They barely made it back into the hallway when Raphael's ears twitched.
"Someone's coming," he hissed.
Before Hope or London could react, two shadows dropped from the ceiling like predators.
"Busted."
A grin flashed in the dark—sharp fangs and mischievous eyes. Stephen, the most charming vampire in the Academy, landed lightly in front of them. He dusted off his jacket, looking smug.
"I told you Daemon, I smelled phoenix smoke and tribrid magic down here."
Daemon, his older brother, stepped forward slowly. Cold, quiet, and pale as moonlight.
"You're all out past curfew," he said, voice low. "Care to explain?"
Hope crossed her arms. "Do you always stalk students through the ceiling?"
Stephen winked. "Only the interesting ones."
London stepped between Hope and the brothers. "We're not your enemies."
Stephen tilted his head. "Good. Because our real enemy might be wearing a student uniform too."
Daemon's gaze flicked toward London's hand. "You've been somewhere you shouldn't."
"I saw something," London said. "In the mirror chamber. Someone… in a Blackmoor crest. A traitor."
Stephen leaned forward. "Was he cute?"
Raphael groaned. "Stephen."
Hope ignored them. "We think one of the students is trying to awaken something beneath the school. Something sealed after the first war. And they're working with Sera."
Daemon's eyes narrowed. "Do you know who?"
London hesitated. The shadow in the mirror had been cloaked, but one detail stood out—just for a flicker.
A scar, shaped like a claw mark, across the neck.
Only one student had that scar.
Trent.
A quiet, polite warlock from the east wing. Always kind. Always helping. No one would ever suspect him.
"He's in my spell theory class," Hope whispered. "He always sits in the back. Never speaks unless called."
Raphael's brow furrowed. "I've talked to him once or twice. He's… normal. Harmless."
Daemon's expression darkened. "Harmless people make the best monsters."
Stephen stepped closer. "If he's the one working with Sera, he's not doing it alone. We need proof."
"Then we get it," Hope said firmly. "Before he makes his next move."
---
Elsewhere in Blackmoor, Trent stood before a wall of flickering candles in his private chamber.
He muttered a spell—low, sharp, ancient—and a piece of parchment ignited in green flame.
From the shadows, Sera stepped out.
"He saw you," she said. "The phoenix boy."
Trent smiled, a twisted, lonely thing.
"He doesn't know what he saw. Not yet"And the others?"
"They're all pawns," he said, eyes gleaming. "Hope, Raphael, even Jessa. But when the seal breaks, they'll understand."
Sera stepped closer. "And what if they stop you?"
He turned.
"Then they'll burn with the rest of them."