The carriage wheels rumbled against the uneven stones as Nevermore rose into view again. The spires clawed at the sky like skeletal fingers. Most students sighed in relief or groaned in dread. I did neither.
Summer had passed in silence. I wrote. I dissected. I sharpened my mind and my knives. But returning here, with the familiar air thick as cobwebs, I found myself anticipating one thing only.
Her.
Enid Sinclair pressed her face to the window beside me, her breath fogging the glass as the gates yawned open. She hummed under her breath. Her legs bounced with energy, restless and bright in a way that made the air between us seem too loud.
She had changed very little. Yet enough.
Her hair was longer. Slightly. She had dyed the tips again, a pink so violent it looked like a wound against the pale blue of the sky. She smelled faintly of sugar and cheap perfume. I catalogued it. I catalogued everything.
She turned to me suddenly, catching me in the corner of her grin. "We're back, roomie."
I blinked once, slow, deliberate. My expression remained still. But something inside shifted.
I had spent weeks without the sound of her voice. Now it filled the space too easily. My hands itched for my typewriter, to record the exact tone. Higher than I remembered. Perhaps her summer had been kind to her. Perhaps not. I would find out.
When we stepped out, the courtyard buzzed with noise. Students reuniting. Hugs. Shrieks. Small dramas reigniting. Enid dissolved into it at once, pulled into Yoko's arms, then tugged toward a group of other sirens. She shone in the crowd, sunlight bottled into human form.
I stood apart, silent, watching.
It did not escape me that her laugh carried further than most. It did not escape me that three different hands brushed her shoulder in greeting. Too many hands. Too much attention.
Enid was meant to stand out. That was her curse. And my duty was clear.
She looked back once. Just once. Her eyes caught mine across the distance. Bright, open, unaware. For a moment her smile faltered. She tilted her head as if something about me was... different.
Good. Let her notice.
But not too much. Not yet.
The dormitory smelled the same as last year. Wood polish. Old stone. The faint trace of candle wax melted into the walls. I placed my typewriter on the desk with precision, aligning it perfectly with the edge. My cello leaned against the wall like a sentry. Everything as it should be.
Enid entered a few moments after me, dragging in a suitcase bursting at the seams. Her glitter stained pillow tumbled halfway out, followed by a stuffed wolf with one eye missing. She cursed under her breath, scooped them up, then laughed as if the entire world would forgive her for being a mess.
I did not move to help her. I only watched.
She filled the room too easily. Her belongings spread like invasive vines, covering her half of the dorm in loud color. Stickers on her mirror. A rainbow throw on her bed. The wolf sat against the pillows, smiling in its broken way. She made no effort at neatness. She never did.
I catalogued it all.
At 4:07 p.m. she began unpacking. At 4:09 she stopped to check her phone. At 4:12 she sang to herself. Off key. Too sweet. Too loud. I memorized each timestamp, each unnecessary flourish. She would not remember these moments.
I would.
I sat at my desk, fingers poised over the keys of my typewriter, and began recording. Click. Clack. The machine swallowed her details as if it, too, craved her.
