The east wing of the Silverthorne arts building always smelled like charcoal and turpentine. Time seemed to move slower here, dragging through the dust-filled air and worn wooden floors. In the early evening light, the corridor felt like a secret passage tucked away from the rest of campus—half-forgotten, half-enchanted.
It was quiet this time of day—nearly empty except for the distant echo of music from the practice rooms and the occasional creak of floorboards that hadn't been repaired since the sixties. The perfect place to hide. Or to practice the kind of secrets we couldn't share in public.
Ana pushed open the door to a side room and slipped inside like she'd done it a hundred times. The lights flickered overhead, buzzing faintly as they revealed easels lined against the far wall, jars of cracked paint, and canvases covered in dust and forgotten brushstrokes. The energy in the room was still, waiting—like it knew we were there for more than sketching fruit bowls.
I followed, my boots scuffing against the scratched linoleum as I set my bag down near the wall. "Better than the gym," I muttered, glancing at the boarded-up windows. "At least no one's pretending to be human in here."
Ana grinned, already rolling up the sleeves of her oversized sweater. "Except us."
There was something soothing about Ana's presence when we were alone. No pressure. No questions. Just two girls trying to make sense of the pieces inside them that didn't fit anywhere else. Here, we didn't have to lie.
She reached into her purse and pulled out two white candles—slender, worn, and familiar. They weren't fancy. No symbols carved into the wax. No inscriptions. Just pure intention.
She placed them between us on the floor, then sank to her knees in front of them. "Same as always?"
I nodded, dropping into a cross-legged position opposite her. "Unless you want to summon a demon today."
Ana gave a small, dramatic gasp. "Scarlet. That's Tuesday's ritual."
I smiled despite myself. "My bad."
Her hands moved with practiced ease, flicking her fingers in a lazy circle above the candles. No matches. No whisper of spellwork. Just breath and blood and instinct.
The wicks ignited in a soft puff of gold flame.
I lifted my palm, drawing a slow curve through the air. The candlelight bent toward the motion—stretching like taffy toward my hand. I closed my eyes briefly, focusing on the pulse of power at my core. When I opened them again, both flames twisted in the air, spiraling together in a delicate dance suspended between us.
Ana's eyes widened slightly as the flames formed the shape of twin serpents—glowing tendrils that circled one another without burning out.
"Okay," she whispered, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Showoff."
I let the flames flicker once more before releasing the hold. They snapped back into place with a hiss, still steady on their wicks. "It's not a contest."
"Says the girl who just made twin fire snakes flirt with gravity," Ana teased.
"You're the one who wanted to push it."
She tilted her head, feigning thought. "I did. But I didn't expect that." She leaned back on her hands, her magic crackling faintly in the air around her. "You've gotten stronger."
I swallowed the flicker of pride that rose in my throat. "It's been... harder to hide it lately."
Ana nodded. "You feel more charged. Like you're carrying more than just your own power."
I didn't answer that. Because she wasn't wrong. And I didn't know how to explain the truth of what I'd started to feel—like something was awakening beneath the surface of my skin. Something old. Something mine.
———————
We sat in silence for a while after that, threading energy between us like a secret string. My fingers moved through the air, drawing soft currents that bent the candlelight, while Ana closed her eyes and hummed softly under her breath. It wasn't just magic. It was meditation. Connection. A quiet reminder of who we were beneath the roles we played in daylight.
Here, we weren't cheer captain and curious Juniors. We weren't pretending to be human. We weren't broken girls from blood-soaked bloodlines.
Here, we were just us.
I glanced at Ana. Her lashes were dark against her cheekbones, her expression peaceful but focused. The scent of lavender and melted wax curled through the air.
It was almost enough to feel safe.
Until the door creaked open.
Both of us jolted, the candles snuffing out instantly with a sharp hiss. I turned just in time to see the silhouette stepping into the room—tall, broad-shouldered, and holding a football loosely under one arm.
Brett.
His brow arched slightly as he stepped farther into the room, eyes adjusting to the low light. "Oh," he said, voice casual. "Didn't realize I was interrupting your... ritual?"
Brett's brow arched slightly as he stepped farther into the room, eyes adjusting to the low light. "Oh," he said, voice casual. "Didn't realize I was interrupting your... ritual?"
Ana smiled smoothly, already tucking the candles back into her purse as if she hadn't just been bending elemental energy in the air. "Just a little study break. Campus stress—you know how it is."
Brett chuckled, leaning against the doorframe. "Sure didn't look like homework."
He looked around—curious, not suspicious. Not yet. His gaze landed on me. "Scarlet."
"Brett," I said, forcing a smirk and standing with calculated ease. "Do you normally wander into abandoned art rooms, or am I just lucky?"
"I follow the scent of smoke and rebellion," he said, spinning the football lazily in his hands. "Smelled both."
Ana arched a brow. "You always this charming?"
He grinned. "Only when I'm interrupting secret witchy meetings."
I snorted, brushing off my jeans. "You're lucky we didn't turn you into a frog."
"Tempting offer," he said, then stepped farther in. "Actually, I came to ask if either of you wanted to join us outside. There's a pickup flag football game happening on the back field. Half the team's out there—Zack, some of the receivers, even a couple cheerleaders. Thought you might want to show off your speed again."
I caught the way his eyes lingered on me when he said it. Not flirty—curious. Like he was watching for something beneath the surface.
I glanced at Ana.
She shrugged with a sly smirk. "Why not?"
I grabbed my jacket, slipping it over my arms. "We'll keep it low-key."
"No enchantments," Ana agreed, grabbing her bag. "No glowing eyes."
She shot me a look. "Mostly."
⸻———
The back field was an open stretch of green tucked behind the east quad, bordered by thin trees and the scent of damp leaves. The sun was starting its descent, bleeding amber light across the sky and turning the edges of everything gold.
The group was already gathered—stretching, laughing, tossing footballs lazily between warm-up drills. It was casual, almost nostalgic. For a second, I let myself pretend it was normal. That we were normal.
Brett jogged ahead and waved us over. "Girls versus guys?"
Ana gave him a mock-pitying look. "You sure about that?"
Zack trotted over and tossed a ball toward Brett. "She's got a point, man. They've got Scarlet."
"And Ana," Brett added, shooting me a sideways glance. "She's not exactly subtle."
Ana tilted her head. "You say that like it's a bad thing."
We split into teams. I ended up with Ana, one of the other cheerleaders—Sienna, I thought—and a lanky art student with a wild head of curls who introduced himself as Theo and admitted he'd never played before. The guys—Brett, Zack, and two receivers whose names I forgot—lined up across from us with mock intensity.
"Let's keep it clean," Brett called. "And no superpowers."
I smirked. "Speak for yourself."
The whistle Zack pulled from his hoodie shrieked, and the first play launched.
I took off from the line like a shot, adrenaline surging through my legs. I kept my speed carefully capped—not quite human, not quite supernatural. Just fast enough to make people second-guess what they saw. My footwork was sharp, calculated, flawless. The wind whipped through my braid as I cut toward the end zone, dodging a receiver with a twist of my hips that felt almost too smooth.
Ana had her own approach. Her magic wasn't flashy—not here. Just a subtle pulse of energy that made her impossible to grab. Every time one of the guys lunged toward her, their foot would slip in the grass or their fingers would brush just shy of the flag at her hip.
I caught her eye across the field. She winked.
"Low-key," she mouthed.
I rolled my eyes, breathless. "You're worse than me."
We scored the first touchdown easily. The guys claimed it was a fluke. Then we did it again. And again. And again.
By the fourth, Brett was panting, hands on his hips, sweat darkening the collar of his shirt. He met me near midfield, running a hand through his hair.
"You sure you're just a wolf?" he asked, chest heaving.
I grinned. "Guess you'll have to keep playing to find out."
"Challenge accepted."
⸻———
We played until the sun dipped below the trees and the shadows stretched long across the field. The air cooled, rich with the scent of pine and earth. Someone pulled out a speaker, and music played low in the background—something upbeat, threaded with just enough bass to echo faintly in my chest.
There were no questions. No suspicions. Just laughter. Breathless trash talk. The squeak of cleats on grass. And the fragile illusion of being young and unburdened.
Brett collapsed onto the grass after the final play, arms stretched out, chest rising and falling. I jogged over and dropped beside him, my legs trembling pleasantly from the effort.
"Still think you're faster?" I asked.
He glanced over at me, brow raised, eyes gleaming. "You cheat."
"You blinked."
"Exactly."
Ana flopped beside us with a groan. "Remind me why we're pretending to be normal again?"
Brett sat up on his elbows, casting a glance toward the group scattered across the field. "Because if you weren't, this would've been a lot less fun."
I caught the way he looked at me then. Lingering. Like he was trying to memorize something.
I looked away first.
He stood slowly and dusted himself off. "Next game, you and me. One-on-one."
"You're on," I said.
But something heavy twisted in my stomach.
Because as much as I liked the game—as much as I wanted the banter and the closeness and the rush—I could feel the thread pulling tighter every time Brett looked at me that way. Every time he questioned what I was.
It wouldn't be long now.
The more he saw—the more I let him see—the less we'd be able to hide.
Still... for now, it was just a game.
And I could play.
For a little while longer.