**Small note: I will not be uploading next week. I'm sorry :( **
The chapel waited for them at the edge of the campus.
The building loomed in the distance, the fog hiding the falling structure like a secret never meant to be told. Stone spires rose unevenly against the dark, softened by age and weather, the building neither abandoned nor truly alive.
It always waited.
The doors groaned softly as Xavier pushed them open, lantern held low in his left hand. The light spilled across the stone floor in uneven gold, catching on pews polished smooth by centuries of restless hands. Dust hung thick in the air, undisturbed, as if the building itself had been holding its breath.
Thorn stepped in behind him, violin case slung across her back. She looked around, eyes softening like she was greeting an old friend.
"It feels different being here now," she murmured, almost to herself.
The chapel felt different from the forest. Less forgiving. Less alive. The air pressed inward instead of outward, tight and expectant, as though sound here had nowhere to go but straight back into the bones of the place.
Xavier swallowed thickly.
"Yeah, it does." He looked back down at Thorn as she set the violin case down, unzipping it and carefully pulling it out.
"We have to be quick; instruments don't do well in the cold," she said, rubbing rosin onto the strings of her bow.
Xavier walked around the chapel pews and through the door into the columbarium. His eyes immediately locked onto the container of ashes. He picked it up, debating their age and how long they had been there.
Catholicism wasn't widely popular in Switzerland, but the idea of a school of outcasts adapting to something out of the ordinary wasn't surprising.
He carried the ashes back towards Thorn.
"Old ashes," he said when he caught her glance. "Hard to tell how long they've been here."
Thorn looked up from tightening her strings. "Palm Sunday ashes," she said easily. "They're burned palms. They keep for a long time."
Xavier blinked. "Are you Catholic?"
She shrugged, setting the rosin back into its case. "Most Puerto Ricans are. You know, with Spanish colonization and all that." A pause, then softer, "My family doesn't really practice. Not after my mom was ostracized for marrying my dad."
Xavier's brow creased. "Damn. I'm sorry."
She waved it off lightly. "Don't be. She's better off without them." A small, fond smile tugged at her mouth. "My dad worships the ground she walks on."
Xavier smiled despite himself.
He began sketching the runes with the ashes, mapping their placement, adjusting the spacing with the careful focus of someone who knew mistakes here would matter. The ash smeared easily, but when he pressed harder, the wood resisted.
Xavier frowned.
Before he could comment, Thorn reached into her pocket and held something out.
A knife.
Not ceremonial. Not fancy. Just… practical. Compact. The kind that had been opened and closed a hundred times without ceremony. The blade caught the lantern light like it had seen worse.
Xavier stared.
Then he blinked.
Then he looked at Thorn.
"…Why do you have that?" he asked, very carefully.
She shrugged. "I collect pocket knives."
He waited for the punchline, but it never came.
"You collect..." He stopped, regrouped. "Pocket knives?"
"Yeah."
"How many?"
Thorn tipped her head, genuinely thinking about it. "Enough to stop counting."
Xavier pinched the bridge of his nose. "That is the most unsettling non-answer I've heard all week."
She smiled faintly. "You should meet my collection."
"I would rather not."
"Your loss."
He glanced down at the knife again, then back at her. "Do I even want to know why?"
"Nope."
"Of course I don't," he muttered, taking the knife anyway.
Thorn's smile lingered, small and sharp. "Relax, Thorpe. I only lend the good ones to people I trust."
He paused.
"…That does not help."
He began carving the first rune into the chapel floor. The wood resisted him immediately, grain tightening beneath the blade, vibrating faintly with every line he cut.
Thorn lifted her violin to her chin.
The first note barely left the string before the chapel reacted.
The sound didn't bloom. It compressed.
The air tightened sharply, snapping back at her like tensioned wire. Thorn flinched, breath hitching as the vibration struck her chest instead of the walls.
She kept playing.
Xavier saw it immediately.
The runes flared, then dimmed. The ash marks trembled. The chapel
hummed. Not in harmony, but in challenge.
"Thorn," he said, rising to his feet. "It's pushing back."
"I know," she breathed, fingers still moving. Her bow shook as she drew the following note, jaw clenched hard enough to ache. "It's stronger than the forest."
The sound twisted. The chapel answered with a low, dissonant thrum that rattled the lantern glass.
Xavier dropped the knife.
"Stop," he said sharply. "Stop. This isn't stabilizing, it's—"
"I can hold it," she insisted, though her knees wobbled. Sweat beaded along her hairline. The violin dipped for half a second before she forced it back into place, but she wasn't strong enough to hold it.
Not after everything.
The chapel surged.
Xavier moved without thinking, crossing the aisle in two strides and gripping her wrist. Not hard, but firm enough to ground her.
"Thorn. Look at me."
Her bow stuttered. The sound fractured and then cut off entirely.
The silence that followed was brutal.
She sagged slightly, breathing hard. Xavier released her wrist immediately, his hands lifting as if he were backing away from a flame.
"I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I didn't mean to—"
"No," she muttered, her breath ragged, "You were right."
The chapel still hummed, unsettled.
Xavier looked at the runes on the floor. Then at the ashes he had set aside. Then back at her.
"…What if I don't draw it here?" he said slowly.
Thorn frowned. "What do you mean?"
"What if I anchor it to you instead?"
She stiffened. "What?"
"The resonance is responding to you," he pressed. "The chapel is trying to force your sound back, and you're too weak still to hold it. If I draw a dampening rune on you, just temporarily, it might redirect the feedback, give you a fighting chance."
She shook her head hard. "I'm not letting you draw symbols on me."
"It's just ash. It'll fade," he said immediately.
"That's not the point, Xavier." Her voice was stern, but he didn't miss the faint tremor as she spoke.
He hesitated, then softened his voice. "You're shaking."
She was.
There was a long moment of silence as Thorn wrestled with the truth of the situation.
"I can't keep fighting it like this," she admitted quietly.
Xavier swallowed. "Then let me help you do it safely."
A long pause.
"…Where?" she asked, voice tight.
"What?"
"Where would you draw the rune?"
He thought for a moment. He knew Thorn would need to see what he was doing for her to trust him. "Your stomach. It has a larger surface area. Less nerve density."
Her breath caught, slightly, but just enough to make his brows furrow.
"Xavier."
"I won't look if you don't want me to," he said quickly, his hands lifting in surrender. "I'll turn away. You can guide my hand."
She closed her eyes. Counted to three, taking a deep breath before she nodded slowly.
"Fine," she said. "But make it fast."
She lifted her shirt just enough to expose skin as Xavier reached around for the ashes he had put to the side. When he turned back, he froze immediately.
Scars.
They mapped her abdomen in pale, jagged lines.
Too many. Too deliberate.
His gaze had nowhere safe to land as each inch of her skin was marked with careless violence.
"Oh," he breathed, barely audible.
Thorn went still. "Don't."
"I'm not..." His voice cracked. He swallowed hard. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"
"It's fine," she said too quickly. "Just… do it."
His hands shook as he dipped his fingers into the ash and lifted them to her skin.
Xavier drew the rune carefully, reverently, as if it were something sacred instead of a symbol meant to restrain. The moment the last line connected, the air shifted.
The chapel exhaled.
The hum softened. The pressure eased. Thorn's shoulders sagged as the feedback released, the violin steadying under her chin.
She played again.
This time, the sound held.
The chapel listened.
Xavier sat on the balls of his feet as he watched Thorn play, a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
The melody itself was haunted, yet beautiful in a way that would make anyone want to stop and listen. Her fingers danced along the fingerboard, vibrato lingering just enough to punch the air straight out of his lungs.
It was magical, she was magical.
When the final note faded, the lantern burned steadily. The runes dimmed.
They stood there in the aftermath, neither moving, the silence broken only by the wind screaming against the chapel walls, clawing at the eaves like it wanted inside.
Neither of them mentioned the scars.
They didn't need to.
Xavier's gaze lingered anyway, caught before he could stop it. Not staring, never that, but he was unable to look away. His eyes traced what his hands had touched, mapping the lines he hadn't been prepared to see.
Fifteen.
He counted fifteen without trying.
There could have been more. There probably was more.
Xavier looked away quickly to hide his face. His brows pinched at the thought of the many scars that lingered. And then his chest clenched with the realization that Thorn had to live with them. Come face-to-face with them every time she looked in the mirror.
"Come on," he said quietly, the word gentle but firm. "Let me walk you back to your dorm."
Thorn exhaled, the tension in her shoulders easing just enough to be noticeable. She slid the violin back into its case with practiced care, the latch clicking shut before she swung the strap over her shoulder.
"You're making this into a habit, Thorpe," she said, the tease light, but deliberate, something to hang normalcy on.
The corner of his mouth lifted, not quite a smile. Just enough to show he'd heard it.
"Yeah," he replied. "Guess I am."
They started toward the doors, the chapel's shadows stretching long behind them. The lantern light caught the dust in the air, turning it briefly golden before it vanished again.
"So," Xavier said after a moment, because silence felt too sharp right now. "How long have you been playing?"
Thorn adjusted the strap on her shoulder. "Since I was nine."
He glanced over at her, surprise flickering across his face before settling into something quieter. "That long?"
She shrugged, casual in a way that felt practiced. "Turns out it's easier to learn when no one expects anything else from you."
The words lingered. They hit Xavier in a way that was too close for comfort.
"You seem to really enjoy it," he said, softer now. "At least… You take pride in it."
He didn't look at her as he said it. Just matched her slower pace as they stepped back into the night, the chapel doors closing behind them with a muted groan.
Thorn took a slow breath before answering. "My mom taught me," she said. "So it's kind of… ours. One of the few things we always did together."
Xavier nodded once. "You and your mom must be really close."
"The closest." Her smile flickered, then faded as quickly as it had come. She stared ahead for a beat before glancing sideways at him. "You've never talked about your mom."
He hesitated.
"Uh—" He rubbed the back of his neck, gaze dropping to the path. "She's… not around anymore."
Thorn's brows knit together. She looked down at the ground in front of her, like the dirt might give her something steady to focus on.
"Oh." A pause. "I'm… sorry."
"It's fine," he said automatically, the word too quick, too practiced. He shrugged, but the motion didn't quite reach his shoulders. "I don't really talk about her much."
She could hear it then, how the sentence stopped short. There wasn't anything else Xavier could say, or too much. They walked a few more steps in silence, the lantern light stretching their shadows thin across the stones.
"If you ever want to," Thorn said carefully, not looking at him, "I mean… if you ever feel like talking about her…"
She trailed off, then finished quietly, "I'd listen."
Xavier glanced over at her, something unreadable passing through his expression. He didn't say thank you.
But his pace slowed. Just enough to stay beside her.
He wanted to say something. He wanted to say too many things.
That she didn't look better. That the color hadn't come back to her face the way it should have. That she was still moving like gravity had doubled just for her. That every breath sounded like work.
He wanted to ask if she'd called her parents yet.
He wanted to tell her he was scared.
But everything he tried to shape into words felt too heavy, too sharp, like it would crack the fragile quiet they'd built between them. So he said nothing.
They walked the rest of the way in silence.
Xavier kept his steps slow, careful, matching hers without making it obvious. He watched the way she measured each stride, the faint hesitation before she put weight down, the way her shoulders tightened whenever the path sloped upward. He stayed close enough that if she stumbled, even slightly, he'd be there.
This had become their routine.
Walk her back. Don't ask too much. Don't look away.
When they reached her dorm, Thorn took the steps one at a time, fingers brushing the railing like she didn't quite trust herself without it. Xavier followed a few feet behind, alert, every muscle wound tight.
She didn't trip.
She didn't fall.
But the fact that he was ready for her to do either sat heavily in his chest.
And that scared him more than anything else tonight.
They reached Thorn's dorm. Xavier slowed, then stopped at the foot of the steps while she turned toward the door. Lantern light caught the sharp lines of her face, the exhaustion she hadn't bothered hiding.
"Well," he said quietly, forcing something like normal into his voice, "this is your stop."
She nodded. "Thanks."
He hesitated, just long enough to betray himself, then dipped his head.
"Goodnight, Thorn."
"Night, Xavier."
The door closed behind her with a soft, final click.
Only then did he exhale.
The breath came out shaky, like he'd been holding it since the chapel.
"You're worried about her."
Xavier's head jerked, and he swung it to the side to catch a glimpse of pink frames and curly blonde hair.
Pippa.
"Jesus, Pip. You scared the shit out of me."
"Only Thorn calls me that," she said, almost a little too defensively.
"Uh, sorry." He rubbed the back of his neck and turned the rest of his body towards her. "What are you even doing out here? It's past curfew."
"Don't ignore what I said,"
"Huh?"
"You're worried about Thorn."
Xavier paused for a moment, hazel eyes meeting Pippa's mahogany. He didn't know how to dig himself out of this one. If he admitted he was worried, Pippa wouldn't ever let it down.
Pippa rolled her eyes after too many long moments of silence. "I'm worried about her, too, jackass. She's my best friend,"
"She needs real blood," Pippa continued.
Xavier nodded slowly, "I know..." his face suddenly unwound with realization. "And I know exactly where to get it,"
Before Pippa could even question what Xavier was talking about, he was halfway down the stairs. "Why do you guys keep doing this to me?" she groaned, following behind him.
Xavier didn't hesitate. Didn't rethink it. He pivoted on his heel and headed straight down the corridor toward the faculty wing, boots striking stone harder than necessary.
Alarie's door was dark.
Xavier knocked once.
Then again.
"Xavier, what are you doing?" Pippa whispered in a harsh tone. "Alarie is just our dorm mother, she's not going to—"
He shoved it open the moment it cracked, ignoring Pippa's concerns.
"We're risking our lives for this school," he said immediately, the words coming out sharp and uneven, like they'd been scraping at his ribs the entire walk over. "And Thorn's not even being fed properly."
Alarie stiffened, hand still on the door as her gaze shot from Pippa to the tall teen standing in front of her. "Xavier—"
"No. Don't," he snapped as he stepped fully into the room. "Thorn almost collapsed in the chapel. I watched her fight the anchor with nothing but sheer will, spite, and whatever scraps the infirmary thinks are 'sufficient.'"
Alarie's expression shifted, concern flickering, then calculation. "That isn't my decision—"
"I don't fucking care if it's your decision or not, Alarie," he cut in, voice cracking just enough to give him away. "I don't care whose decision it is. She's dying."
His words landed heavily in the air, and everyone stiffened.
Alarie hesitated. "I wish I could help, Xavier, but I—"
Xavier laughed once, sharp and humorless. "No! That's not good enough. Not anymore."
"Xavier," Pippa whispered. She reached her hand out to touch Xavier's shoulder, but he pulled away sharply.
"You're her best friend, you can't tell me you don't feel the same way I do. This academy is keeping her weak because they fear what they don't know, and instead of trying to understand it, they would rather starve it. Shove it away in a dark corner to never be seen again."
Pippa opened her mouth and slowly closed it again.
"She's the only thing standing between this place and total collapse," he went on, quieter now, but no less fierce. His hands curled into fists at his sides as he turned back to face Alarie. "If she burns herself out holding your anchors together, if she dies doing it, that's on you."
Silence filled the room.
Not defensive. Not angry.
Just heavy.
Alarie finally exhaled, long and tired, like someone who'd been carrying too much for too long.
"… I'll see what I can do."
Xavier didn't relax.
He crossed his arms, jaw tight. "You can do better than that."
She met his gaze. Really met it this time.
And for the first time, she nodded.
"I'll figure it out," Alarie said.
Xavier held her eyes for a moment longer, then gave a single, sharp nod.
"Good."
He turned and left without another word, fear still coiled tight in his chest, but now sharpened into something incredibly dangerous.
Intent.
"You should listen to him," Pippa muttered. Alarie's head popped up from where she was standing, her eyes meeting warm brown ones.
"He's ready to burn this whole school down just for her."
Alarie scoffed, shaking her head slowly. "Yeah, well, people have done dumber things for less."
Pippa looked from the door back towards Alarie. "Well... I definitely wouldn't go temping him." She pushed herself off the wall she'd been leaning on.
"I'll bring him back here in the morning. Thorn's been sleeping in more, so she won't even notice us missing."
Alarie paused for a moment; her eyes lingered on the hardwood floor. "I'll see you two tomorrow."
Pippa nodded slowly and stepped out of Alaire's room into the candlelit hallway. Pippa closed the door behind her with a tired sigh.
"I hope you have a plan, Thorpe."