The morgue was ice cold, the scent of bleach sharp and biting in the air, but it couldn't mask the metallic tang of blood or the faint, rotting sweetness that clung to the corpses like a second skin. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, buzzing faintly, casting the room in a sickly hue that made the dead look even more grotesque. Shadows stretched across the tiled floor like creeping fingers.
Damien stood at the threshold, shoulders relaxed, an amused curl tugging at his lips. He didn't flinch. Didn't even blink. He strolled in like he owned the place—like the corpses had died just to entertain him.
His boots echoed against the floor, arrogant and deliberate, slicing through the silence. His eyes—midnight black and gleaming with disinterest—flicked to the two bodies laid out on metal slabs. A mess of torn flesh, bone fragments, and congealed blood, but that wasn't what drew his focus. It was the unnatural green hue spreading like ivy over their once-pale skin.
"Still warm," Maximilian murmured, gloved fingers brushing one of the corpses delicately. "What a waste of a good heart."
"I'd say they make lovely decorations for the semester," Damien drawled, hands buried in the pockets of his black coat. "But the stench is a bit... different from the norm."
Standing beside Maximilian was the head doctor—Mr. Scrapes. A crimson-eyed man with greying hair slicked back, skin drawn tight over sharp cheekbones, and a nose mask obscuring the lower half of his face. He looked like he belonged in the morgue more than the corpses did.
"They were subjected to neuroshock trauma," Scrapes announced, his voice muffled yet cutting. "Before they were mutilated."
Leonard, lurking by the side wall, folded his arms. "Shock? As in—an attack?"
Scrapes nodded, eyes gleaming behind his glasses. "And the creature didn't just attack. It used venom."
Damien arched a brow, finally giving the doctor his full attention. "How so?"
"The venom of decay," Scrapes said slowly, and the room seemed to shift with the weight of those words. "The kind that kills even vampires."
Damien's smug expression didn't waver, but his jaw ticked. He strode toward the slab, eyes flicking to the corpse's distorted, pale-green features. The rot had set in fast—too fast. Skin was peeling, veins bulging black beneath the surface.
"And where do you think this venomous darling of a creature came from?" he asked, voice like silk dragged over steel.
Scrapes paused. "There are scales on the claws retrieved from the scene."
"Sea scales?" Maximilian asked, fingers twitching at the mention.
"Correct. The pigmentation, texture—it suggests the creature emerged from the ocean."
"How convenient," Damien mused, gazing down at the corpse like it bored him. "A sea monster who hates vampires. Maybe it's a romantic."
"The venom remains active even post-mortem," Maximilian added. "I tried injecting neutralizers. They failed. Whatever this thing is, it's ancient... and angry."
Scrapes adjusted his glasses. "I've sealed a sample in a vial. It's being sent for further testing, though I doubt we have anything to compare it to."
Damien walked around the slab slowly, fingers trailing along the cold steel as he hummed softly. "Mr. Scrapes," he said, pausing near the foot of the table, "do you truly believe it's from the sea? Scales appear on land creatures too."
The doctor pulled off his glasses with a slow, deliberate motion, meeting Damien's gaze without flinching. "There's an old myth," he said. "Of beasts born beneath the tides. Spawned from the same waters that cursed our kind with the disease of decay. They don't merely respond to the sea—they serve it."
Leonard leaned forward. "You think a sea creature brought it here?"
"That is my theory. And if it was summoned—"
"—Then the summoner is still on the island," Damien finished, lips twitching into a half-smile. "How beautifully intriguing ."
"Possibly a student," Scrapes murmured.
Damien chuckled, turning away. His eyes narrowing, was this perhaps Cora summoning a creature unknowingly or there was another creature on the island.
---
Back at the dormitory, the mood was starkly different.
The door burst open, and Cora froze at the sight before her. Her wardrobe was flung wide, drawers hanging open like gaping mouths. In the center of the chaos stood Sienna , her manicured fingers buried in Cora's belongings, eyes wild with frustration.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Cora's voice was low, dangerous, and laced with something she hadn't used before—authority.
Sienna didn't even flinch. She turned with a smirk, eyes gleaming with superiority. "Looking for what you're hiding under that freak mask of yours."
Amelia stormed in behind Cora. "And you thought you'd find it in her sock drawer? Are you actually that dumb?"
Sienna rolled her eyes, flicking her brunette curls over her shoulder. "Please. Spare me the theatrics. Everyone knows she's hiding something disgusting. Damien must be under some kind of spell. He belongs with someone like me."
Cora blinked, realization dawning. So that was it. Jealousy. Not curiosity.
"You think Damien would give you a second glance?" Cora stepped forward, her masked face tilted slightly. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, Sienna, but even if you threw yourself off a cliff, he'd still be looking at me."
The words hit like a slap, and Sienna recoiled. Her nostrils flared, her lips trembling just slightly.
"And for the record," Cora continued, stepping right into her space, "touch my things again, and you'll see just how weird I can get. Spoiled princess tantrums won't save you."
For a moment, the spoiled socialite faltered. Something flickered in her eyes—uncertainty? Fear?
Then, like clockwork, she recovered, flipping her hair and storming out of the room.
Amelia whooped beside her. "Holy crap, my masked queen. I'm so freaking proud of you."
Cora allowed herself a smile as Amelia hugged her, but her fingers itched with the need to clean the mess. As she started tidying, her hand brushed against the neatly wrapped bars of soap her mother had given her.
One had slipped free of its wrapper.
She paused, fingers grazing its surface. Something was... off. There was a faint shimmer—like crushed crystals embedded into it. And when she rubbed it between her fingertips, it left behind a residue, grainy and subtly metallic.
She'd used these bars countless times before. Why hadn't she noticed this texture?
Lifting it to her nose, she inhaled deeply.
Lavender. But beneath that—something sharper. Alchemical. Like dried herbs soaked in saltwater and sun.
Her pulse quickened. Could it be...
Was this soap masking something?
Or worse... was it hiding her?
She stared down at the bar in her hand, her heart pounding louder than before.