entry #35 | ємвєd

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Let's go over what we know about Edward Brooks. 

He's 24, a year younger than Elijah despite his attitude, single, and graduated at the top of his class at Oxford with various degrees in the sciences. Experienced and certified—heck, he's over certified—at his young age, it was no surprise to anyone Fortuna Institute would hire him, especially with their high standards when it came to hiring to accepting admissions.

Many people, including his family, expected him to become a surgeon with his qualifications, but for some reason, he chose to become a professor instead. Why? No one knows.

He's from an old-money family. The Brooks surname could be traced back for generations, even as far as the 1600s. There were rumors that he was a direct descendant of Henry St John, the 1st Viscount Bolingbroke, but his students prefer to just assume he's the great-something-grandson of the infamous Jack the Ripper. His knife-like glares do match the part.

And then there was Alicia Florence. Single, also of a young age, 25, and a well-loved art teacher with enough experience and talent to her name that garnered her entry into the prestigious academy.

Now, what do these two people have in common, you ask?

Nothing. Nothing at all. They were two people who barely spoke to each other before in school and taught in entirely different Halls. There should be no reason for the two to associate.

Unless Brooks was out for blood and Florence was a Face. But she wasn't, or so she claimed.

(Y/n) held the brunette's card in between her fingers and inspected it. Number eight, the High Priestess. She's never seen a Face's card before, so she had no way of telling if Ms. Florence was truly a Number or really a Face just by looking at a card. She was no detective; she was but a normal girl who only wished to spend her time in peace and preferably asleep.

"Edward?" Elijah frowned. "You mean grumpy face? The dude who rejected the coffee I made for him the first day of work and gave me a stink eye? A real lovable fella, I tell you."

"Yes, him," Alicia replied, her voice a quiet murmur. "Edward Brooks, the physics teacher."

What are the chances that three of my teachers are all participants? Four if you count Mrs. Richards, but she's an onlooker. "Do you know why he's after you?" She asked.

"I'm afraid not, but—"

"Let me get this straight," Elijah growled. He rose to his feet. "That son of a b*tch is the one who made those marks on your arms? When I see him I swear I'm going to snap that bastard in half—"

"No, please don't!" Alicia grabbed the end of his shirt to stop him. "He's not the one who did this. These..." She tugged the sleeve of her blouse down lower in a vain attempt to conceal the crimson chains around her wrists. "They're my fault, actually. I...panicked."

"Panicked? For what?"

"Edward approached me at first," she began to explain. "I'm not quite sure why. It was yesterday, I believe, one day after all...this began. He didn't say much besides an order for me to follow him. He was rather caring, I must say. I felt much calmer in his presence. But when he saw him..."

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