Mist coiled around the iron gates like something alive, reaching for the wheels as if trying to hold me back. I stepped out, boots crunching on gravel, and the first thing I saw was the crest over the archway: a sword shattered in three, a star above it.
Velgrave Academy.
The stories didn't do it justice.
It didn't feel like a school.
It felt like a mausoleum built for memories no one dared name.
The students moved past me, all dressed in the same uniform—black, with silver stitching across the shoulders like veins. I didn't know where to go, so I followed the flow of footsteps and silence.
And then, in the middle of the grand hall, I felt it.
That prickling on my skin.
That electric throb beneath my shoulder blades.
I turned slowly.
And he was there.
Gael Dravien.
Leaning against a pillar like a secret wrapped in shadows. His eyes weren't just gray—they were ash, stormlight and grief carved into irises.
Older than I remembered. Sharper. Quieter.
Our eyes met.
And for a heartbeat, everything else fell away.
He didn't say a word.
Neither did I.
But something inside me whispered:
"We shouldn't remember each other… but we do."