Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Isaac Night was a renowned scientist and professor at Nevermore Academy. Almost a decade ago, he desperately attempted to cure his sister, Françoise, by sacrificing his closest friend, Gomez Addams, to power a laboratory device. The plan was nearly successful, but Morticia Frump intervened just in time, cutting the power extraction device and nearly severing Isaac’s hand in the process. The immediate withdrawal from the power source caused the whole laboratory in Yago Tower to malfunction and ultimately be destroyed.

Morticia ached to turn Isaac over to the authorities for what he did to Gomez. Gomez, weak and confused, maintained his composure in front of his friend. He looked at Isaac with empathy and disappointment, but without a hint of anger in his eyes. He refused Morticia’s pleas to report Isaac to the police. Instead, Gomez turned himself in, taking all the blame for the laboratory incident. He was arrested for incompetence but was not imprisoned. Since then, Isaac and Gomez’s friendship ended, and they parted ways.

After Isaac graduated from Nevermore Academy, his science teacher and mentor, Augustus Stonehearst, offered him a job at the very same academy. Mr. Stonehearst, wanting to pass on his legacy before retiring, offered Isaac a position as a science professor, along with the key to his personal laboratory. Before Mr. Stonehearst parted with him, he made Isaac promise to one day launch a project that could extract supernatural abilities from Outcasts and transfer them to normies, just like himself.

When Isaac Night became a professor at Nevermore Academy, he was faced with numerous backlashes from his peers. He often received complaints for his unorthodox teaching methods. Professor Orloff, a senior biology professor at the academy, was particularly disgusted with Isaac’s influence on students and his perverse approach to science. Isaac wasn’t one to listen to other people’s ideas. He had a firm belief in utilizing science to traverse the laws of nature, and the Nevermore staff viewed him as someone who loved to play God.

In the years since Isaac’s employment, the spirit of Nevermore Academy was never the same. Students began exhibiting powers that were out of their control; some bright minds succumbed to corruption; and even two headmasters retired during his tenure. While Nevermore Academy was currently looking for a new headmaster, Professor Orloff temporarily filled the position. For the time being, rules and policies inside the school grounds were strictly enforced. Yet no matter how much encouragement Professor Orloff offered, Isaac’s philosophy remained unchanged.

Professor Isaac remained devoted to his inventions, especially to the idea of curing his sister, Françoise. Françoise had been struggling with the after-effects of her Hyde transformations. Whenever she was stressed or threatened by external factors, there was a high chance for her to transform. This fueled Isaac’s motivation to cure her and rid her of her Hyde genes, as it had also been Françoise’s dream to live a normie life. However, his motivation later turned into frustration and obsession.

Another school year began with the crisp autumn skies at Nevermore Academy. Chatters in the staff lounge echoed the news of Professor Orloff’s daughter enrolling in the academy, which surprised everyone. Professor Orloff had recently considered Nevermore to be an unsafe place, and yet he was letting his daughter attend. Professor Rotwood, who taught runes and ancient cryptology, was particularly delighted by the arrival of Professor Orloff’s daughter.

Rosaline Rotwood was considered a legendary raven due to her exceptional psychic abilities, which allowed her to glimpse the future in flashes. Maybe this time, Rosaline thought to herself, Nevermore will regain her balance.

During the traditional ceremony in the great hall, songs were sung and a feast livened up the spirits of Nevermore students. Each Nevermore staff member was introduced, showcasing their Outcast abilities and earning admiration and curiosity from the new students. Professor Rotwood was, without a doubt, the subject of the crowd’s enthusiastic applause. She was a tall, beautiful, very pale woman with long, wavy platinum hair, a sharp contrast to the rest of the staff with their darker features. Professor Isaac, on the other hand, received very curious looks from the new students, especially the young ladies. Rumors had spread about the young professor, but none expected him to carry a quiet charm behind his dark reputation. Professor Isaac was wearing his usual lab coat, layered with a long brown coat which accentuated his large, dark pupils. His curly hair was decently slicked back, and his face beamed at the crowd in a formal greeting. A few young ladies giggled at the sight of him, earning a scowl from Professor Orloff.

Thirty minutes before the first class, Professor Orloff summoned a short-haired girl to his office. He gave her a copy of her class schedule and a few pointers. Before she left, the professor asked her for the last time, “Annie, are you sure you want to attend his class? You know I could drop it for you and it wouldn’t affect your record.”

Annie, otherwise known as Annie Orloff, was Professor Orloff’s daughter and only child. Her father had told her not to use her birth name in public for precautionary purposes. From the time she was eight years old, she had carried the same alias.

“It’s alright, Pa. No one will be able to harm me. You know that.”

Professor Orloff gave her a tender look of concern. “Yes. I know that, little one. Although, it is your young mind that I am concerned about.” He paused, his expression turning more serious. “Nevermore is a diverse place. You will meet people who think very differently from you. People with ideas that could either inspire you to be a better person… or not.”

Annie listened to her father with a grave look in her eyes. “I’ll report to you for any disturbances, sir.” She then turned on her heels and walked in the direction of her first class.

Professor Ottinger, a botanical professor, was tending to her magical plants inside a huge greenhouse which was smartly converted into a makeshift classroom. She flashed a huge smile as she greeted Annie, the very first student to arrive in her class. “Oh hello, Miss Orloff! What a nice surprise!”

The professor’s eyes were magnified by her chunky glasses, which made her look absurdly comical. Annie walked towards the center seat in front of the classroom and settled her things down. Professor Ottinger, awestruck by the sight of the student’s diligence, expressed her admiration for her “future star student.”

“I never heard of Doctor Orloff having a child until earlier today… and a daughter at that!” The botanical professor gasped dramatically. “Rosaline told me about you. That woman knows so much about everyone and everything! No wonder she also works for the guidance department. You just can’t lie to her at all! When we were still students at Nevermore—”

Professor Ottinger continued to prattle about her life until students began filing inside the greenhouse one by one.

The class started with a lecture about the anatomy and types of a magical plant. New students filled the whole classroom, each with a wary face upon the new environment they had set foot into. First classes were often the most anxiety-induced, but Annie didn’t have that problem. She had spent her younger years attending conferences with her mother in the normie world, and new places no longer intimidated her. Annie focused on the lecture, sketching and jotting down important details from the blackboard, when a loud screech suddenly echoed from the opposite side of the room.

Out of nowhere, one of the more curious students had opened a wooden chest with a warning sign Do Not Open written in bold, red letters. A huge, shrub-like plant spilled out of the box, its screeching sound now higher in pitch. The bud of the plant resembled a canine skull, and its stem had a syrinx form, which made the piercing sound possible.

Professor Ottinger blew her specialized whistle, but to her surprise, it didn’t work against the screeching plant. The creature began crawling in a bizarre manner toward the sound of the whistle, as if drawn to it. Students panicked and scrambled away from their seats in fear of getting injured by the plant’s sharp teeth—all except for Annie.

The professor attempted to use her vibrations against it but to no avail. It seemed as if the plant she had spent years taming had finally lost its loyalty. The rest of the class joined in on suppressing the creature, but nothing worked. One student even complained about feeling weak, unable to use their power against it. The tension in the room grew palpable as the plant continued its relentless crawl.

Everybody screamed when the plant almost reached Annie’s back. She abruptly stood from her seat and turned to face the creature. To everyone’s shock and relief, the plant immediately slumped to the floor, completely still.

For the rest of the morning, Annie quickly became the subject of gossip at Nevermore. Some students speculated that she might be a DaVinci, believing she had a powerful mind she could use for telekinesis, just like Professor Isaac. Other witnesses argued that she couldn't be a DaVinci since most newbies need to lift a finger to control an object, which she clearly did not, leaving the mystery of what she did to the plant unresolved.

As Annie made her way through the crowded hallway, a girl with long, curly brown hair and striking Mallen streaks of bright white hair caught up to her. "That was... quite a first day, huh?" she said, offering a wry smile. "We get a weird phenomenon every year, but a screeching plant with a skull for a head? That's a new one." She held out her hand. "I'm Agatha, by the way. Agatha Shelley. We were in botany together."

Annie shook her hand, her expression remaining neutral. "Annie Orloff."

"So, what's your next class, Annie? I'm heading to Ancient Cryptology."

Annie glanced down at her schedule. "Professor Isaac's lecture."

Agatha’s smile immediately vanished, replaced by a wary expression. Her eyes darted around the hallway as if afraid of being overheard. She lowered her voice to a whisper. "Professor Isaac's? My cousin was in his class last year. He had to be transferred out. They say Isaac was… experimenting on him. Like, actual lab experiments." She shivered. "He's all cold and distant now. Just... be careful. The students who go in there don't always come out the same." Without another word, Agatha gave a hurried nod and rushed off to her next class.

The last subject of the day finally arrived. To Annie, it wasn’t just any class, but an enthralling introduction to a person she had longed to see in person: Professor Isaac Night. For years, she had heard of this man through her father’s deep resentment, a bitterness that only seemed to fuel her fascination.

What Annie adored about Isaac wasn’t his hasty laboratory experiments, but the sheer desperation and ingenuity it took for him to create a clockwork heart to prolong his own life. It was the very first time she had ever heard of a successful artificial heart implant, and the story had always fascinated her. Hearing that he had attempted a similar feat to save his sister's life only made her curiosity grow stronger. What was he inventing this time? What new boundaries was he trying to cross? Annie felt an anticipation that was completely at odds with her father's warnings, a quiet excitement to finally meet the man who defied the laws of nature, not out of malice, but out of a desperate will to live.

The Nevermore pathways were strewn with a pile of dead maple leaves, a beautiful reminder to the students that the month of spooks and sweet treats was upon them. Annie was just as excited as everyone else, though her anticipation might have been occupied by something entirely different.

Students disappeared into their classrooms for the next class, leaving Annie walking alone on an unfamiliar path. She held her map and once again looked at her destination. It took her more than five minutes of circling the area, confused as to why the map led her to an abandoned classroom that was completely isolated from the main structure of the academy.

Annie noticed the wooden door of the old building was slightly ajar. She caught a glimpse of faint light spilling through the crack. Curious, she let herself inside. The classroom turned out to be a storage room for old laboratory machines. Despite the building's abandoned facade, the room was unexpectedly neat and organized. There was a path leading to another door on the other side of the room. She heard a faint chorus of voices vibrating through the wooden panel. Annie pushed the door open, revealing a spiral staircase leading down to a hidden, bustling classroom.

Annie was greeted by a set of awkward gazes from her fellow students and a deafening silence. There were around 20 students inside, all boys, and far fewer than in the rest of the classes she had taken. In front of the classroom, where she was standing, a microwave sat on a table, together with some abnormally large insects encased in separate glass containers. Standing in front of a blackboard was a tall person dressed in a familiar laboratory coat. The professor was busy scribbling formulas, too engrossed in his work to notice Annie’s presence—or so she thought.

"You there," a soft, yet authoritative voice called out to her. "I could sense your presence five minutes ago."

Annie didn’t move from where she was standing. Her face was devoid of any discomfort despite the awkward situation. She waited until the professor finished his writings on the board.

Standing in front of her was no other than the person she was anticipating to meet. "You're late." The professor finally turned to face her completely, his gaze piercing.

Some boys in the back scoffed in amusement. Annie steadily held the professor’s gaze, fiddling with the handle of her leather case. "I'm sorry, sir."

The atmosphere in the room grew palpable when Annie spoke. The professor’s dark eyes narrowed as he took in her appearance, and a faint smirk played on his lips. "Apologies are for those who make mistakes, not for those who simply are. You were late because you were lost, not because you chose to be. There is a fundamental difference in motive, and I do not tolerate excuses here."

He then gestured toward an empty seat at the front of the class, his voice dropping to an urgent, commanding tone. "Take a seat. The front. Now."

Chapter Text

The air in the enclosed classroom was thick with the scent of chemicals and something akin to burned sugar. It was a place of sterile, metallic surfaces, filled with the low hum of unknown machines and the faint glow of indicator lights. The entire room felt like an extension of the man at the front of the class, cold and precise. Professor Isaac stood before the students, lecturing on the very boundaries of Outcast ability. His voice, though soft, carried a peremptory weight that silenced the room.

He tapped a piece of chalk against the blackboard. "Today's lesson is about extraction and transfer. We will be observing a machine I've recently developed, a device that can extract a subject’s power essence and inject it into an ordinary insect, granting it the same abilities. It can also, conversely, extract power from a subject." He paused and turned to face his students. "Most of you think your powers are a divine gift. I am here to prove to you that they are but a mere phenomenon of nature, a function that can be harnessed, manipulated, and transferred."

The professor scanned the room, searching for a student to assist him on a test experiment, then his gaze landed on Annie. She returned his stare without flinching, her face a mask of poise. Professor Isaac raised an eyebrow at the young lady, decoding her demeanor as eccentric, or perhaps a subtle taunt. He moved towards a table at the front of the class, where a microwave sat beside several glass containers. "My first volunteer," he said, his voice echoing in the silent room. "You, dear."

Murmurs rippled through the class. Annie rose from her seat and walked to the front, standing beside him. Professor Isaac picked up a container with a huge, iridescent wasp inside. "This is a Nectar Wasp from the Amazon rainforest. Its stinger sends a powerful jolt of electricity when it touches the skin. I had one of my other students volunteer to lend a bit of their electricity to this little creature."

He handed her a clipboard scribbled with a code. "I need you to enter this combination into this machine. Wait for my signal." He then gestured the machine in front of her, which she earlier mistook as an ordinary kitchen microwave. Using his telekinetic power, he delicately pulled the wasp out of the container with his right hand, a feat of pure concentration. However, a sudden, inexplicable tremor shook his hand, and the wasp slipped from his grasp. The class gasped in unison.

The Nectar Wasp flew around the room, its thick needle menacingly charging with electricity. Annie, who was engrossed in examining the intricate machine, looked up to see what the problem was. All of a sudden, the huge wasp, which had been buzzing around upon getting freed, stopped mid-air directly above her head. The wasp immediately descended and landed at her feet, its once mighty wings now buzzing weakly.

“Hm. Strange,” Professor Isaac ruminated. He carefully observed the Nectar Wasp buzzing weakly at Annie’s feet. Annie gently scooped the insect from the floor. She was about to place it inside the machine when the professor interjected. “No, no. This is a faulty subject. We can’t get any valid results from this one.” The professor placed the feeble wasp back inside the container and asked Annie to place it back in the pantry.

The pantry was dark, cold, and filled with specimens, including caged animals, insects, and even various human body parts preserved and stored inside a biomedical refrigerator. Annie felt both intrigued and horrified at the same time, her gaze lingering on the macabre contents.

When Annie got back to class, Professor Isaac had successfully extracted the ability from a vanishing tarantula on his own. Half an hour was spent on a textbook lecture and philosophy. The class ended satisfactorily, and students shuffled out of the classroom in an organized manner. Professor Isaac was now alone in the room to wrap up. Just as Annie was about to climb the stairs, a glass shattered from where the professor was. Curious and alerted, Annie attentively went back to help him clean up the shards.

Professor Isaac sighed in relief. “Thank you.” Once again, he gathered six more glass containers using his DaVinci ability. When Annie finished sweeping, she noticed the professor almost wobbling with the jars he suspended in the air. Annie caught up to him just in time, her arms wrapping around the containers which dangerously fumbled against Professor Isaac’s chest. “Careful, professor. Please let me help you with it.”

The professor felt confused as to why he suddenly felt exhausted and powerless over himself. He felt a weakness he hadn't experienced in over a decade. Annie carefully lifted half of the containers he was holding. “Are you alright, sir? You look tired.”

He scanned the young lady’s face for any signs of deviousness. Maybe he was just overthinking it, but he felt as if the girl’s presence somehow contributed to him feeling hamstrung. “I’m not so sure,” he spoke softly, almost a whisper.

Annie helped him carry the containers back to the pantry. Professor Isaac sorted things out and thanked the short-haired girl for her hospitality. "Annie," the professor called, his voice barely audible.

"Yes, professor?"

Several equipment in the pantry thrummed in the background. The lights were dimmed, and the only thing that illuminated the area was the luminescent green glow coming from the shelves, casting a ghastly look on the professor’s pale face. Annie’s expression hung in the air, waiting for the professor to speak again.

Professor Isaac absent-mindedly looked into her eyes in contemplation. His pupils appeared to be dilated. There was flicker of something morose, something vulnerable that was uncommon to his distinct empty gaze. "Are you a Siren, by any chance?" he asked, his voice filled with a strange mixture of genuine curiosity and suspicion.

Annie’s lips parted at the professor’s random question. “Uh… no, sir.” Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What makes you say that?”

Professor Isaac stared at her for a moment longer before dismissing her. “Nothing.” The professor stood quietly in the same spot, lost in thought. It took him a while to collect himself. As he resumed cleaning, he heard a faint buzzing from one of the glass containers on the shelf. He took a close look at it; it was the same wasp they experimented on earlier, but this time, it was full of energy, and its stinger was charging with electricity.

Professor Orloff’s office was much like the man himself: orderly and filled with the scent of old paper and leather. He sat behind his large desk, a serious expression on his face as Annie recounted the day's events. She began with the botanical class, explaining the incident with the screeching plant and the chaos that followed. Her father listened, his brow furrowed in deep concern. When she finished, he leaned forward, his hands clasped on the table.

“And Professor Isaac’s class?” he asked, his voice low and cautious.

Annie paused for a moment, her gaze dropping to the floor. She told him the truth, but a part of it, the most important part, she kept hidden. “He performed a sample experiment on some insects. It was a lecture on... power transference.” She omitted the part about the wasp falling at her feet, the after-class encounter she had with Professor Isaac, and his strange question about her being a Siren.

Her father’s lips thinned into a hard line. “That man is a menace, Annie. You must be careful. If you witness any bizarre activities in that class, you come to me immediately. I will take you out of it, record or no record.” He stood up, his gaze softening as he looked at her. “Go on, little one. Back to your dorm.”

Annie's room was on the top floor, a quiet space with a large window overlooking the grounds of Nevermore. The view was breathtaking, a sprawling vista of gothic spires and gnarled trees against the dusky sky. It was a view her father had specifically arranged for her, a small comfort in a world he so clearly distrusted. She lay on her bed, the day's events replaying in her mind, her thoughts drifting to a time before Nevermore, a time with her mother.

Her mother was a scientist—a renowned one. She lived a normal life in the bustling normie world, a stark contrast to the Outcasts of Nevermore. Annie had spent countless hours in her mother’s lab, a place filled with machines, bubbling liquids, and the quiet hum of brilliant invention. Her mother was a bright mind, a regular at science conferences where she presented advanced models of her inventions. As a child, Annie hadn't understood the gravity of her mother's work, only that it was a place of wonder. She didn’t know how her mother and father had met, but she knew he loved her very much. Then, one day, she just found her mother was gone. She was seven years old at the time, too young to understand the complex world of adults. Her father had refused to tell her where she went, or if she had died. He had just told her that her mother had gone on a long trip, a lie she had understood as a child and now accepted as a painful, necessary silence.

Sometimes, she dreams about the same laboratory. It was always the same place, the same metal table, the same scenario. She would lie on the table, her stuffed toy clutched in her hand, and her mother would be smiling down at her, her expression full of love and a strange kind of sadness. Then, a bright light would consume her vision, and she would wake up. The same dream, over and over, for the past twelve years. She had never mentioned it to her father, and she had no plans to. She couldn't bear to see that look of deep sorrow in his eyes again.

Annie looked at the bright full moon hanging in the sky, its light illuminating her room with a gentle glow. The day’s events, the questions, the quiet anxieties, all faded away as she surrendered to sleep.

The moon cast long, ghostly shadows across the Nevermore grounds. The air was cold, a stark contrast to the warmth of the dormitories. All was silent save for the soft rustle of dead leaves and the distant, lonely cry of a night bird. The hallways of the academy, typically bustling with students, now felt like a labyrinth of empty stone, the gothic arches and stained-glass windows illuminated only by the faint moonlight.

As the rest of the school slept, a figure moved silently through the deserted halls. Professor Isaac Night, a ghost in his own academy, found his way to the administrative office, a place where a decade's worth of student records were kept. The records vault was a formidable thing, but he was a man who had built a clockwork heart from scratch. A lock was merely an amusing puzzle to him.

He bypassed the antiquated lock with a few precise movements of his right hand, the clicking sounds echoing in the silence of the office. He pulled open the heavy steel door, revealing rows of file cabinets. He went straight to the student section, his fingers running over the alphabetical tabs until he found "Orloff." He pulled out the file, a thin folder that felt disappointingly light in his hands. He read the contents under the dim glow of his own suspended light orb.

Annie Orloff, First enrolled in Nevermore Academy at 19 years old, Outcast ability: Unknown. Father: Dr. George Orloff, Occupation: Doctor, Teacher. Mother: Name not mentioned, Occupation not mentioned, Deceased.

The information was quite suspicious. A student with an unknown mother and a father who had hidden her for so long didn’t convince Isaac’s logic at all. There was nothing else of importance in the folder he was holding. It felt thin, almost incomplete. He needed more. He looked again for the teacher’s records.

The teachers' records were kept in a more secure section of the vault. It even took him a while to find it, the files arranged in a separate, more heavily guarded compartment. He picked up George Orloff’s file. It was thick with documents: basic information, employment history, medical records, and certifications. At the very back of the file was a criminal history record.

George Orloff was arrested for alleged murder of his wife and an illegal possession of a firearm.

Isaac’s dark eyes lit up with interest.

The allegation was brought to court, and the investigation closed when he pleaded not guilty. The date of the arrest was twelve years ago. Isaac's eyes widened. A sudden realization hit him. The pieces of the puzzle were starting to fit, and the picture was more sinister than he could have imagined. He hadn’t just found a file; he had found a secret. He snuck out of the office, together with the George Orloff file clutched in his hand, a lingering question began to consume him.

What exactly happened on that night twelve years ago?

Chapter Text

Annie woke from a satisfying dream. She couldn't remember what it was about, but the feeling of happiness and warmth lingered, a soft hum of contentment. She began her morning routine, feeling extra feminine, like a quiet confidence had settled in. She put on her uniform: a crisp white blouse, a knee-high A-line skirt, and a purple blazer with Nevermore Academy's badge stitched neatly over her heart. After a quick swipe of mascara and a spray of her favorite cologne, she took a deep breath and stepped outside.

It was 6 o'clock and the morning mist still hovered over the school grounds, clinging to the gothic spires and old trees. Most students were not yet awake, but Annie had long been disciplined by her father to rise early and avoid slacking. And speaking of her father, she had already politely refused his offer to have breakfast in the teachers' lounge. She wanted a genuine Nevermore experience, not to be treated like a special celebrity—or worse, a privileged headmaster's daughter.

She made her way to the cafeteria. The sweet aroma of light breakfast filled the air, and the room's gentle warmth made her cheeks rosy. There were only a few other students inside, probably higher years who had risen early to study. She ordered a toasted waffle with fruit toppings and a hot chocolate. The cafeteria lady, a large woman with a kind smile, recognized her as the headmaster's daughter and slipped an extra waffle onto her plate. No matter where she went, Annie felt like she couldn't escape the life of being treated like a special micro-celebrity.

She settled in an isolated compartment near the bookshelves, taking her time to get cozy with a book of her choice. While she was engrossed in her own bubble, a prickling sensation crawled up her neck, as if she were being watched. She looked around, but no one was staring at her. The feeling was unfamiliar, a quiet observation she had sensed for the first time since arriving at Nevermore. When she was about to engross herself in the book again, a figure suddenly appeared in front of her. It was Agatha, her classmate from Botanical Science.

"Mind if I join you?" Agatha asked, gesturing to the seat across from Annie.

Annie nodded, her expression welcoming. "Go ahead."

"What are you reading?" Agatha's eyes darted to the cover of the book. "Oh, Frankenstein! I love that book. It's really cool to see my family name on something so famous." She grinned playfully. "I have no idea if I'm related to the author, but I'll claim it."

Agatha engaged Annie in a discussion about the book, her voice filled with genuine enthusiasm. "Do you think the Creature had a right to take revenge on its creator? The way I see it, Frankenstein abandoned him. He was a creator who took no responsibility for his creation."

Annie contemplated the question, her thoughts drifting to her mother's lab. "I think... scenarios like this aren't entirely black and white," she replied slowly, a thoughtful weight in her tone. "The Creature was a product of his circumstances, but his actions were his own. Dr. Frankenstein was an engineer, a creator. He was burdened with a powerful ability, but he couldn't control the consequence of his actions."

Agatha contemplated her answer, a serious expression on her face. "Just like humans," she finally said, her voice dropping to a low, more philosophical register. "We have the power to procreate and most people take that for granted. They don't think carefully about the weight of its consequences."

While the two girls were lost in their deep conversation, a boy with a beanie came up to them, a shy smile on his face. "I'm sorry to interrupt," he said, "but I couldn't help but overhear your conversation. It's rare to find people with such depth of thought. Most of the students here would rather talk about something shallow, like social hierarchies or fashion trends."

The two girls exchanged an awkward glance, but Agatha, feeling a pang of pity, offered him a seat. "You're welcome to join us. I'm Agatha, and this is Annie."

"Tim," the boy replied, settling into a chair and placing his hands on the table.

After their breakfast, the three of them piled out of the cafeteria together. "What's your next class, Tim?" Agatha asked, her voice light.

"Music class," he said, and Annie noticed a hint of disappointment in his voice. "It's on the other side of the campus."

Agatha's face lit up with genuine excitement, her wide smile reaching her eyes. She gave a small bounce on her heels. "Oh, I forgot to tell you, Annie! I managed to change my class schedule to match yours! We're having Ancient Cryptology with Professor Rosaline today!"

Tim's shoulders slumped, and he looked at the ground, a crestfallen expression on his face. "Could I hang out with you guys again sometime?"

Agatha's expression softened into one of genuine compassion. "Of course!" she said warmly. Annie, meanwhile, remained quiet. A subtle but sincere smile touched her lips as she looked at Tim, and she gave a small, deliberate nod in response.

The two girls sat in front of the class, surrounded by wonders of the world. Professor Rosaline’s classroom was a museum in itself, filled with artifacts, ancient maps, and treasures more than five hundred years old.

Not to mention that Professor Rosaline was undoubtedly the most beautiful woman Annie had ever seen—her skin as pale as porcelain, her platinum hair a cascade of white light glowing in the room. She gracefully taught them an introduction to Ancient Cryptology, explaining how the secrets of the past were held not in books, but in the lost languages of symbols and ruins. It was a subject that spoke to a quiet, forgotten part of Annie's mind, a fascination with secrets hidden in plain sight.

Professor Rosaline, though focused and disciplined in her work, felt a slight chill at the short-haired girl’s intense, quiet stare. It was a gaze of a silent power, a control in itself which Rosaline was familiar of.

After the lecture, Professor Rosaline gave her students an essay to work on about their background knowledge of history. She explained it would be their first step toward understanding how history shapes the very curses and powers they would later study. When they were done, she collected all of their papers, then dimmed the lights and put on a film-viewing about the historical foundations of runes and ancient cryptology.

While the students were focused on the film, Professor Rosaline sat on the left side of the classroom. She began to check the students' essays when a blinding white light consumed her vision.

Professor Rosaline was no longer in the classroom. She stood in a sterile, modern laboratory, a place devoid of any warmth. A single, glaring light source cast everything in a stark, clinical glow, making the shadows deep and absolute.

There, she saw Annie standing alone, her face a mask of solemn worry as she spoke to a figure slumped in a recliner. The other person's face was hidden in a deep shadow, and they did not stir or respond.

Rosaline's heart began to thrum with a strange, creeping suspicion.

The only detail she could make out was the glint of steel in Annie's hand. The polished metal of a scalpel, held with a quiet, practiced precision, was pointed toward the recliner. It was not a gesture of aggression, but of immense, calculated hesitation.

Professor Rosaline snapped out of her vision, finding herself back in her classroom, the sound of the documentary filling the air. She felt a shiver run down her spine as she noticed Annie looking at her with a worried expression, but the rest of the class didn't seem to have noticed Professor Rosaline’s sudden dissociation. She gave Annie a reassuring smile as she continued checking the students' papers, her heart thrumming in her chest.

The class dismissed satisfactorily. Students yawned and stretched from their seats, as if they just had a nice nap during the film-viewing session. The rest of the students piled out, except for Annie, whom Professor Rosaline called for a private chat. Annie signaled Agatha to wait for her outside, her expression unreadable.

"What you saw earlier was my dissociation," Professor Rosaline explained, her voice low and calm. "It’s a side effect of my psychic abilities."

Curious and worried, Annie responded, "Are you alright? Is there something we should be worried about?"

Professor Rosaline's smile was small, but genuine. "I am fine. I have learned to control it." A brief, quiet moment hung in the air between them. Rosaline's gaze softened, her eyes studying Annie with a newfound thoughtfulness. She picked up a few stray papers, her hands moving with a practiced, but shaky grace.

"So… how has your time at Nevermore been so far, Miss Orloff?" Professor Rosaline asked, her voice gentle and warm, a contrast to her earlier formality.

"It's been fine. I'm getting used to it," Annie replied, her tone even.

"That's good to hear," Professor Rosaline said, her tone still gentle. She leaned slightly forward, her eyes holding Annie's with a sudden, serious intensity.

"I know you’ve heard of Nevermore’s recent happenings. If you ever find yourself in a situation that feels... wrong," she paused, her voice heavy with unspoken weight. “Don’t hesitate to reach out. To me or your father.”

Annie tilted her head slightly, giving a brief nod in response.

The hours of the day seemed to melt away, a blur of lectures and lessons. It was a strange, new sensation, one that Annie realized had nothing to do with the subjects she was studying. After years of being content in her own silence, she hadn't realized how much lighter the time could feel in the presence of another.

As Annie and Agatha both headed to the cafeteria after class, Annie again felt the same kind of strange prickling at the back of her skull, as if someone was watching her. She scanned the crowd of students enjoying their break. There was no one looking in her direction at all. The feeling vanished as quickly as it had appeared, and she pushed the sensation from her mind.

After they finished eating, the two girls parted ways. Annie, as usual, began her walk to her father's office for her daily report. Walking by the stone corridors, she heard a faint sound of her father’s voice. He was talking to a woman. A familiar voice of gracefulness which could only belong to Professor Rosaline. Annie leaned against the heavy mahogany door, her body pressed against the cold wood, trying to catch their conversation.

“I do not know what it means, sir. But that is what I saw.” It was Rosaline’s voice, quiet and grave.

“Is she still in class?” her father, Professor Orloff, asked, his voice laced with an undeniable tension.

“I believe they had already dismissed.”

A long, heavy pause hung in the air. Annie held her breath, straining to hear more.

“Alright. Let us not tell her about this,” her father’s voice finally returned, softer now. “It is quite an unclear premonition, but let us not conclude something from that. Besides, I don’t want to worry my daughter.”

“Yes, professor.”

“Rosaline… if you see another one of those visions, just report to me.”

“I understand, professor.”

Annie heard the sound of Rosaline’s heels approaching the door, so she quickly hid behind a pillar, her heart thumping against her ribs. When the sound of the footsteps faded, she quietly emerged from her hiding place. What were they talking about? And what did her father mean when he said he didn’t want to worry her? It must have been what Professor Rosaline saw earlier—the very thing she had been so evasive about. A new, uneasy feeling settled in Annie’s stomach. They were keeping a secret from her, and it had something to do with her.

Annie couldn’t sleep that night. The same thing bothered her mind, a recurring echo of her father’s hushed voice and Professor Rosaline’s grave tone. What could her father want to hide from her? Although her father keeping secrets wasn’t a new thing, it was what adults always did. It was what they had always done.

A faint, careful knocking came from her door. It was her father, checking on her. He opened the door slowly and stepped inside, the light from the hallway casting a long shadow on the floor.

"Annie, you didn't report to me today," he said, his voice soft but firm.

She didn't look at him. "I'm tired, Pa," she replied, her voice flat. "And I'm not really in the mood for daily reports anymore." She felt a quiet, simmering anger rise within her. It wasn't the reports she was mad about; it was the unnecessary pressure he put on her and the secrets he held. It was the feeling of being protected without her knowledge.

Orloff noticed his daughter’s unusual mood. He stepped into the room, the light from the hallway seemed to cast him in a long, hesitant shadow. He took a cautious step closer, but Annie just pulled the covers higher, turning away from him. A quiet, heavy sigh escaped his lips. The crease of worry between his brows deepened as he stood at the foot of her bed, feeling an invisible wall between them, a familiar distance he had worked so hard to close.

“If something is bothering you, please tell me,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. The words were not a demand, but a strained plea. “When you’re in the mood for it.” He didn't wait for a response. He simply took a step back, the familiar helplessness settling in his chest. With a final, lingering look at her slumped form, he carefully closed the door, sealing her once more in her silence.

Annie slept for a while, until a nightmare ripped her from her slumber. She couldn't remember what it was about—only that her father had been in it, his face filled with a sorrow that haunted her even in wakefulness. Her heartbeat was racing, her feet were cold, and her body was slick with sweat. She couldn't remember the details, but a terrifying feeling lingered, and it was a good thing she had woken up.

It was 2:55 in the morning. Annie knew she couldn’t fall back to sleep, so she took her coat and a small torchlight and went outside. The Nevermore Academy was deserted, a gothic labyrinth under a cold, misty sky. The grounds were silent save for the rustle of dead leaves and the distant hoot of an owl. A feeling of profound solitude washed over her, and for some reason, she felt a quiet comfort in it.

Annie took a route she hadn't taken before. Instead of following the main cobblestone path, she cut through a hidden garden, past the whispering greenhouse, where the air was thick with the scent of herbs. There, she found a narrow, winding path she didn't know existed, leading to the old, isolated building—the one where she took Biomechanics class with Professor Isaac.

The thought of Professor Isaac sent a quiet, strange thrill through her veins. She felt a pull, an almost magnetic attraction to the old building, a place she knew held secrets. Without a second thought, she let herself inside. The room was not dimmed out as it had been on the day of her first class; it was fully lit, a stark and sterile world of its own.

A low, continuous hum filled the air, the sound of machines and equipment operating in the dead of night. Annie's eyes darted around the room, taking in the details she had missed before. On one table, a 3D bioprinter was slowly constructing a complex, lattice-like structure. Nearby, the faint glow of an Electromyography machine flickered over a discarded, metallic prototype of a prosthetic limb. There were also several Force Plates, their digital displays showing faint, glowing numbers, and a spectrophotometer silently analyzing a row of colorful liquid samples. Annie was entranced, her curiosity pulling her deeper into the world of brilliant, chilling invention.

She was engrossed in examining a machine's intricate wiring when she felt a sudden presence directly behind her back. She froze, a jolt of ice-cold fear shooting through her veins. The air, already sterile, now carried a distinct scent of freshly brewed coffee. She slowly turned around, her heart pounding in her chest, to find Professor Isaac, pale and wide-awake, standing right behind her.

"What are you doing here?" Professor Isaac asked, his voice a low, gentle rumble that was somehow laced with an authority that made her heart race.

Annie felt her composure shatter. She was wearing nothing but a flimsy sleep dress and a thick coat, a pathetic sight after the professor, who was dressed properly in his pressed white lab coat. She hadn't expected to be seen by anyone at all. Her mind went blank, and she stammered on her words, which only made Professor Isaac's lips twitch into a slight, amused frown.

"Couldn't sleep?" the professor asked, his arms crossed over his chest.

Annie, still struck by nervousness, took a moment longer to respond. "Y-yes, sir."

"Hm." Professor Isaac held his gaze on her face. He hadn't expected a student, much less a teenage girl, to wander in his laboratory at such an unconventional time. Not to mention that this is Orloff’s daughter.

"Did you know," the professor began, his voice dropping to a low, chilling whisper. "That it is strictly prohibited to wander in classrooms outside of school hours?" His eyes narrowed, and the coldness in his voice was a deliberate and calculated thing.

Annie’s eyes widened. A knot of pure panic formed in her stomach. She felt trapped, unable to explain herself. Her mind was a complete blank. Her lips parted, but no words came out.

"I'm sorry, prof—"

"But you're not in a classroom now, are you?" Professor Isaac cut her words off, his tone now a quiet, amused purr. He took a single, deliberate step forward, his shadow engulfing hers. "You're in a laboratory. My laboratory."

Annie’s lips parted again, her mind spinning, but still nothing came. The words felt like an accusation, but there was also a hint of something else in his voice—a quiet invitation, a dark curiosity. She felt a familiar prickle at the back of her skull, a profound sense of being watched and studied.

Professor Isaac, as if sensing her internal turmoil, let a slow, sinister smile curve on his lips as he fiddled with his family ring.

"It's alright. You're already here; you might as well make yourself useful." Professor Isaac said, his voice a low, dismissive murmur as he turned on his heel. He returned to his work as if her impromptu visit was a foregone conclusion, a mere inconvenience now rectified.

Annie, still struck with a dizzying mix of panic and confusion, found herself following him. Her mind was a whirlpool of unspoken questions, but a quiet, unthinking obedience took over. Despite the lingering terror, a part of her—the brilliant, scientific part—was drawn to the methodical hum of the machines and the quiet confidence he exuded.

The professor led her to another room, a smaller, more chaotic space filled with half-finished prototypes and glowing monitors. The air here was thick with the scent of ozone and burnt plastic. A large 3D bioprinter sat in the center of the room, its clear case revealing a failed experiment—a delicate, complex scaffold of what looked like human tissue that had collapsed into a gelatinous mess.

Isaac gestured to the machine without looking at her. "The tensile strength is too weak. I've been trying to adjust the cell density algorithm, but it's a dead end." He then pulled up a complex matrix of code on a nearby monitor, his fingers flying over the holographic keyboard. "It needs a completely new approach. I don't have time for this." He turned to her, his dark eyes meeting hers with an unnerving intensity. "You will recalibrate it. I need the new variables and their corresponding formulas by morning."

Annie’s lips parted, a wave of shock and disbelief washing over her. The complexity of the task was overwhelming. She stared at the monitor, a jumble of codes and algorithms blurring into an incomprehensible mess. He had simply given her an impossible task, a test she wasn't ready for. She remained frozen, unable to form a coherent thought or a response.

Professor Isaac, already a few feet away and engrossed in his own work, seemed to sense her stillness without looking up. He reached into a drawer with his right hand and, without turning, slid a thick, leather-bound manual onto the table beside her. A faint, low hum of a machine filled the tense silence.

"You'll find everything you need in there," he said, his voice a low, dismissive murmur. "Start with the preface and then look for the specific chapter on variable calibration." He didn't wait for a response, his attention already back on his own work. "Just don't waste my time."

It was almost six in the morning when Annie finally finished her work. The professor had finished long before her, but he’d let her continue on her own. When she was done, she found that he was nowhere to be found. A faint annoyance settled in her stomach at being abandoned, but it was quickly replaced by a quiet thrill. She found herself looking for him, a strange mix of obligation and a simmering curiosity. She checked the downstairs classrooms, and even the dark halls, until she found a door that led to a smaller, more isolated room.

There he was. Professor Isaac was slumped on a recliner, his head leaning back, his chest half-exposed. A circular scar was visible just below his collarbone, the mark of an old, precise operation. A few sterile tools lay on a metal table beside him. Annie stared, a wave of pure fascination washing over her as she remembered the clockwork heart he had built for himself. It wasn't just a rumor; it was real.

The professor’s tired eyes opened as he sensed her presence. “Are you done?” he asked, his voice soft.

“Yes, sir.”

Annie entered the room and went to stand beside him. The muffled sound of machinery from the lab outside seemed to fade away, replaced by the faint, rhythmic ticking of his clockwork heart. His face was pale, and dark circles were bruised beneath his eyes, giving him a sickly, fragile look.

“Are you alright, professor?” she asked, the words leaving her lips almost unconsciously.

He closed his eyes for a moment before answering. “I haven’t felt quite myself lately. My heart… it feels irregular.”

Annie’s breath hitched. A tension filled the room, a profound quiet broken only by the clockwork ticking and their breathing. He needed to check his heart, but in order to do that, the skin on his chest must be cut open.

“Would you help me?” he asked, his voice a strained whisper.

The question was so sudden, so vulnerable, that Annie froze. She stared at him, a flicker of disbelief in her eyes. He was asking her to help with something so intimate and dangerous. A beat passed, filled only with the ticking of his clockwork heart. Slowly, as if in a daze, she finally moved, her hands reaching for the medical supplies.

Anne took a sterile cloth and carefully wiped his skin, her fingertips brushing against the cool, exposed flesh of his chest. His breathing hitched slightly. She was acutely aware of the warmth radiating from him, the faint scent of antiseptic clinging to the air. Her own heart was thrumming in her ears. He watched her intently as she picked up the scalpel, her hand trembling at the mention of "cutting open." Annie hesitated, unable to perform the act.

The professor saw her fear. With a hand that was surprisingly gentle, he led hers, holding the scalpel, to his chest. His fingers were cool and steady against her shaking ones, a silent command for her to hold it firmly. He made her cut through his skin. He winced, a soft, involuntary whimper escaping his lips. The professor steadied his breaths, his eyes half-lidded out of an exhaustion he couldn't comprehend.

When Annie successfully opened his chest, a small trickle of blood flowed, but it wasn't a wound. It was a passage. The clockwork heart was there, its intricate gears and metallic coils perfectly intact. Annie looked at it with a blend of awe, curiosity, and a terrifying kind of fascination.

Professor Isaac, noticing her wide-eyed, dumbstruck expression, carefully took the scalpel from her trembling hand. "I'll take it from here," he said, his voice a low, tired sigh. He reached for another tool, his movements precise and familiar. His focus was now entirely on the intricate work before him, leaving Annie to simply watch, a frozen spectator to the private, chilling spectacle. He looked up at her, his dark eyes meeting hers with a knowing gaze. "You still have a morning class," he stated, his voice a quiet dismissal. "You should get some rest."

Annie numbly retrieved her torch light, her mind still reeling from the events. She walked out of the isolated building and into the cool morning air. A new thrill enveloped her whole, a quiet excitement she couldn't quite describe. It was an exhilarating mix of fear, fascination, and the profound satisfaction of shared secrets. The sun was just beginning to rise, painting the sky with soft hues of orange and pink, and the morning mist was lifting from the grounds. She felt herself stiffen a smile as she walked, a lightness in her step she hadn’t felt before.

Just as she was about to turn to the stairs leading to her dorm, she was greeted by a figure standing at the bottom, his arms crossed over his chest. It was her father, Professor Orloff. The sight of him sent a jolt of ice-cold dread through her. Her heart, which had been light and soaring a moment ago, now plunged into her stomach. She froze, her breath caught in her throat.

"Where have you been, Annie?" he asked, his voice low and serious, the question filled with a quiet weight that made her feel full of guilt.

Chapter Text

Annie slumped on her desk as the lecture began. Her head felt heavy, her thoughts a blurry mess of stolen conversations and half-remembered nightmares. A gentle shake on her shoulder stirred her from her nap. “Annie,” Agatha whispered, her voice laced with genuine worry. “What happened to you? Don’t let professor see you like that.”

Earlier that day, Annie had accidentally run into her father. The encounter had left her rattled, the guilt of her nighttime escapade seeping into her face with a sudden blood-rush. She had tried to hide her lie behind a frown. “I couldn’t sleep, Pa. I passed by the greenhouse and sat there, lost in my own thoughts.”

Orloff sighed, the sound a mix of concern and profound relief. “A student was attacked by a Hyde this morning. I went to check on you, but you weren’t there.”

Annie’s eyebrows rose in shock. “Are they okay?”

“Fortunately, he is fine. He was sent to the infirmary with minor wounds.” Orloff's shoulders relaxed slightly. "The police are still locating the Hyde as of now, so you better not wander outside school hours. Is that understood?”

Feeling defeated but also relieved that her lie had been believed, she nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Annie took her time to prepare for class. Despite the lack of sleep, she was feeling preppy and oddly inspired, a new kind of energy taking over her body. It was a sensation of quiet exhilaration, as if the secrecy of her night had filled her with a private and potent knowledge—until that energy wore off during her first class.

Agatha, still worried that Professor Ottinger might catch her sleeping, lifted her friend’s forehead off the table. “Hey! Annie.”

Annie stirred from her tempting nap, her eyes still flickering with exhaustion, threatening to pull her back to sleep. “Hmm.”

“Oh, I don’t mind, darling,” the spectacled professor stated in front of the class, her voice gentle. “I understand most students these days struggle with getting the right amount of sleep. It’s all because of those cellular phones and computers, but I don’t really blame them, you know. The internet is a very interesting place! I wish I had them when I was younger. You know, back when I was a student…”

The class ended early, leaving Annie with a peaceful nap she desperately needed. Later on, Agatha dragged her to the cafeteria, getting her a cup of black coffee and some macarons. “Okay, Annie. We still have thirty minutes till the next class. You better get yourself together.”

Annie took a sip of the coffee, a sense of warmth filling her shivering body. She dipped the macarons into her cup and messily gobbled them all down. Agatha watched her with concern, bewildered by her friend’s disheveled table manners. “Okay. You need to tell me what’s up.”

The short-haired girl wiped her lips, leaning back on her chair. “I couldn’t sleep well last night. That’s all.”

Agatha crossed her arms in front of her, knowing very well that her friend was lying. “You know what? Professor Orloff asked me to watch over you.”

Annie, preoccupied with the earlier events of the day, snapped out of her trance at the mention of her father. “What? Why?”

“You tell me.”

Annie looked at her friend with a staggered expression. Her mouth opened to speak, but she held back, remembering that Agatha particularly dissented the infamous professor. “Annie,” Agatha reached out, her soft hand held hers. “You can tell me anything. Anything at all.” She reassured with a gentle tone, trying to give Annie security and encouragement. “Even if it’s a secret you don’t want your father to find out.”

Annie’s face faltered. She did not expect another person would predict what’s in her mind. A feeling of guilt and embarrassment took over her. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, looking around just in case someone else was listening. “Okay, I’ll tell you.”

Agatha practically jumped from her seat, an excitement Annie did not understand. She moved to sit beside her friend, her voice lowered in discretion. “So, was it about a boy?”

Annie’s face flushed in embarrassment. “What? No! Well… not… exactly.”

The two girls faced each other, closing the space between them as if it would be enough to block any eavesdropper nearby. Annie looked down at her lap, the guilt and embarrassment now mixed with a strange, new thrill. “Uhm… it’s Professor Isaac.”

Agatha’s jaw dropped at the revelation. “What?!”

“Okay. Before you say anything,” Annie sighed, finding the right words to say. “It’s true that I couldn’t sleep well last night. So, I went for a walk, and I ended up somewhere I’ve never been before, then I saw the laboratory nearby.”

Agatha listened to her intently, her eyes wide with unmasked curiosity, as if waiting for her to drop a punchline.

“I don’t know what went through my mind, but I let myself in,” Annie continued, her voice dropping to a whisper. “The laboratory was alive. The machines, I saw them all lit up for the first time since having my first class in there. I thought no one would see me, but then, there he was. He was just… standing behind me.”

Agatha put her fingers across her lips, holding back her surprise. “What happened then?”

Annie recalled the earlier events in details, earning a very amused reaction from her friend. She didn’t know if Agatha still gravely disliked the professor, but it seemed as if she was oddly supportive of her friend, a strange, knowing expression on her face. “Oh my gosh,” Agatha blurted, a giddy excitement in her voice. “I think you have a crush on him!”

“Crush on who?”

The two girls winced at the new voice. It was Tim, grinning at them sheepishly. “Don’t worry. I didn’t hear the girly stuff you were talking about.”

Most students piled out of the cafeteria for the next class. Tim earned a scolding from Agatha, his face appearing to be threatened and amused at the same time. “I swear to God, Tim!”

The girls parted from Tim, walking on the cobblestone pathway as they continued where they left off. “You know,” Agatha whispered, her eyes filled with wonder. “Now that I think about it, Professor Isaac really is quite handsome.”

Annie really hadn’t thought about the professor that way. Surely, she was entranced by his intellect and strong presence, but she hasn’t really paid attention to his looks. She stared blankly at the floor, recollecting her encounters with the professor. Professor Isaac had a distinct air about him; the way his dark brown eyes held Annie’s gaze, his subtle, almost sinister smirk, an expression that holds power and awareness of the person before him. She felt unnerved, but there was also a curious charm about him, a darker kind which she hasn’t explored before. “I suppose so.”

Just as they were about to turn right, they heard a high-pitched scream a few meters coming from behind. It was Tim, staggering back on the grassy quad on his own. No one seemed to be around him, but there was an evident force dragging him by his collar. Annie and Agatha exchanged a curious glance before marching towards the boy. Annie scattered her eyes all over the place until the persecutors appeared; two boys, both taller and bigger than Tim.

“Leave him alone!” Annie demanded, her voice dripping in anger.

“Or else what?” One of the boys teased, a cruel grin on his face.

Before Annie could respond, the bullies were thrown back with a strong, invisible force, along with poor Tim who was being held captive by them.

“Oh my gosh!” Agatha yelped, her eyes wide with shock. “I’m sorry, Tim!”

Annie looked back at Agatha, her expression bewildered at her friend’s power. A prickle of astonishment ran down her spine as she processed what just happened. Out of the very corner of her eyes, Tim’s beanie slipped off, revealing dreads of snakes on top of his head. "Don't look!" The boy shouted.

The effect of a petrifying Gorgon immediately turned the two bullies into stones. Agatha looked away just in time. Annie, on the other hand, had forgotten that she was looking at a petrifying power of a Gorgon. She looked away, hoping that Tim or anyone else hadn’t seen her. The boy scrambled to retrieve his beanie, calling to them that it’s already safe to look.

Agatha marched towards Tim, her expression extremely worried about accidentally flicking him along with the other guys. Tim, relieved from the distress caused by earlier, looked at the girls with a profound ease. “I don’t know what just happened, but thank you, girls.”

Annie inspected the boy after her with a concerned look on her face. “Do you know those guys?”

“No,” Tim replied, his expression crestfallen. “A lot of them likes to pick on me. I never thought there would be such a thing as an outcast in a world of Outcasts.”

The two girls looked at Tim with a somber expression.

“But you know the common thing they pick on about me?” The boy asked rhetorically. “Since I’m obviously a Gorgon, some of those guys from my dorm would pull down my pants. I didn’t really get the amusement from their act, until one of them asked me if I also carry some snakes down there.”

Agatha looked at Tim with her mouth open, her reaction dangerously flickering between laughter and sympathy.

Annie, on the other hand, didn’t get the connotation. “Do you?”

The gray skies of Nevermore Academy cast a gloomy, perpetual dusk over the school grounds, a heavy filter that muted the world in shades of slate and shadow. The oppressive, leaden clouds seemed to press down on the castle spires, making the grand architecture feel a little less magnificent.

Yesterday, Professor Isaac hadn't slept, nor did he often need to. The early hours of the morning were his to command, a quiet period for thought and work. Yet, the usual peace was unsettled. He found himself in his office, George Orloff's file spread open on his desk for the second time that night, the thick dossier a testament to a life he was only just beginning to unravel.

He cast his mind back to a time when he was just eleven, frail and often bedridden, his weak heart faintly beating within his small chest. It was his younger sister, Françoise, who had tended to him, her presence a constant, comforting warmth. George Orloff, or Doctor Orloff as he was known then, had been his primary physician, a meticulous man accompanied by an assistant whose face had long since faded from Isaac's memory. Doctor Orloff had dedicated himself to Isaac's case, tirelessly researching a cure, but medicine at the time was limited. The prognosis had been grim: he only had a few months left to live.

Desperate and determined, Isaac had refused to accept his fate. He had spent his waking hours designing his own heart, an intricate clockwork mechanism inspired by the mesmerizing gears of a pocket watch. When his invention was complete, a marvel of youthful genius and sheer will, he had pleaded with Doctor Orloff to perform the operation. Orloff, a man of ethics and caution, had laid out the dire consequences, the stark choice between an almost certain death and an experimental procedure with no guarantees. But Isaac, driven by an unyielding desire to live, had insisted.

When Isaac awoke from the operation, a new, mechanical rhythm beating within him, the victory was short-lived. Police authorities had entered his room with a warrant, their movements sharp and final, taking Doctor Orloff away. At the time, Isaac had assumed the arrest was for performing the risky operation on him, a detail he hadn't cared about. His singular focus then was on crafting another invention, one that could cure his sister’s burgeoning Hyde genes. He had been driven by a ruthless ambition, blind to anything but his goal, convinced that saving Françoise, no matter the cost, was his ultimate purpose.

But now, years later, the discovery of Doctor Orloff’s arrest record—twelve years ago, accused of his wife’s murder—ignited a new, burning curiosity within Isaac. Murder? The accusation felt so profoundly out of character for the principled, almost rigid man he remembered. What could have driven someone to accuse the meticulous Doctor Orloff to such an act? The question gnawed at him, a dissonant chord in his perfectly ordered mind.

Isaac's thoughts then drifted to the doctor’s daughter, Annie. For some reason, her face held an odd familiarity, a fleeting sense of recognition he couldn't quite grasp. She didn’t look much like her father, except for her eyebrows, which was an odd reminder of her father’s rigidity. But Isaac knew that face somewhere, he just couldn’t exactly point it out.

He changed into one of his white lab coats, the starched fabric a familiar comfort, and headed to the cafeteria for a coffee. The room was deserted, save for a few kitchen staff who were busy behind the counter, reading some books and talking in hushed tones. The fluorescent lights hummed, their glow stark against the gloom of the predawn hour. It was almost 3 in the morning, and he still hadn’t finished his pending tasks in the laboratory.

Returning to the lab, his thoughts still lingered upon Annie. He recalled the time she had first entered his class—a strong, confident look on her face, so composed that her expression was devoid of any emotion. Perhaps she had gotten that stoicism from her father. Isaac had no idea of her Outcast ability, but he had heard a rumor from one of his students about a short-haired girl with DaVinci abilities who saved the commotion that preceded in their botany class. Professor Orloff was an Avian, one who could control birds. Annie was a female, which meant she could only inherit her power from her biological mother. The only problem was that details of her mother were omitted from her files. Whatever that meant, it might be something important, a secret that could be a danger if anyone were to find out about it.

When he got back to the laboratory building, the wooden door hung open. He felt his heart ticking irregularly, a strange thing that had been happening to him since the beginning of the new semester. He stepped inside, and there, in the stark glow of his machinery, stood a familiar, short-haired girl. He had just been thinking about her for a while, and there she was, her back facing him, as if she had not sensed his presence at all.

“What are you doing here?”

The girl named Annie turned to face him, her composure faltered at being caught. His eyes briefly landed on her coat and the flimsy sleep dress she was wearing inside. Her plump breasts formed underneath the thin silk cloth, a vulgar sight right after a distinguished, professional man. Professor Isaac steadied his gaze on the girl’s face, trying to repress his instinctive arousal. The girl stammered on her words, which he found rather amusing, a contrast to his first impression about her. “Couldn’t sleep?”

Professor Isaac held his eyes on the girl as she took a while to answer him. “Did you know that it is strictly prohibited to wander in classrooms outside of school hours?” His eyes narrowed, his voice deliberate and calculated.

The girl’s eyes widened, her lips parted but no words came out. He could sense the turmoil inside her. He did it on purpose, in any hopes that she would run away or excuse herself, but the silence stretched for a moment that it was beginning to feel a little agonizing even for him.

"I'm sorry, prof—"

"But you're not in a classroom now, are you?" Professor Isaac cut her words off, holding back the impatience that has been bubbling inside him. He took a single, deliberate step closer to her, towering over the pathetic teenage girl. He wanted her out of the laboratory immediately, as her presence became a quiet discomfort developing in his stomach. “You’re in a laboratory. My laboratory.”

Much to his annoyance, the girl just froze in her place, her mouth agape and her eyes wide in shock. He heard one of the machines stop its rhythmic whirring, a reminder of the pending task he was meant to finish before dawn. He let out a forced smile, his fingers fiddling with his family ring.

The professor made the girl useful around his laboratory, dividing his tasks for her to complete. Annie was a surprisingly a fast learner, given that she had been handed an advanced manual as her guide.

The morning came, and the professor finally submitted his work to the science committee, a commission specifically handed to him by his peers as they trusted him for his high-grade works. Class hours reeled in like clockwork, his boredom impatiently waiting for the day to end. Yet, somehow, he was looking forward to his final lecture of the day.

During a lunch break, he was on his way to the Physics classroom to retrieve a laboratory equipment when he passed by the quad. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her again—the short-haired girl, involved in some kind of trouble. The little boy with the beanie appeared to be the victim, and Annie was scolding the other two boys behind him. Isaac continued walking, not wanting to get involved in some mundane teenage drama, when one of the boys shouted. He was now hidden from view, courtesy of the thorny bush in front of him.

An unnatural hush fell over the quad, followed by a series of unsettling crunches. The two boys who had been harassing the one in the beanie were no longer boys at all. They had turned to stone, their horrified expressions now became a temporary fixtures of the grounds. The air filled with gasps and screams from other students, but Isaac’s focus remained on the center of the incident. He saw the beanie boy frantically pulling his beanie back over his head, a clear sign of his Gorgon ability. He had no time to spare, but something held him back.

Just before the petrification was complete, Isaac watched as Annie's eyes, wide with shock, landed directly on the boy's face. The scene unfolded in a single, agonizing moment. Students around her were screaming, but she was motionless, her eyes locked on the Gorgon boy. And yet, she did not turn to stone. Her body didn't seize, her skin didn't calcify. She blinked once, twice, and then looked away, as if nothing had happened. A profound sense of confusion washed over him, followed by a cold, sharp jolt of intrigue. This was impossible. This defied the very nature of an Outcast ability. And if what he saw truly spoke for its own, then this girl is an embodiment of an Outcast anomaly.

Isaac’s mind raced with a thousand questions. Was it just an error in his judgement, a trick of the light? Or was this girl a new, bizarre transmutation, an experiment of nature with no precedent? The question resonated in him with a silent, chilling weight. Isaac needs to find out.

The afternoon had begun to bleed into itself, a slow and languid slide toward evening. The light filtering through the high, gothic windows of Nevermore was thin and murky, casting the students in a worn-out state. The weariness of a long school day settled in their shoulders, making conversations feel more like murmured obligations and every step a little heavier than the last. It was around three o'clock, and as Annie and Agatha parted ways, her friend gave her a knowing wink. "Don't be late for your final class," Agatha said with a playful smirk, a hint that she was well aware of Annie's new, peculiar interest.

Annie made her way to the Biomechanics class, arriving an hour early, not wanting to attract any more unwanted attention with her tardiness. She settled her things at the same desk she sat on her first class. The room was empty, the only sound the low, steady hum of the machines. Everything felt familiar, and she found herself looking around, a strange sense of homecoming washing over her. The sterile tables, the glowing monitors, the intricate machinery—it all reminded her of a time long past. The memory of her mother’s laboratory was a blur, a collection of vague colors and sounds, but the feeling lingered, a quiet hum of belonging, as if she were a piece of a puzzle that had finally been placed where it belonged.

A door suddenly slammed shut on the other side of the room, shattering her reverie. Professor Isaac stood a few feet away, his back to her. He was wearing something different from his usual laboratory coat: a buttoned-up white shirt paired with brown trousers. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing his strong forearms and the bright, crimson stains on his surgical gloves. He fixed the rimless glasses on his face with his dirtied wrist.

"Miss Annie," the professor acknowledged her presence, his voice constrained as he looked for something inside a drawer. His breathing was heavy with exhaustion, each breath a strained intake of air. He found what he was looking for, a small syringe, and turned to face her. The look in his eyes was one of enervated warning. "Stay here."

A door slammed shut behind him, leaving Annie in a state of utter confusion. The seconds stretched into minutes, filled only with the low hum of the machinery. She stood frozen, her mind unable to process what had just happened, or what was about to.

The professor returned to the room five minutes later. His white shirt sleeves were spattered with bright red stains, stark and violent against the pristine fabric. He marched to the sink nearby, hastily pulling off his surgical gloves as he began to wash his hands, scrubbing furiously. Annie watched him closely, her expression dumbfounded.

Professor Isaac wiped his hands with a clean towel, turning to face his student. He looked at her above his glasses, his face pale and glistening with sweat. “Annie,” he said, his voice a low, tired murmur. “One of my subjects escaped. I almost killed it.”

Annie’s eyebrows raised in shock, her breath catching in her throat. "Oh." She didn't know how to respond to such a chillingly casual confession.

"It's alright. I got it under control," he said, running a hand through his dark curls and pushing the stray strands of hair away from his face. He sighed, looking at the blood spatter on his shirt. His eyebrows furrowed in frustration. He was clearly exasperated, not by the escaped subject, but by the mess it had left behind.

Annie watched him, her mind a whirlpool of confused sensations. He was a man she saw as a bastion of cold, clinical order, and yet here he was, disheveled and exhausted, the stains on his shirt a vivid testament to a raw, brutal competence she had just witnessed. A profound sense of awe mixed with fear, a bizarre combination that she couldn’t reconcile. She felt a shiver run through her, and for a reason she couldn't comprehend, she found him intensely, disturbingly attractive in this moment. A rush of heat rose to her cheeks as she took a half-step back, her palms gripping the fabric of her skirt.

With the contents of his surgical gloves now safely disposed of, the professor composed himself. The professor walked past Annie, the unsettling crimson stains on his shirt an odd contrast to his now-calm demeanor. He picked up an eraser and wiped the blackboard clean. As he settled on a chair in front of the classroom, he took off his glasses and looked at his student, his smile constrained, as if forcing himself to be casual.

"You're a fast learner, Miss Orloff," he began, his voice surprisingly soft. He watched her intently, as if gauging her reaction. "The modifications you made to the bioprinter—my peers were very impressed. My work was praised today, and a part of that is owed to you."

Annie, flattered and out of words, felt her cheeks flush. A flutter of unexpected warmth bloomed in her chest. To be praised by him, the cold and brilliant Professor Isaac, was both terrifying and exhilarating. "Thank you, professor," she replied, her voice barely a whisper.

"Have you done laboratory work like this before?" he asked, his tone still casual. "Perhaps your father made you his apprentice? I imagine he'd be thrilled to have an extra pair of hands."

Annie shook her head. "No, sir. My father wouldn't even let me in the hospital he used to work for." The memory of her father's austerity was a familiar ache, a quiet rule she had never been allowed to question.

"Is that so?" Isaac replied, a hint of something unreadable in his eyes. He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a low, confidential murmur. "It’s funny you should mention your father’s old hospital. He was my primary physician when I was a child. He even performed my artificial heart implant surgery." He watched her face, fascinated by the way her composure broke in real time.

Annie's eyes widened in genuine astonishment. "Really? My father never mentioned that before." A flicker of confusion settled in her mind. Why would he keep this a secret?

"I assume you already know the story of how I refused to die," he said, the corner of his mouth twitching with amusement.

Annie chuckled, "Yes, sir. But a clockwork heart? It was nothing like I had imagined. It's nothing I've seen before, not even in my mother’s laboratory."

The mention of her mother caused a subtle shift in Isaac's demeanor. His casual posture straightened, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Your mother?" he asked, his voice now laced with a more genuine, focused interest. "What did she do for a living?"

"She was a scientist in the normie world," Annie replied, a hint of pride in her voice.

A genuine look of astonishment crossed Isaac's face. "That must be where you get your brains from," he said, feigning a polite admiration.

Annie chuckled coyly. "She was also a surgeon."

The revelation landed with the quiet finality of a lock clicking into place. For Isaac, the fragments of his memory—Doctor Orloff, his silent assistant and their uncanny resemblance in Annie’s eyes—slammed together. It was more than just a memory now; it was a hypothesis. He thought back to the quad, to the Gorgon boy and the girl who had met his stare without turning to stone. He remembered the way she immobilized that wasp on the first day of class, wondering if her presence was also the reason for his sudden feeling of powerlessness over himself. She couldn’t possibly manipulate minds like a Siren, but maybe she had the ability to incapacitate an Outcast’s ability.

That kind of power had long since been only a theory. But if it were true, and she really did possess this ability, then it meant she might be a product of a bizarre transmutation—one that could only be achieved by manipulating a variable through an experiment.

His smile dropped, and the casual mask slipped away, replaced by a cold, sinister glint. "If your mother is a normie," he said, his voice now a quiet, eerie inquisition, "and you are immune to a Gorgon's gaze, then what would be your Outcast ability, Annie?"

Annie froze, her mind a blank slate of pure terror. She had only realized then that this was a trap, and now the truth was out. The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. She remembered her father's warnings, his grave tone. Never let anyone know about your power. The words echoed in her mind like a blaring alarm bell, a final, desperate warning.

Just then, the main classroom door burst open, and loud footsteps clattered against the metal staircase. The rest of the students piled inside, their subtle chatter filling the room, drowning out the silent dread that had just consumed Annie.

Chapter Text

A week had passed since the incident with the Hyde. During a general parent meeting, the tension was palpable, a heavy weight that settled over the crowd. Professor Orloff, his voice a somber pronouncement, warned that this was only the beginning. He urged them not to let their guard down within school grounds. In response to the recent incident, the headmaster issued a safety protocol for the students to always walk in groups or pairs, and to be kind to one another.

The parents were enraged. A chorus of angry murmurs swept through the hall as one parent voiced a common complaint: the campus, as a boarding school, should be a safe place, especially since they weren’t always in touch with their children. The headmaster silenced the crowd, assuring them there was nothing to worry about since the police were already doing their rounds day and night in search of the Hyde.

Annie listened to the angry chatters from the back of the hall, a vacant look in her eyes and a heart heavy with secrets she couldn’t tell anyone. Her friend, Agatha, sat beside her, sensing Annie’s emotional distance. She silently offered Annie a bar of chocolate, which the girl mindlessly took from her.

“Hey,” Agatha spoke to her friend softly, her voice filled with a quiet concern. “What’s wrong?”

Annie stared at the chocolate bar in her hand, absent-mindedly fiddling with the rough edges of the plastic wrap. “Nothing,” she replied, the word a silent dismissal.

Agatha’s brow furrowed at her friend’s distant tone. She reached out, taking Annie’s hand in hers and giving it a gentle squeeze, a gesture of understanding and care that words couldn’t express.

The sky above Nevermore was a perpetual canvas of gray, a dull intention from above that offered no comfort. It was a weather that held the promise of rain but never delivered, much like the sense of security everyone craved. With classes suspended for the day, a collective sigh of relief seemed to sweep through the campus. Most students went for a stroll in the Pilgrim World, a small town in Jericho where they could refresh their minds and ease their worries.

Unlike everyone else, Annie retreated to the quiet slumber of her dorm room. The silence was a physical contrast to the noise inside her head. A slow, chilling process of recognition was unfolding within her, like a foundation crumbling away from a familiar house. She came to realize she was standing on nothing. Who was she, really, beyond the dusty confines of her books, beyond the cage of the secret she carried? That concealed power was not a strength, but a chain she hadn't known she wore, a profound responsibility she had never been asked to bear.

Just yesterday, it felt as if she had been a child, anchored only by her mother’s boundless love. Now, it felt as if grief just caught her like a sudden cold draft, and nostalgia became a warm, heavy blanket she couldn't throw off—an illusion of comfort holding her back from a terrifying change. She was still young, too young to claim any true regrets—a vast, foreign space between her and her father she could never understand.

It had been more than a decade since her mother was gone, and the memories of her early childhood became blurry and fragmented. At times, she felt utterly robbed of her past. Her teenage years, a vital period for any girl, felt like a blur, a collection of stories and tasks that belonged to someone else. With her father perpetually consumed by his work, the loneliness of her life had curdled into a constant companion. She had hoped Nevermore would finally bridge the distance between her and her father, the only parent she had left. Instead, a silent, invisible gap still lingered, filled by the crushing weight of unspoken, grave responsibilities.

She had lived most of her life immersed in theories, and in the consuming silence of her isolation, she had learned to recognize humanity not by its warmth, but by the cold vector of its ambition. There were the blindly ambitious, who simply saw the world as matter to be displaced by the heel of brute force. There were the self-immolating idealists, who mistook their own destruction for meaning, chasing conviction to the point of self-consumption. And there was the vast, passive majority, moving through the world on the fragile mechanics of simple faith. But an old theory had been introduced to her live observation—a mind far more terrifying than the rest. This was the calculating intellect. They saw people not as souls, but as variables in a complex, flawed equation, useful only to the extent they served a desired outcome. Their every interaction was a measured tool, their empathy a finely tuned instrument, and their sole pursuit was the cold, clean acquisition of power through knowledge. For the first time, Annie suspected she had encountered a true Machiavellian.

The tension between her and Professor Isaac was a tight, invisible strain. It had been a week since he'd cornered her in the lab, casually stripping away her secret with such efficiency. His classes proceeded like a normal routine, a quiet rhythm that taunts Annie with a deep, sickening humiliation of being so easily tricked.

She couldn't admit her failure to her father, or to anyone. Her pride simply wouldn't allow her to confess that she'd been fooled by the very person she thought she could handle. Not even a month into Nevermore, and she was already tangled in the worst kind of trouble—the kind you couldn't tell a soul.

Desperate for a distraction, Annie finally got up and headed to the school library, hoping her homework essay could, for a little while, take her mind off the stress that was consuming her.

Professor Orloff adjusted the collar of his tweed coat, the crisp Jericho air doing little to soothe the tightness in his chest. As the acting headmaster, he was conducting a perimeter check in Pilgrim World, advising students to heed the early curfew. The town square, usually a quiet tourist spot, was currently flooded with Nevermore students seeking refuge from the school’s palpable anxiety.

He moved with a practiced ease, his attention focused less on the antique shops and more on the shadows between the rented stalls. He spotted two students near a bright yellow ice cream truck: Agatha Shelley, her expression thoughtful even when ordering a confection, and a young man with a beanie on, laughing at something Agatha had said.

Professor Orloff approached them, his greeting polite and measured. "Miss Shelley. A reminder that the gates lock in thirty minutes. Please advise your friends."

Agatha turned, holding a cone dripping with rainbow sprinkles. "Professor Orloff. Got it." Tim simply nodded, already focused on the arcade across the path.

"And Annie?" Orloff asked, trying to keep the question casual, professional. "Did she decide to join you for the afternoon stroll?"

Agatha shook her head, the smile fading from her lips. "No, sir. She decided to skip out. Said she had a lot of reading to catch up on." She paused, her eyes meeting his with a simple, honest concern. "Honestly, Professor, she's been a little glum lately. I thought the break would do her some good, but she insisted on staying behind."

Professor Orloff felt a vague confusion at the term “glum”. Annie had always kept everything to herself, even such description felt abstract to him. Perhaps she is withdrawing herself from frivolities, given that the midterm exam is fast approaching. What he saw was diligence—his daughter is simply applying herself to her academics.

"Thank you, Miss Shelley," he replied, his voice flat. "Be safe."

Agatha and Tim offered final nods before heading down the path toward the noisy beckon of the arcade, leaving Professor Orloff to continue his rounds.

The air inside the arcade was loud, bright, and wonderfully chaotic, smelling of cheap pizza and buzzing electricity. They quickly settled in front of a noisy pinball machine, its flippers clicking a frantic rhythm as Tim slammed the buttons with surprising energy. Agatha, laughing as the silver ball zipped past the target, felt the stress of the general meeting finally lift.

As Tim leaned in, entirely consumed by the machine's dazzling lights, Agatha’s eyes drifted to the flashing chaos reflected on his face. The contrast—his mindless joy against the quiet withdrawal of her friend—was jarring.

"It's loud, isn't it?" Agatha said, raising her voice slightly over the machine's bells.

Tim nodded without looking away from the game. "Yeah, that's the point."

Agatha watched him earn an extra ball before speaking again. "I just wish Annie was here."

Tim finally straightened, retrieving his hands from the flippers as the machine reset. "Me too. Why's she so... gone lately? It's been over a week since she actually talked about anything but notes."

Agatha sighed, leaning against the warm glass of the machine. "I don't know if it's typical or not. With Annie, everything is complicated. She just seems to be holding the entire world inside her head." She recalled their last interaction: Annie's face a still mask, her eyes distant. "I tried inviting her earlier, but she was just so… distant. Completely empty expression, like she’s not even there."

A sense of helplessness settled over Agatha. Annie didn't need a distraction; she needed an anchor, and Agatha didn't know how to console a friend who refused to be held.

"Well," Tim said, retrieving a handful of coins from his pocket. "She's missing out. Your turn."

Agatha nodded, forcing a smile. She stepped up to the machine, the momentary darkness receding as she plunged the ball into the field of neon lights. The distraction was necessary, but the worry lingered—a small, persistent weight she couldn't shake off.

As the last traces of daylight bled from the sky, a bell rang across the campus, summoning all students to the Great Hall. The atmosphere inside was heavy, amplifying the sense of confinement and the collective fear.

Professor Orloff, stern and unyielding as the acting headmaster, stood at the dais. His voice, usually measured, carried the sharp edge of absolute command as he reiterated the new safety protocols. He outlined a checklist that students must adhere to before retiring for the night: windows were to be sealed and locked, dorm doors double-bolted, and travel after 9:00 PM was now grounds for immediate disciplinary review. He stressed that compliance was non-negotiable; any negligence would be seen as endangering the entire student body. The rules were implemented with the cold efficiency of military decree.

The silence that followed was thick with resentment and fear. Students traded dark, sullen looks, their frustration palpable as they faced the reality of confinement. Professor Orloff let the weight of the new restrictions settle, his expression unwavering, acknowledging the tense atmosphere without bending to it.

Then, slowly, he shifted his weight, his gaze softening slightly. "However," he stated, his voice now lower. "We understand the added pressure these necessary precautions place upon your academic lives."

He paused again, allowing the students a moment to process the unusual concession. The hall was silent; they were expecting an academic reprieve, perhaps a deadline extension. "Therefore, as a brief compensation for this evening's restrictions, the theater hall will be opening for a showing of a classic film."

The announcement landed like a sudden reprieve. A low, surprised buzz of interest instantly replaced the sullen silence.

"It is an old American picture," Orloff continued, "featuring the iconic performance of a young actor known for portraying the restless spirit of teenage rebellion."

Agatha gasped and grabbed Tim's arm. "Oh my gosh, Tim, it must be him! James Dean! I can't believe Professor Orloff is letting us watch a movie with James Dean!"

Tim looked at Agatha, a bright, dumbfounded smile spreading across his face. They joined the crowd pouring toward the theater. For the next two hours, they were completely absorbed in the dark, desperate energy of the theatre hall. The melodrama and the powerful screen presence provided a potent, shared escape. Later, over hot cocoa in the now quiet cafeteria, they laughed easily about the film's dramatic intensity. Agatha was entirely focused on the easy, comfortable companionship of Tim, enjoying the simple, necessary moment of normalcy and shared joy.

The school was sealed tight, the anxieties of the past week momentarily forgotten beneath the spell of classic cinema and the peaceful silence of the curfew.

The morning air hung heavy with a strained sense of order. Patrol cars, plain and unmarked, were visible near the periphery of the school grounds, their presence a cold reminder of the Hyde incident and the continuing threat. Police officers in drab, heavy coats moved with professional stiffness across the school, their search for the creature continuing even while classes resumed. Nevermore felt less like a safe haven and more like a fortress under siege, the tight security meant to reassure the students only serving to heighten the anxiety.

Agatha Shelley settled into her seat for botany class. She glanced at the empty seat beside her. Annie, a stickler for punctuality and order, was absent. She must have overslept, Agatha rationalized, certain the previous day's canceled classes had simply thrown off Annie's internal clock.

Professor Ottinger, whose lectures were often derailed by her love for irrelevant anecdotes about the migratory patterns of non-sentient fungi, began to ramble. Agatha tried to focus, but her eyes kept drifting back to the vacant chair. Still, she told herself there was no reason to worry; Annie would certainly show up for their next period.

When the botany class ended, Agatha quickly packed her bag and headed to the next lecture hall. She arrived early and placed her bag on the seat beside her, holding the spot for Annie.

Behind her, she overheard two girls gushing loudly. "I swear, James Dean is just so dreamy," one sighed. "I know, right? Like, gosh, why can’t boys in this school look like that?"

Agatha listened, her lips twitching with the shared enthusiasm. She wished she could turn to Annie and gush about the movie from last night, but the emptiness next to her was a sharp, lonely reminder. She watched the doorway, imagining Annie striding in with a hurried apology and her usual composed expression.

The bell rang. The physics professor walked to the front, and the lecture began. The seat next to Agatha remained empty. A raw, cold anxiety finally pierced Agatha’s mind. This wasn't just oversleeping; this was a deliberate, total absence.

She grabbed her bag after class and went immediately looking for Tim, whom she found by the main hall, leaning against a pillar and scribbling something on his notebook.

"Tim, have you seen Annie today?" Agatha asked, her voice deliberately calm, betraying none of the fear starting to coil in her stomach.

Tim shook his head, looking up from his writing with a blank expression. "Nah. Why? Still catching up on that 'reading' she ditched us for?"

"I don't know," Agatha murmured, a genuine unease replacing her earlier annoyance. She needed to check. "I'm heading back to the dorms. Which one is hers again?"

Tim described the directions quickly, sensing the new urgency in her tone.

Agatha hurried through the hushed halls, her pulse quickening. She tried to slow down, telling herself that Annie was simply isolating herself in her room—a classic Annie move when overwhelmed by work—but the rational thought was brittle, already fracturing under the weight of her absence in their morning classes.

She reached the perimeter of the dorm tower. The corridor here was quiet, almost unnaturally so. Every footstep she took on the polished floor seemed amplified, a lonely, panicked drumbeat isolated against the oppressive emptiness of the large building. She reached Annie’s door. It was unlocked.

The simple fact stopped Agatha dead. It felt immediately wrong; Annie was guarded, meticulously private, and certainly wouldn't leave her possessions vulnerable, not in a school full of curious Outcasts. Hesitantly, Agatha pushed the heavy wooden door inward, revealing the silent room.

Agatha's eyes swept the space, searching for any sign of her friend. The room was perfectly intact—too intact. Annie wasn’t there. Agatha’s gaze snapped to the bed: it was neatly organized, the sheets pulled taut and smooth over the mattress. It hadn't been slept in. The realization hit her with sickening force: Annie hadn't just overslept; she had never returned.

A spike of genuine panic made Agatha’s breathing shallow. She immediately went to the cafeteria, her eyes desperately scanning the crowded tables, looking for any flash of a short haired girl. She approached a group of students, her voice tight and unnatural. "Excuse me, have any of you seen a girl—short hair, usually a very empty expression on her face?" The students exchanged confused glances.

Her first, overwhelming instinct was to sprint to Professor Orloff’s office. He was the acting headmaster; he would know what to do. But the thought slammed into the barrier of Annie's trust. To tell Professor Orloff would mean exposing his daughter's profound rule-breaking and emotional vulnerability, likely landing Annie in immediate and serious trouble with the administration—and with her father.

Agatha hesitated, the fear of betraying Annie’s confidence paralyzing her. She needed a way to find Annie without jeopardizing her future. And then one chilling suspicion, sharp and logical, cut through her panic. There was only one person tied to Annie's secret and her last known unauthorized location: Professor Isaac. Perhaps he knows something.

Agatha left the cafeteria and found a lone senior student lingering near the quad. Hiding her mounting panic behind a polite inquiry, she asked for the location of Professor Isaac’s research lab. Like Annie before her, she was immediately confused when the student pointed toward a distant, isolated structure tucked away from the academy's main gothic cluster.

The building was a stark, grey cube of aged stone and oxidized metal, disconnected from the reassuring architecture of Nevermore. Under the gloomy, perpetual skies, the structure looked sinister, its windows like dark, unblinking eyes. Desperation now overriding all caution, Agatha entered anyway.

The atmosphere was a sterile shock. She was greeted by long corridors of bare concrete, the only sound the low, incessant hum of machinery vibrating through the floor. It was exactly as Annie had described: cold, isolated, and foreign to Agatha's more romantic tastes. She shivered, her worry intensifying into dread. The air was acrid, and Agatha scrunched her nose at a strange, burnt smell she couldn't identify. She no longer cared about trespassing; she was driven only by the urgent need to find her friend.

She moved through the building's maze-like structure. Every door led either to a series of humming, live machinery or to a dead-end maintenance closet. Her anxiety mounted with every failed turn.

Finally, she reached a door that opened onto a spiral metal staircase. A wave of deep unease washed over her, a hint of caution carefully threading through her mind like warning bells. With a sudden, rushed determination, Agatha quickly descended, her hurried footsteps ringing out, echoing through the cold, sterile walls of the shaft.

The staircase ended in a large, subterranean room lined with rows of empty tables and chairs and fronted by a messy blackboard. This was clearly the classroom where Annie had been attending her studies. The room was still empty. A terrible wave of doubt hit Agatha; she was beginning to think this must be some kind of grave mistake, that she shouldn’t have violated her own sense of caution and entered this place at all.

Then, she heard a distinct, loud metal clattering from a back room, pulling her attention forward. "Classes are over," a male voice echoed, flat and final, from the same room where she heard the clatter.

Agatha froze, immediately on guard. She slowed her steps, walking with agonizing care toward the door she suspected the voice came from.

Without warning, the door swung partially inward, and a tall man in a white coat appeared in the doorframe. Agatha’s eyes immediately landed on the stark, alarming crimson stains smeared across the man’s sleeves and his white latex apron.

A tight, primal screech tore from her throat. Reacting on pure terror, Agatha threw her hand out, unleashing a burst of her power and flinging the door violently shut. The heavy wood slammed against the frame with a sickening thud.

Agatha heard a muffled groan from the inside. She had hit him. Panic spiked—she was in deep, unforgivable trouble.

A few seconds later, the same man reappeared in the doorway. He was massaging the back of his hand against his forehead, his face pale and eyes heavy. His expression was utterly unreadable—either exhaustion or annoyance, perhaps both. Agatha scrambled back, ready to bolt and run.

The tall figure steadied himself against the doorframe, the back of his hand still pressed to his forehead, yet his composure was snapping back into place with terrifying speed. His heavy, dark eyes settled on Agatha, their focus sharp and penetrating despite his drawn features. He looked utterly exhausted—a disturbing paleness to his skin suggesting lack of sleep—but the weariness only made his cold inquiry more menacing.

"What are you doing here, missy?" he asked, his voice low and devoid of inflection, cutting through the silence of the room.

"Where is Annie?" Agatha blurted out unconsciously, the single, desperate question overriding her manners and her very real fear of the man before her.

Professor Isaac’s gaze sharpened with a sudden interest. "Miss Orloff?" His tone was a cool, precise inquiry. He took one deliberate step forward. "What makes you think she is here, of all places?"

Agatha’s mouth opened, forming no sound. Her mind raced, desperate for a plausible lie. She couldn't admit to the secret meetings, or the pathetic schoolgirl crush that had lured Annie here. "I—I know her class schedule. I went through all her classrooms, and she wasn't there."

"Are you sure?" Professor Isaac asked, tilting his head just slightly, a gesture that conveyed immediate suspicion. "I don’t think you've checked every classroom yet."

Agatha felt a spike of debilitating anxiety. Her subtle, panicked lie was detected instantly, leaving her exposed.

“Perhaps you came here because…” Professor Isaac took another slow step forward, a heavy, metallic scent of blood and ozone engulfing Agatha’s senses. His eyes narrowed. “You’re suspecting me to have something to do with her absence?” The professor inquired, his dark gaze sharp and searing through her skull as if he’s seeing through her thoughts.

Agatha stumbled backward, her leg hitting the edge of a desk. Her gaze fixated on the crimson stains casually smeared across his latex apron and the cuffs of his white coat. The professor was undeniably handsome, she admitted, with a chilling kind of perfection, but she couldn't reconcile that façade with the terrifying man standing before her—a man whose current state screamed of dark, frantic work.

Noticing the girl’s lack of reply, the professor’s lip curled into a fleeting, cold smile. "If you weren’t so preoccupied on your date night with that boy, perhaps you could have spared a thought to invite her to the theater hall at least."

Agatha’s eyes widened, her face scrunching in fierce denial at the sudden, unnerving accusation into her private evening with a friend. "I wasn't—"

"Miss Shelley," Professor Isaac interjected. He took a deep breath, allowing his expression to subtly soften into a mask of weary professionalism. "If you had employed more reasoning skills, you would have gone to inform the headmaster immediately." He held up his hand, examining the smudge of crimson stains on his dirty surgical glove. "Or perhaps you, too, have secrets to keep?"

Agatha pursed her lips, her body rigid. A furious, defensive mixture of sheer terror and impotent annoyance settled on her features. She realized with chilling clarity that Professor Isaac didn't just suspect something; he knew exactly why she was here, and he was casually holding her loyalty hostage.

Agatha stumbled out of the subterranean laboratory, the chill of the metallic stench of burnt ozone still clinging under her nose. The encounter with Professor Isaac—his cool, knowing eyes and his veiled, chilling inquiry—had annihilated the last shred of her composure.

As she reached the door, the sky finally opened. The rain was not a gentle drizzle but a sudden, violent downpour, sheeting down the grey stones of the old building. Agatha plunged into it, not even bothering to raise her arms. She tucked something solid and heavy under her armpit, shielding it carefully beneath her soaked blazer as she marched towards the main building.

The cold was absolute, instantly soaking through her clothes, turning her anxiety into a frantic, shivering urgency. Her blazer clung to her skin, and her shoes squelched loudly with every desperate, uneven step. She fought against the wind and the sheeting rain, her mind racing with fragmented thoughts about her friend’s absence and Professor Isaac’s terrifying behavior.

When she finally burst into the administrative wing, she left a long trail of water and muddy footprints on the polished gothic floor. Her breath hitched in ragged, desperate gasps. She reached the door of the headmaster's office, her soaked hand clamping down on the knob. She didn't pause; she didn't knock. Driven by a primal terror that annihilated all sense of manners and decorum, Agatha flung the door open.

The room was warm, quiet, and deeply comfortable. The low light filtering through the stained glass created an atmosphere of insulated calm, entirely disconnected from the cold world outside.

Professor Orloff sat back in a plush, velvet cushion by a small side table, holding a delicate china cup. And sitting directly opposite him, looking perfectly composed, was her friend Annie.

Agatha’s panic died instantly, collapsing into a suffocating vacuum of confusion and shock. Her body, still shaking from the cold and the adrenaline, was suddenly frozen.

Professor Orloff lowered his cup, his gaze sweeping over the shivering, drenched figure blocking his doorway. He took in her waterlogged, disheveled hair, the streaks of mud on her face, and the fresh pool of water forming instantly on his expensive rug. His expression twisted, not into concern, but into one of confused, utter disgust.

"Miss Shelley," he said, his voice flat, tainted by undisguised displeasure. "What, precisely, is the meaning of this intrusion?"

Agatha could only stare, her eyes wide, fixed on the figure of her friend. Annie met her gaze with a shock mirrored by her own, her expression clueless and completely detached from the chaos Agatha had just endured for her sake. The terror was replaced by a flush of absolute, burning humiliation. “Annie,” Agatha spoke, her voice strained from her surging mixture of emotions. “We need to talk.”

Chapter Text

The silence that had fallen over the office was deafening, save for the chaotic noise outside. The rain continued its brutal, unrelenting assault on the thick windowpanes, the sound a frantic, overwhelming din that refused to be shut out. The terror that had fueled Agatha’s chaotic morning was now violently collapsing into a suffocating vacuum of humiliation.

The girls stood by a thick, wet pillar near the imposing founder’s statue situated just inside the school's grand entrance. The bronze figure loomed over them, the slick, dark granite reflecting the grey, bruised sky. The rain had softened to a cold, persistent drizzle, but the chill of the wet stone and the heavy air matched the awkward tension between them.

Agatha looked at Annie with a face contorted by a mixture of deep concern and genuine hurt. Her eyes spoke of disappointment as she listened to Annie explain her absence.

"I don't know what you expected me to do," Annie was saying, her tone edged with confusion and a touch of annoyance at the spectacle Agatha had made. "I was in the library, working. I finished the essay on Ancient Cryptology, and then I just... lost time. It felt like I had a long, heavy dream after that."

Agatha's damp clothes clung to her, the shivers intensifying her inner turmoil. "A dream?" she asked, her voice tight and strained, utterly defeating her attempt at composure. Her gaze was unflinching, demanding answers. "Did this 'dream' involve an unlocked dorm room, an abandoned bed, and a full morning of classes missed? Was that a part of the curriculum?"

Annie shifted, her confusion deepening. "I don't remember leaving my room unlocked. And I just found out that my father found me sleeping on the library late at night, so he carried me all the way to his office. I woke up this morning and realized I overslept."

"Anything else?" Agatha spoke again, her eyes narrowing with hurt and suspicion.

Annie’s eyes fell, the detachment wavering slightly. "Agatha." Her voice was barely a whisper, thick with an unresolved emotion. "I swear. What else could I hide from you?"

Agatha fell silent. Her expression softened, not in a way that offered comfort, but in a silent, heartbreaking acceptance that her friend was lying, or at least refusing to share the truth. The betrayal sank like a stone in her chest. She pulled something small and hard from underneath her soaking blazer: a thick purple-bound book, its cover damp and cool. She thrust it into Annie's hands.

"Whatever you were doing, Annie, I hope that it's worth it," Agatha said, the words heavy with disillusionment. She turned and walked away, not looking back. Annie watched her friend go, the sight of Agatha's slumped, drenched figure amplifying a surge of self-disappointment. She knew the enormous length her friend must have gone to, running through the storm, driven by that fierce, unwavering loyalty. Annie felt a terrible pang of guilt for letting Agatha believe the worst and for being unable to offer the simple truth she herself couldn't grasp.

Annie looked down at the book in her hands. In a swift, bone-chilling shift of cold air, her confused expression snapped into one of shock and sharp trepidation. The sudden, tangible confirmation left her frozen.

She hadn't been dreaming. It was real.

The day before, Annie sat nestled in a secluded study compartment, the rhythmic scratch of her pen filling the space. The library was quiet, warm, and comforting. She had indeed finished her homework, the final lines of her essay on Ancient Cryptology complete.

Her thoughts, however, were not on her studies but on her father. She felt the heavy resentment of his secrecy, his protective walls that always kept her out. She was helpless, grappling with a nullifying power she couldn't fully control or understand, a burden made heavier by his silence.

The depth of her father's secrets made Annie feel like he was a stranger to her life. She remembered how Professor Isaac casually mentioned that not only had her father been his primary physician when he was younger, but he was also the surgeon who performed his heart transplant. This was a massive, life-altering secret her father had deliberately kept hidden. What else was he hiding? The more she learned, the more disappointed she felt with him. At this point, she wondered if anything he did could still manage to surprise her.

Suddenly, out of the corners of her mind, she remembered an oblique comment her father, George Orloff, had made years ago: he had once written an academic paper, an outstanding research paper that won an award. Driven by a desperate need to know more about her father's past that wasn't guarded, Annie went to the main desk.

"Excuse me," Annie asked the librarian, a woman with arched eyebrows and hollow cheeks, her resting face making her look strict and snobbish. "Do you have access to a George Orloff academic paper, perhaps from his student days?"

The librarian lowered her pen, her eyes peering over the frame of her glasses. "It's in the restricted section."

Annie narrowed her eyes in confusion. "Restricted section? Are students allowed to access that?"

The librarian's confusion morphed into faint suspicion. "No." She stopped writing in her agenda book and set it aside, looking at Annie with a serious expression. "You didn't ask your father about it?"

Annie remained silent, a torrent of questions flooding her mind. Why would a paper that won an award be banished to a restricted section?

"Alright," the librarian relented, sensing Annie’s confusion. "That paper stirred quite a controversy when Sir Orloff was still a student here. They said his research was 'anti-Outcast.'"

Annie was appalled, her confusion immediately mixed with a fierce, cold curiosity. "Anti-Outcast? Was it banned?"

"It was, actually. As for the reason they insisted on keeping it, I have no idea."

Annie went back to her compartment, her mind reeling. Her father's research paper, banned for being "anti-Outcast," only added fuel to her resentment of his secrecy. What possible content could have made it so controversial? Should she even be surprised by this new information?

A risky idea entered her mind. When the librarian finally returned to her writing, Annie slipped out from behind the tall wooden shelves and made her way toward the far side of the library.

She found herself in the most isolated wing of the massive library. No students were nearby, save for the couple making out in a dark, secluded corner. Annie navigated the maze-like aisles until she reached a shelf that looked entirely different: it was made of a thick, sturdy glass, and it was much smaller. It was the restricted section. For a school that hid so many secrets, this was ironic.

Now the problem was accessing the tightly-sealed glass shelf. Annie examined the edges, looking for any possible cracks, when she heard a sudden voice directly behind her.

Before she could turn around, a large, firm hand snapped over her mouth, muffling her sharp intake of breath. Annie panicked. She realized how utterly powerless she was when she couldn’t see the person to nullify their power, or when they used raw, physical force against her.

"Shhh." The voice hushed directly behind her ear, soft and low, immediately lulling her struggle into a frightened respite. "It’s alright. Don’t resist."

Annie instantly recognized the voice. Panic washed over her anew. The jolt of anxiety from the realization that the man who had so recently outwitted her was now holding her hostage made her struggle harder, twisting her body. Her eyes snapped desperately toward the dark reflection of the glass shelves.

The man immediately pulled her away from the reflection, wrenching her back against his chest.

"Smart girl," the voice bemused. "Don't make this any harder for both of us. I know what you’re looking for, and I have it. But first," he paused, breathing into her ear, "let’s make a deal."

Annie recoiled internally, a cold surge of curiosity mixed with raw fear. What could he possibly want from her now?

The man reached out a hand towards an ordinary-looking bookshelf. With a silent gesture in the air, he drew one of the books from its place. A series of clicking sounds echoed faintly behind the shelf as it slid open, revealing a hidden stone doorway. The door slid open with a swift, fluid motion from the man's fingers.

Still tightly holding Annie’s body against his, they both descended the cold stone stairs. Their footsteps echoed faintly as they reached the bottom. The place was dimly lit, the only illumination a circular sunroof far above, overlooking a perfectly round, maroon rug woven with a strange, symbolic pattern. The man released Annie the moment the door shut tightly behind them.

Annie recoiled, backing swiftly until the cold, rough stone wall of the chamber met her spine. The door to the library was sealed shut, the low light casting the room in a permanent dusk. Her earlier panic was now replaced by a cold, quivering alertness. She was alone with Professor Isaac, the very man her father had specifically warned her against.

"What do you want?" she demanded, her voice tight, barely betraying her fear.

Professor Isaac stood in the center of the circular chamber, directly beneath the narrow beam of light from the sunroof. The single, ominous glow sculpted his features, leaving his expression in deep shadow. He slowly tilted his head, his gaze distant, as if consulting an unseen calculation.

"I need your help," he stated, his voice utterly soft and casual.

A flash of annoyance pierced through Annie’s lingering fear, stiffening her posture. "Oh? Is this how we ask for help now? By ambushing students in the library?"

The professor's face remained blank. He reached up, his fingers tugging lightly at the collar of his shirt, loosening a button. His eyes drifted to the bookshelf behind Annie. "My work could have been in that shelf too," he murmured, his tone layered with distant regret.

Annie looked over her shoulder. The entire wall was lined with a vast, dark bookshelf, stacked neatly with purple, heavy-looking tomes. "What is this place?"

"It’s a secret base for the Nightshades. History was made here," Isaac replied, running a long, deliberate finger over the dusty spines, scanning for a specific book. "There are two passages to this place—"

"Are you one of the Nightshades?" Annie interjected, seizing on the sudden admission of affiliation.

Professor Isaac sighed, his mouth curving into an unreadable, subtle sneer. "I was."

Annie watched the professor with utter confusion.

"Here." The professor's hand stopped. He pulled a volume out of the shelf, the leather squeaking softly in the silence, and held it out to her. "Your dad’s little secret."

Annie took the book, its surface cool and aged beneath her fingertips. She opened it. The first few pages were neat, careful handwritten texts. As she scrolled further, diagrams began to appear more often. At first, her confusion blinded her, but as she concentrated, the cold reality of the diagrams sharpened: they were detailed instructions for a lobotomy and neural manipulation. She caught several references to "area V3" and a "prototype machine" for targeted brain alteration.

Professor Isaac watched her face intently, sensing the precise moment comprehension dawned. He began to slowly walk around her, his footsteps silent on the maroon rug, maintaining a controlled distance, yet somehow feeling closer than ever.

His voice was a cold, precise instrument cutting through the quietness of the chamber. "You are your father’s finished project, Annie. The living proof of his flawed hypothesis." He paused, his tone shifting to one of chilling, quiet observation. "And that darling surgeon of his was simply a necessary piece of equipment in a very messy, adolescent dream."

Annie’s head snapped up, her eyes blazing with raw, protective denial. "You mean my mother?" The weight of the cryptic diagrams in her hands made the word sound desperate.

Professor Isaac merely lifted one eyebrow in a gesture of dismissive pity.

"You’re wrong. My father loved her very much," Annie insisted, clinging to the only defense she had.

"Love is a pleasant distraction, Annie. Pray tell, where is she now?"

The question hit Annie with brutal finality. The raw surge of anger and suffocating fear collided, drowning her in confusion. In that blinding moment, the fragmented pieces slammed together: her mother’s disappearance, her nullifying power, and the book in her hand. Her father was not just concealing the truth—he was its creator.

Isaac stopped in his tracks, his voice dropping to a smooth, intellectual taunt. "It’s exquisitely ironic, isn’t it? George Orloff, the ethical paragon, the esteemed doctor, leaves his greatest work—you—incomplete and terrified. He gave you power but withheld the truth. Is that the love you know about, Annie?"

Annie trembled, overwhelmed by the sense of violation. "Don’t you start on my father," she warned, the defiance in her voice barely a whisper against the weight of his words.

Isaac offered a sharp, cruel expression that held no warmth. He finally stepped out of the shadows, closing the distance to just a few feet. His gaze was intense, dissecting, his voice dropping to a low, clinical tone. "Let's dispense with the sentiment, Annie. Here is the exchange: You cooperate fully with my research and keep your unauthorized visits with me an absolute secret. In return, I will furnish the answers your father is keeping, including a complete understanding of your full capacity."

"And what if I don’t want to help you?" Annie challenged, her eyes unwavering.

Isaac's face slowly faltered, his eyes gleaming with calculated, professional interest. "Then I will simply walk out of here and send Orloff a comprehensive report detailing the origins of your unique ability—a report based entirely on the book in your hand. I suspect his position as acting headmaster—and his reputation as an ethical doctor—might not survive the morning."

Annie's face remained utterly composed, her gaze sharp and final. "I thought you'd propose something more original."

A cold, binding silence settled between them. Annie looked down at the horrifying book in her hands, its pages detailing a life she never asked for. She raised her head, locking eyes with Isaac. Her early annoyance had collapsed into something she couldn't name—a tight knot of resentment, fear, and a dark, confusing pull.

Professor Isaac stood before her, the single shaft of light from the sunroof sculpting his figure. He was unnaturally pale, his features sharp and drawn, with heavy, dark circles beneath his eyes. He stood with an unsettling stillness, radiating an aura of utter, cold control. His dark eyes, set beneath his perfectly slicked hair, held an absolute, cold focus that seemed to undress her mind, exposing every hidden vulnerability. There was a raw, undeniable magnetism to the forbidden—to his cold dissection of her father's lies. A part of her, a buried, fearful part, registered it with a sickening interest. He saw her as a specimen, a project, and in the overwhelming intimacy of that violation, a sudden, terrifying current of unwanted, perverse attraction resonated within her chest. It was a repulsive thrill—the realization that this man, who knew the most shameful, secret parts of her existence and sought to dominate her, was the source of her forbidden, sexual fascination. The confusion of her own body betraying her into this dark feeling made her feel utterly degraded.

But as the thought solidified, a wave of profound disgust suddenly flooded Annie. This was wrong. All of it. Their dangerous proximity, the horrific truths. Fear surged through her, mingling with a crushing wave of conscience and self-loathing.

In a desperate, reckless attempt to reclaim control, Annie acted. She raised the heavy book, slamming the hard spine with all her strength against Professor Isaac’s temple.

The blow landed with a dull thud. Isaac stumbled, a harsh, guttural groan escaping him as he lost balance, his perfect, cold composure momentarily shattering. The momentary shock was enough. Annie didn't hesitate. With her adrenaline surging, she grasped the book tightly and scrambled for the stairs.

She was halfway up when a sudden, unseen force clamped around her left ankle. It was a cold, constricting grip—silent, invisible, and terrifyingly powerful. Her leg was wrenched backward, slamming against the stone steps, and she tumbled down, hitting the hard ground with a sickening impact.

Isaac had regained his balance. He moved with chilling speed, a dark blur descending the remaining steps. He was over her in an instant, his hand clamping around her neck, slamming her head against the cold stone floor. He pressed his full weight onto her, a crushing, suffocating presence that pinned her beneath him. His dark eyes, now stripped of any pretense of wit, blazed with cold, furious intent.

With his free hand, he pulled a white handkerchief from his pocket. Before Annie could draw another desperate breath, it was pressed firmly over her mouth and nose. The faint, sweet smell of chloroform was the last thing she registered as the world began to tilt, then spin. Her struggles grew weaker, her vision blurred, and in an instant, the horrifying darkness of the chamber dissolved into profound, absolute unconsciousness.

Annie gasped, her consciousness snapping back into the blinding light of the present. She was leaning against the cold stone pillar beside the founder’s statue, the heavy purple book was still clutched in her hand.

The storm was over. The sky above was a washed-out, pale grey, and the air was crisp and painfully clear. The cessation of the rain brought with it a horrifying clarity: the book, the secrets, Professor Isaac's cold voice and his ulterior motive—it was all real.

She felt a fresh wave of nausea, the lingering scent of chemicals faint on her breath. She didn't know how much time had passed, or how Isaac had returned her, but the message was stark: the game was non-negotiable.

As she shifted her weight, the water-logged book slipped slightly in her numb fingers. A small, neatly folded piece of paper—crisp and utterly dry—slid from between the pages and drifted onto the wet stone floor.

Annie stared down at it, her heart hammering against her ribs. Slowly, she bent and picked it up. Unfolding the note, she recognized the elegant, precise handwriting immediately:

Meet me after class.

Chapter Text

The afternoon light in Annie's dorm room was a thin, bruised grey, matching the cold film of trauma over her skin. She sat before the small, dark mirror, preparing for her afternoon class and her first mandatory meeting with her tormentor. The chamber's horrors had stripped away her sense of identity. The student, the friend, the daughter—all of it felt cheapened by the secret she now carried.

She deliberately fixed her appearance, a desperate attempt to reinforce a facade of control. She smoothed her hair, tucking the sides sharply behind her ears, exposing the long, elegant line of her neck. She applied a neutral, darker eyeshadow, the slight sharpness it gave her eyes a subtle act of defiance.

The rest of the school day was an unbearable crawl. In her Advanced Theoretical Mathematics class, the numbers on the whiteboard—proofs and equations—swam before her eyes. The complex figures usually demanded her focus, but now they were an insultingly simple distraction from the chaos beneath her skin.

Annie glanced sideways at the empty chair beside her—Agatha's silent, reproachful absence. Loneliness had once been a familiar comfort, a protective cloak that allowed her to observe the world without being implicated by it. Now, this isolation was a heavy, sunken feeling in her chest, the painful cost of the lie she could not share.

Her mind was a stretched wire, vibrating with anticipation and dread. She felt physically sick, yet every nerve ending was hyper-alert, waiting for the bell that would summon her to treason.

When the math class finally ended, Annie moved through the pathways with a strained, unnatural caution. Outside, the world was damp and miserable. The drizzle had paused, but the air remained thick and cold, pressing down on the campus like a massive, wet blanket. The sky was a uniform, heavy white—a perfect, blank screen that offered no distraction.

She kept her gaze low, but the paranoia was inescapable. Every poles and electrical wire she passed held clusters of black birds. They perched in silent rows, watching. Her eyes noticed the way their tiny, dark heads tilting as she walked. It was a suffocating feeling, as though the entire environment was a carefully monitored lab.

Professor Isaac’s Biomechanics class, the last hour of the day, was the cruelest purgatory. The room was cold, quiet, and filled with the dedicated scratching of pens as the students took notes. Isaac stood at the room, discussing tendon shear and kinetic energy transfer, his voice a flat, measured monotone that now felt horrifyingly intimate. Annie sat motionless, her textbook open, but she saw only the clock. The memory of the chamber pulsed beneath the surface of her composure.

She watched him from across the room. He was the picture of academic dedication, cool and entirely aloof, but his presence felt like a physical threat. Every time he glanced up, his dark eyes sweeping the room, Annie held her breath, convinced he was looking only at her, counting the seconds until she was his alone. The air was heavy with the knowledge that everyone else in the room was safe, ignorant of the terrifying bargain the professor and his student had struck.

When the final bell rang, the room emptied in a rush of leather backpacks and muttered goodbyes. Annie remained seated, letting the chaos subside until only the sound of Professor Isaac organizing his desk remained.

Annie rose from her seat, her movements tight and precise, slamming her hands flat on his desk. "What the fuck did you tell my friend?"

Isaac finished stacking a pile of test sheets before looking up. His face was utterly blank, yet his dark eyes held a distinct, silent mockery. "I do not tolerate that kind of language in my classroom, Miss Orloff."

Annie's face twisted with disgust, bewildered at the professor’s comment. "Since when were manners a part of your vocabulary, professor?" She leaned across the desk, her anger sharp. "In case you're forgetting, you assaulted me because you needed my help."

"Is that so?" The professor merely smiled—a slight, cold upturn of the lips. "I simply guided your actions away from a single misstep." He settled back in his chair, his hips slightly edged forward. "And in case you're forgetting, you started trouble by bashing a book to my head. You left me with no choice, darling." The condescending term was like a cold finger tracing her spine.

The thought of inflicting physical pain on him sent a terrifying, twisted satisfaction through Annie, instantly followed by a chilling fear of his retaliation. Her thoughts went back to her friend. "What did you tell her?"

Isaac picked up a pen, his attention seemingly back on his papers. "I simply told her that you had one of your nightly escapades that led you to my laboratory. Again."

"That's it? What about the book?"

He lifted his eyes, the look a chilling blend of wit and contempt. "I told her that her good friend came to me trying to earn some extra grades. I suggested the study of Biomechanics might be too complex for her simple mind."

Annie stood frozen, her face contorting in disgust at the choice of his premeditated lie. "You're sick."

Isaac settled back, his casual tone making his words far more effective. "In case you aren't seeing, that girl has a blind loyalty towards you, Annie. She would be far more reliable to keep a secret provided with such kind of information about her dearest friend."

"I wouldn't do such undignified act to such a disgusting person," Annie retorted.

Isaac lowered his chin, his dark eyes raking over her tense figure—her dark makeup, the newly tucked hair, and the subtle exposure of abrasion around her throat—was a strange sentiment to her usual formality and conservativeness. "I know," the professor’s voice dropped to a low, conspiratorial murmur that felt utterly invasive, "but I suppose you would rather let me strip you of your dignity in exchange for confidentiality, wouldn't you?"

The vague implication sent a quiet, horrifying thrill through Annie. The thought of his absolute control, the idea of him choosing her humiliation, was a terrifying and confusing rush. A sickness settled in her stomach, blending fear and a profound, unwanted excitement.

"The deal was non-negotiable," Isaac continued, his tone casual despite the dark undercurrent of his words. "I'm sure you're smart enough to weigh the consequences if you fail to submit to our terms."

Annie stood back a little, the earlier tension in her shoulders dissipating in inevitable defeat. She paced around the desk, her eyes looking past the sight of the classroom in cold contemplation. "What do I have to do, then?"

Isaac's eyes lit up at the girl's question. His pupils were huge and dark, fixing on Annie with the cold satisfaction of a collector securing a long-sought prize. He rose from his seat, moving past Annie with a smooth, deliberate confidence that held all the threat of his authority. "Come with me."

Isaac led her past the walls of the underground classroom, through a heavy, unmarked door hidden behind a false panel. He guided her through a tight, dark passage that seemed to plunge even further beneath the surface.

With every turn, Annie felt the dizzying disorientation of a rat being trained in a laboratory maze. The air grew thick and heavy, suffocating with the smell of trapped heat and powerful, working machinery.

When they finally reached their destination, Isaac’s expression bloomed with intense pride. The ceiling was high, vaulted like an old factory, yet the low, persistent buzzing of fluorescent lights echoed throughout the isolated space.

Annie realized she was standing in a laboratory, but it was disturbingly unfamiliar. Machines lined the walls, casting deep shadows. They weren't the shiny, clinical tools she knew; these were massive, crude, and unsettling.

She surveyed the silent equipment. One machine was dominated by a heavy, articulated metal arm culminating in a cluster of fine, darkened points that glistened slightly under the light. Across the room stood an assembly of polished steel: a central slab surrounded by thick, hydraulic clamps and heavy leather straps fitted with industrial-grade ratchets. The entire space radiated a silent, enigmatic purpose.

Annie strolled forward, speechless at the unfamiliarity of the equipment. She cautiously approached the strapped assembly when she sensed swift movement in her peripheral vision.

She jumped in utter fear, her heart immediately pounding against her ribs. Standing just beyond a thick, glass wall was a person: a woman with wild, frizzy hair, wearing dirtied scrubs. The woman’s eyes were bloodshot, fixed on Annie with a terrifying, blank intensity.

Isaac spoke, his tone casual, the shocking introduction utterly at odds with the terror the woman projected. "I see you’ve met my sister."

“Your sister?” Annie echoed, her voice barely above a whisper, laced with a hint of fearful denial. “You mean this is—”

“Françoise, meet my friend,” Isaac interrupted, his voice unnervingly casual and soft against the sharp edge of Annie’s panic. “This is Annie Orloff. Annie, this is my sister, Françoise Night.”

The woman slowly stood from the cold floor in her bare feet. The shift in her posture was instantaneous upon hearing Isaac's voice—from raw terror to a strained, obedient stillness. She placed her palm flat against the thick glass wall, looking intently at Annie with an unreadable expression. Her eyes, bloodshot and wide, betrayed a deep, visceral fear not just of her confinement, but of Annie's very presence.

Isaac moved to stand close beside Annie, a soft, possessive smile lifting the corner of his mouth. He offered his palm to his sister across the thick glass wall separating them. “It’s alright, my dear sister. Annie and I share the same surgeon, remember? She is family.”

Annie reacted instantly, backing away from the terrifying scene. A cold surge of horror flooded her senses. Her back slammed against the unyielding metal of the hydraulic assembly, the heavy leather straps brushing her shoulders. The metallic chill against her skin brought a rush of nausea, her mind stirring with fear and utter disgust for the genius madman before her. “I am not your family,” she asserted, the words weak but sharp.

Isaac remained perfectly calm, his eyes fixated on his sister inside the glass prison, his expression soft and filled with an unsettling awe.

Annie stared at the woman—Françoise—trapped and terrified, a victim of her brother’s control. Annie had known of Isaac's dark reputation; she had anticipated that his work was morbid, but to see the sickness of his ambition materialized before her was a profound shock. She wasn't surprised by the evil, but the physical, visceral reality of it made her stomach heave.

Isaac continued to whisper something inaudible to his sister through a small, drilled hole in the thick glass wall.

The glass prison was a stark nightmare of custom design. Its walls were impossibly thick, secured to the floor and ceiling by heavy, industrial steel fittings. The dim, recessed lights in the corners cast cold, sterile reflections, highlighting the cell's unyielding strength. The realization hit Annie with a cold rush: this structure hadn't been manufactured; it was personally engineered by the man standing before her. Every crude, strange piece of equipment in the laboratory was likely his own creation.

The mad scientist finally turned to look at Annie with a soft, assessing smile. “I know what you’re thinking, Annie.”

Annie’s eyebrows furrowed, trying to mask her raw fear with a desperate attempt at a display of repugnance.

Isaac took deliberate steps toward her, his proximity immediately leaving Annie cornered against the cold machinery. “I sent my sister here so I could tend to her without being interrupted by uninvited guests outside class hours,” he whispered, his face dangerously close, and his voice authoritative and low.

Annie stood frozen, her eyes locking with Isaac’s dark, dilated pupils. The shadows cast by the low lights emphasized the sharp, dominant lines of his face. The heat radiating from him, close and suffocating, mixed sickeningly with the metallic chill of the lab. The implication about her own "unauthorized visitations" made her feel a confusing, sharp surge of guilt. This terrifying intensity was an unwelcome rush—a dizzying pulse of awareness that she recognized with immediate, deep self-loathing.

Isaac scanned Annie’s flushed face, his expression softening slightly as he heard Françoise’s subtle, high-pitched whimpers behind the glass. “Please excuse my sister. She’s been attacking innocent civilians lately.”

Annie felt the fear immediately consume her, sinking like a weight into her stomach and stealing what was left of her inner strength. Her mind seized, struggling to reconcile his gentle, everyday tone with the monstrous admission. The contrast between his casual voice and the horror of the attacks was utterly disorienting.

“Françoise attacked a student last week, then two police officers,” Isaac registered, his voice flat, as if recounting a simple blunder of a child breaking their mother’s vase. “I can’t risk that from happening again. She nearly died from gunshot wounds.”

Annie’s thoughts flashed back to the previous week—the image of Isaac’s bloodied surgical gloves and the news about a student attacked by a Hyde instantly clicking into place.

“She uncontrollably transformed one time, almost escaped... and I almost killed her.”

The confession confirmed Annie’s deep suspicion: his "subject" escaping was his sister all along. This truth overwhelmed Annie all at once, her head spinning from the sheer lack of oxygen caused by her driven panic.

Isaac caught her just as her strength gave out. His arm instantly snapped around her waist, hauling her against him, a grip that was immediate and absolute. Her head fell heavily against his shoulder, meeting a hard, unyielding wall of muscle beneath the clean fabric. He firmly held her weight, his breath a searing heat against her ear.

"It's alright, Annie. I won't hurt you," he murmured. His fingers dug lightly into her side, stabilizing her entirely through his force. "But you have to listen now. Be a good girl for me, and help us. Françoise needs you."

Annie could only manage a weak, almost imperceptible nod. Her vision of Françoise in the glass cell was starting to dim, and the frantic pounding of her heart was the only sound she could hear in the suffocating silence.

Isaac's grip was still on her waist, keeping her pressed tight against his side. But his eyes, cold and calculating, shifted from her face to the space of the dark, narrow entryway. His attention was fixed on the shadowed passage with a speculative, predatory certainty.

"But first," he spoke, his voice laced with a lethal, predetermined premise, "we need to get rid of our uninvited guest."