened. "Oh? And Cassius? After that party you stabbed him near the lake. Cold and clean. He bled out before anyone could even find him, and you dumped him in the river. And that parole officer? You're the one who broke in the headmistress' office, got caught and stabbed him."
"No, I—I didn't—I don't remember that." My voice cracked, a whisper now. My stomach turned as the world tilted violently under me.
"You don't remember because you didn't want to," she said. "You're not two people, Castor. You're just one. One very, very broken person pretending he's still whole."
I let go of her wrists and stumbled back like I'd been struck, staring at my trembling hands.
The blood.
The cellar.
Cassius's sneer as it faded to silence.
Rose's breath choking out under mine.
"No," I whispered again. "No, no, no—"
Sophie sat up slowly, brushing the dirt from her coat, her gaze never leaving me. "You came to Dicarthen for revenge, and you found it. Piece by piece. You just can't accept that you enjoyed it."
Everything began to spin. My chest rose and fell like I was drowning. I wanted to scream. To run. To tear out of my skin and find someone else beneath.
Instead, I sank to the floor, hands in my hair, heart racing, eyes wide, and asked the only question I could manage:
"What the hell am I?"
Sophie tilted her head at me, lips curling into that sly, unreadable smirk. "So what now, Castor? You going to choke me out too? Slit my throat like Cassius? I'm sure you've got it down to an art by now."
Her voice was teasing, cruel, and it slashed through whatever was left of my composure.
I looked at her. Really looked. And for a second, I think something in my face made her pause—but only for a second.
I took a step closer.
"You think I'm scared of what I might be?" My voice came out low, barely a whisper, but there was something unhinged in the way it trembled. "You think calling me a killer makes it real? That I'll break and confirm it all for you?"
I let out a sharp breath that almost sounded like a laugh. My smile felt alien on my face—something cracked, jagged. "I'm not a murderer. I'm not."
She stared, waiting.
"I'll prove it," I muttered, voice shaking but burning with something deeper—something wild and desperate and spiraling. "I'll prove it to you, to everyone. I'll show you who I really am. Not the monster you think. Not the killer you want me to be."
"Then who are you, Castor?" she asked, quietly now.
I didn't answer. I couldn't.
Instead, I turned, mind spinning, footsteps heavy and uneven as I staggered away, deeper into the shadows of the hallway, heart pounding, thoughts screeching against the walls of my skull.
I didn't know where I was going.
But I was going to find something. Anything.
The truth.
Or whatever was left of it.