Xavier didn't sleep that night.
Every time he closed his eyes, the visions came faster and sharper. They were no longer distant impressions but complete, crushing immersion. Each was a prophecy that would come true if they failed.
The first one was Reichenbach, as he knew it for the first few days of attending. The towers, the stone paths, the bell tolling the hour. Familiar. Almost comforting.
Then the sound crept in.
Music. Strings vibrating without bows. Voices without mouths. The Resonance threaded through the campus like veins, lighting up under the skin.
The anchors sang.
He saw the Great Hall first. Chandeliers suspended midair, frozen as if caught between breaths. Students stood beneath them, still and upright, eyes open but unfocused. Their mouths moved sometimes, trying to remember words that wouldn't come. The music passed through them, and with each note, something peeled away.
Laughter vanished.
Names slipped loose.
Faces lost their meaning.
Then Xavier turned, and the library was burning.
Not with fire, but with sound. Shelves warped inward as if the notes themselves were too heavy to hold. Books dissolved into ash before they ever hit the floor, their knowledge stripped and scattered like static. The air buzzed with half-memories: ink-stained fingers, whispered study sessions, truths no one would ever remember learning.
He tried to run.
The forest rose around him instead.
Trees twisted unnaturally tall, trunks splitting open where Resonance bled through the bark in glowing seams. Wolves prowled between them. Not feral like they had been in Weaver's classroom, but not whole either. Their eyes were wrong. Too empty. Their movements were jerky, as puppets tugged by unseen strings.
They howled, and the sound didn't echo; it just vanished into the air. Like the sound never even happened.
Paths vanished beneath his feet. His own thoughts blurred at the edges. For a moment, a terrifying moment, Xavier couldn't remember why he was afraid. Or who he was supposed to save.
Then the lake.
Perfectly still. Mirror-smooth. The surface reflected the sky, but the reflection lagged, moving seconds behind reality, as if it were struggling to keep up. Beneath the water, shapes shifted. Faces pressed up against the glassy surface, mouths open in silent screams, memories leaking out of them in shimmering strands that the Resonance drank greedily.
And standing at the center of it all, Thorn.
Not broken. Not weak.
Just empty.
No fiery spirit, no sarcastic remark, nothing.
She stood in the Great Hall again, violin tucked beneath her chin, bow moving in perfect time with the Choir's music. Her eyes were open, but they didn't see. The sound poured through her instead of from her, her body nothing more than a conduit.
The Choir stood behind her, masks gleaming, hands never touching her but controlling everything about her.
Xavier tried to shout her name.
No sound came out.
The visions didn't fade all at once. They clung to him like smoke, even long after he woke up.
The sun had started to rise, and he was still sitting on the edge of his bed, elbows braced on his knees, hands clasped tight enough to ache.
The image of Thorn swaying in the chapel wouldn't leave him, the way she'd forced herself upright, the way she'd said I'm fine like it was a spell meant to make it true.
And for the first time, the fear wasn't just about the Choir.
It was about how close he was to losing her.
By the time his alarm went off, he was already on his feet. Malrick hadn't shifted once while Xavier paced around the room getting ready. Today, they were going to formulate a plan.
They were going to give Thorn what she really needed, with or without the school's permission.
It was an expellable offense without a doubt, and if they got caught, Xavier would never hear the end of it from his father.
About how he was a failure, how he embarrassed the family name, and how his mother would be disappointed in the man he was becoming.
It always stung.
The way his father never seemed to care, just how deep his words cut, but Xavier had grown used to them, for the most part.
Xavier shrugged off the what-ifs and pulled a random hoodie over his head, the fabric catching briefly on his hair as he yanked it down. He didn't bother fixing it. He slipped out of his room with his head down, moving fast through the quiet corridors toward the stairwell, boots barely making a sound against the stone.
"You look like shit."
He stopped short.
Xavier turned toward the voice. It was soft, sharp, and entirely unsurprised. Pippa stood outside Alarie's door, arms folded tight across her chest, posture rigid with contained energy. Her hair was braided back with military precision, glasses perched low on her nose. She looked like she'd slept even less than he had.
"Thanks," he muttered.
He knocked before she could say anything else.
Alarie opened the door almost immediately, like she'd been waiting for it. She didn't pretend this was a social visit. Didn't offer pleasantries. Her expression was calm, but the dark circles under her eyes told the truth.
"This can't be traced back to her," Alarie said as soon as the door closed behind them. Her voice was low, controlled. She took a slow sip from the large mug of steaming coffee in her hand and glanced between Pippa and Xavier. "Or to either of you."
"I don't care if it traces back to me," Xavier said immediately.
"I do," Alarie replied, unruffled. "If they realize she's receiving real blood, they'll tighten the leash. Or remove her." A beat. "And likely both of you with her."
Pippa shifted her weight near the window, jaw set. "So we don't get caught."
Alarie nodded. "We have to be smart about it."
For a moment, the only sound in the room was the faint hum of warding magic in the walls and the clink of Alarie setting her mug down.
Then Pippa spoke again, casual like she was commenting on homework.
"I studied Maren's face all night," she stated, ignoring the confused glance from Xavier. "Last year's yearbook. Candid shots, profile angles, expressions when she's annoyed." Her mouth curved into something sharp and determined. "I can do her."
Xavier finally turned fully toward her. "You don't have to. I can—"
"Yes, I do," Pippa cut in, no hesitation. She met his gaze head-on. "Thorn's my best friend. She's saved my ass more times than I can count. It's my turn."
The words landed hard.
Silence followed—thick, shared, resolute.
Alarie broke it with a quiet exhale. "There are new infirmary nurses. Brought in after the… wolf incident. Less familiar with internal protocols."
"But the voice?" Xavier asked. "Maren doesn't exactly sound like—"
Pippa smiled maddeningly and then spoke.
"We have an emergency dietary adjustment. It requires immediate compliance."
It wasn't just an impression.
It was Maren.
The cadence. The clipped authority. The faint impatience under the polish.
Xavier's eyes widened. He stared at Pippa as she'd just pulled a gun out of thin air.
Alarie lifted her brows despite herself. "I suppose you and Thorn being sent to her office nearly every day had its benefits."
"Every day?" Xavier asked, incredulous.
Pippa shrugged, unbothered. "It's easy to break the rules when there are a million of them and only a few are written down."
Xavier snorted under his breath. "From almost destroying the school to saving it. That's some character development."
Pippa rolled her eyes. "Says the murder suspect."
He winced. "Low blow."
Alarie straightened, business snapping back into place. "You'll need to convince the nurses to supply one of the supplementary rations. They only have enough pouches for each vampire for the day."
Pippa was already rolling her shoulders, loosening up. "I'll get us in. Xavier carries it. You," she glanced at Alarie, "make sure no one notices the gap."
Alarie nodded once. "You have to be quick."
That was all it took.
They moved fast.
By the time they reached the lower infirmary corridor, Pippa was already shifting, bones cracking and muscle adjusting beneath skin in a way that usually would have made Xavier nauseous if he had time to think about it. One blink, and Principal Maren stood beside him, posture immaculate, expression cool and unimpressed.
"Don't stare," Pippa murmured in Maren's voice. "It's rude."
Xavier swallowed and looked away. "Yes, ma'am."
The nurses barely glanced up as Pippa entered alone. Xavier waited by the door, ducking whenever a nurse looked over. The head nurse straightened immediately, clipboard hugged to her chest when she recognized the face Pippa wore.
"Headmistress," she said, surprised. "What brings you here so early?"
"There has been a change of plans," Pippa said coolly, already moving down the corridor as if she owned it. "Rosales. Room three-thirteen. Her rations need adjustment."
The head nurse hesitated. "But you instructed us never to—"
"And I'm instructing you now," Pippa cut in, voice sharp without ever rising, "that the previous protocol is no longer sufficient. She isn't recovering as expected." She paused, letting that sink in. "If we want to avoid other students or faculty asking inconvenient questions, then we need to ensure Ms. Rosales appears stable."
Xavier kept his eyes on the floor, jaw clenched. Every word felt like walking on glass.
The head nurse glanced toward the reinforced freezer door, then back at Maren's face. "I'll need a few minutes to prepare a pouch," she said carefully. "Only one?"
Pippa didn't miss a beat. "Two. To be safe."
The nurse blinked. "Two?"
"Ms. Rosales cannot continue to look so… unwell," Pippa said, distaste curling her lip just enough to sell it. "It's drawing attention. I won't have rumors undermining the Academy's credibility."
The head nurse nodded once, brisk now. "Understood."
She disappeared into the prep room.
The moment the door slid shut, Xavier exhaled through his nose, slow and controlled. His pulse thundered anyway.
"She's terrifying," he muttered under his breath.
A minute passed. Then another. Xavier felt every second like a countdown as Pippa stood there wearing Maren's face.
When the nurse returned, she carried a sealed thermal pouch, the contents dark and unmistakably real. The scent alone made Xavier's stomach twist with fury at how simple this had been. How easily it could've been done sooner.
"Two pouches," the nurse confirmed. "Logged as emergency medical adjustment."
Pippa inclined her head. "See that it comes off the log; we can't have any evidence of wrongdoing."
The nurse nodded again, "Of course, Principal Maren."
Pippa turned on her heel and walked straight out the door, heart pounding in her chest from the adrenaline.
She shoved the insulated pouches into Xavier's hands.
The weight of them was grounding. Heavy. Real. Awful in a way that made his jaw tighten.
"Oh fuck," Pippa huffed in her own voice, dragging a hand down her face. "That was terrifying."
They didn't linger. Didn't run either. They moved at a deliberately normal pace, footsteps measured, expressions neutral, as if they hadn't just stolen life itself from the school's grip.
By the time they reached the stairwell, Pippa finally let herself breathe.
She pressed her palm flat against the wall and shifted with a sharp inhale. Bone slid beneath skin, muscle unwound and reformed. Principal Maren's face softened, blurred, then melted away entirely until only Pippa remained, shoulders slumped and eyes bright with leftover tension.
Alarie appeared moments later, moving quickly but quietly.
"You were incredible," she whispered, her gaze flicking from Pippa to Xavier. "Both of you."
Her eyes lingered on the pouches. "Now you have what you need. Make sure it gets to Thorn directly."
Pippa and Xavier exchanged a look.
Pippa stepped aside with an exaggerated little bow and pointed up the stairs. "After you," she said sweetly. "Go on. Be that knight in charcoal-smudged armor."
Xavier huffed out something that might've been a laugh if it weren't threaded with nerves, then turned toward the stairs. Pippa followed close behind, unusually quiet now.
When they reached Thorn's dorm, the door creaked open to a room that felt… wrong.
Too still.
The usual place her violin sat was empty. The faint scent of Earl Grey and rosin lingered in the air, familiar and comforting, but without her presence to anchor it, the room looked hollow like a place waiting for someone who wasn't there.
Xavier felt the absence immediately, sharp and instinctive.
Pippa frowned. "She must've woken up earlier."
Xavier swallowed. "That has to mean she's feeling better. Right?"
They looked at each other, neither convinced.
"She'll come back," Pippa said softly. "She always does."
Xavier crossed the room anyway and set the pouch gently on Thorn's bed, tucking it beneath the blanket where it wouldn't be obvious at first glance. His hands lingered there a second too long before he forced himself to pull away.
"She'll know," Pippa murmured.
Xavier nodded. "I know."
He already knew where Thorn would be.
The thought tugged at him, sharp and insistent, and for a moment, he debated turning around and going after her.
He didn't.
The cemetery is empty, the way only old places ever are.
Not abandoned.
Just patient.
The stones lean at odd angles, softened by time and moss, names worn smooth where fingers have traced them for decades. The iron gate creaks once in the distance and then settles, as if it knows better than to interrupt.
Thorn sat cross-legged between two headstones, violin tucked beneath her jaw. The grass is damp enough to seep through her skirt, cold against her skin, but she doesn't move away from it. She deserves the cold. Or maybe she needs it to prove she's still here.
She drew the bow slowly across the strings, testing to see if they were in tune.
They always were.
The melody of My Immortal doesn't rush. It never does. It unfolds the way grief does. Careful and hesitant, as if afraid of being heard. Thorn lets the bow linger, enabling the silence to breathe between notes. The pauses ache worse than the sound.
Her fingers knew where to go without her looking. Muscle memory. Pain memory. Every note presses against something raw in her chest, a place she's been guarding too carefully lately.
These wounds won't seem to heal…
She didn't cry. That's almost the worst part. The tears sat heavy behind her eyes, unspent, like ghosts who don't know where to go. Her jaw tightens. The bow shakes just a fraction, and the note wavers.
She didn't correct it.
She let it hurt.
The wind moved through the cemetery, stirring dead leaves and whispering against marble and stone. For a moment, it feels like the place is listening. Like the dead were leaning closer, recognizing the sound of someone who hadn't figured out if they were truly alive.
Her bowing grows heavier as the melody climbs. Not louder, but fuller and aching with restraint. The violin sings where Thorn can't. It says all the things she refuses to name: the fear, the loneliness, the unbearable weight of loving something you don't know how to keep.
Her thumb pressed too hard against the neck.
Snap.
The string gave way with a sharp, metallic cry. The thin wire skimmed her cheekbone, hot and sudden, before disappearing into the grass.
Thorn let out a breath that was more tired than startled.
She lowered the violin into her lap and tipped her head back toward the gray, unkind sky. Her bottom lip trembled. Small, and traitorous, almost childlike.
"This was the last thing I needed, universe," she muttered.
Carefully, reverently, she placed the violin back into its case. The string could be replaced. She just needed proper light. A table. Steady hands.
None of which the cemetery offered.
She reached for her phone without thinking, and the weight of it surprised her. Heavier than it should've been. Like it knew what she was about to do.
She hadn't called home in a while.
Thorn hesitated, thumb hovering. Then she pressed the button before doubt could take hold.
"Hello?" Her mother's voice came through the speaker, warm and familiar. "Thorn?"
Her chest cracked.
"Hey, mamá," she said, her voice unsteady despite everything she did to keep it from breaking.
There was a pause on the other end. Not long. Just enough.
"What's wrong, my love?"
Thorn huffed out a weak, humorless laugh. "Everything."
"Thorn…" Concern crept into her mother's voice immediately. The sound of it made Thorn's throat tighten. "Talk to me."
"I don't even know where to start."
"Then start at the beginning," Valarie said gently. "I'm listening."
Thorn stared at the dirt in front of her, at the worn headstones and curling ivy. She took a breath. Then another.
"Reichenbach has been…" Her voice faltered. She tried again. "They're not feeding me well."
Silence.
"What does that mean, mijita?" her mother asked, sharper now. "What do you mean, not feeding you well?"
"I'm being fed synthetic blood," Thorn admitted, squeezing her eyes shut. "It's… regulated. Measured. Just enough to keep me functional."
The line went dead quiet.
And if there was one thing about Valarie Rosales, it was that her silence was never a good sign.
"They're what?" Her mother's voice came back tight and dangerous.
Thorn swallowed. "They make it in the infirmary. It's like powder mixed with water."
"How long," Valarie asked slowly, "has this been happening?"
Thorn didn't answer right away, and the silence lingered too long.
"Thorn," her mother said, and now the word carried weight. "How. Long?"
"…Since I started here."
A sharp inhale.
"Are you weak?" Valarie demanded. "Are you dizzy? Are you in pain?"
"Yes," Thorn whispered. "All of it."
The fury came through the line like heat. It was sharp, immediate, and most of all, incandescent.
"They have no right," her mother said, her voice trembling with barely contained anger. "You are not an experiment. You are my daughter. We pay good money to ensure your education and, more importantly, protection."
Thorn's eyes burned, tears gathering faster than she could stop them. One spilled over, then another.
"They're scared of me, mamá," she said, her voice breaking despite herself. She swallowed thickly, as if that might hold the words in. It didn't. "I saved them, and they're still scared of me. They hate me, and I don't even know what I did to them. The students are finally coming around; people flinch less when they see me, but the teachers...?"
Valarie inhaled slowly, deliberately, like she was bracing herself.
"You saved them?" she asked. "Thorn, what on earth has been happening over there?"
The dam finally gave.
Tears spilled freely now, hot tracks down her cheeks. "There's this Choir," Thorn said, the words tumbling over each other. "They've been messing with the magic, twisting the Resonance, changing its frequency. It's been making the werewolves sick, and Xavier and I have been trying to track them down. Trying to undo the damage before it spreads."
Valarie didn't interrupt. Thorn could feel the questions lining up on the other end of the call, pressing against the restraint, but her mother stayed silent, let her talk.
"They attacked during the masquerade," Thorn continued, her breath hitching. "Xavier got hurt. And I had to step in to save them, but it used the little bit of energy I had left, and they keep feeding me these synthetic rations to try and replenish what was used, but it hasn't been working, and Xavier... he threatened to go to Maren if I didn't tell you, but I didn't want to worry you."
She stopped, running a hand through her hair.
"Okay, Mi amor, it's okay. Take a deep breath," Valarie said gently. "Just one thing, who is Xavier? You've mentioned him twice."
Thorn groaned, tipping her head back toward the sky like it might offer an answer. "I don't even know anymore," she muttered. "I guess he's an acquaintance?"
"An acquaintance?" Valarie repeated, carefully.
"Yes, Ma," Thorn snapped weakly, already exhausted. "An acquaintance. Can we please not do this right now?"
There was a pause. Then a soft exhale.
"Alright," Valarie said. "Not right now."
The relief hit Thorn harder than she expected.
"But," her mother added, voice firm beneath the gentleness, "we will talk about everything else. And soon. Your father and I will be coming up to Riechenbach to get this synthetic blood situation... sorted."
Thorn closed her eyes.
"…Okay," she whispered.
"Now, I want you to try and calm down. Drink some tea, read a book, anything to help you settle your nerves. We will talk more about this choir and you saving the school when we get there."
"Yes, Mamá..."
"Good, I will talk to you soon."
"La bendición," Thorn whispered.
"Dios te bendiga."
And with that, the call ended.
Thorn's shoulder relaxed and instantly tensed again. Her parents were coming here. And Valarie and Raphael didn't do anything half-assed.
But as Thorn wiped the last of her tears and got up from the cold, cemetery floor, she figured she would cross that bridge when time came.
She walked in silence to her dorm room, ignoring the sideways glances and whispers from the other students that lingered around the campus. Thorn usually listened for what they were saying, but not anymore. Not when their whispers couldn't match the gravity of everything else.
Her dorm room smelled different when she opened the door.
"Thorn! There you are." Pippa smiled from her bed, her eyes wider than they had been in a while.
"What is that smell?" Thorn asked, setting the violin case on her desk as she looked around.
She crossed the room slowly, dread and hope tangling together in her chest. She pulled back the blanket.
Two blood pouched lay on her bed.
Not synthetic.
Real.
Her hands shook as she picked one of them up.
Xavier and Pippa
It had their restraint and recklessness written all over it: no note, no explanation, no demand. Just… help.
"You didn't..." Thorn turned to look at the petite blonde on her bed.
"We had to."
Thorn didn't argue with her, not when her body was begging to let her have the very thing she had been denied.
She sat on the edge of the bed like she might vanish if she moved too fast. She hooked a fang into the pouch and sucked.
The effect was immediate.
Warmth spread through her limbs, chasing away the bone-deep ache she'd been carrying for days. Her breathing steadied. The faint buzz of magic under her skin evened out, no longer sharp or jagged.
Color returned to her cheeks.
For the first time in days, she felt clear.
Thorn leaned back against the bed, eyes closed.
"Fuck," she murmured, fond and furious all at once.
Because she knew exactly what it had cost them to do it.
Her jaw set.
Later, she would find Xavier Thorpe.
And this time, she wouldn't let him walk away without answers.