Stalking isn't exactly something I planned on doing when I got to Dicarthen, but here I am.
Rose Ravencroft moves through the academy like she owns the place. Which, to be fair, she kind of does. The Ravencroft name carries weight, and she wears it like armor. Unshakable. Unreachable. But not unwatchable.
I've been shadowing her for days now, learning her habits, her routine, her little circle of so-called "friends." They're all polished, well-dressed, and radiating that aristocratic air of casual cruelty. I watch them laugh at jokes that aren't funny, sip expensive tea, and whisper secrets like they're playing at some grand theater production.
None of it helps me. Not a single damn thing about Marienne.
But quitting isn't an option. So I keep watching. Keep following.
It's gotten to the point where I know her schedule better than my own. Every class, every corridor, every pointless interaction. She's meticulous, disciplined, and frustratingly ordinary when it comes to routine.
But today, I have a new angle. She's heading to Professor Jonathon's class.
Perfect.
Jonathon is an enigma in his own right, always lurking around the academy like a well-dressed wraith. Maybe today, something will finally slip through the cracks.
I trail behind, keeping a safe distance. Not too close to be obvious, not too far to lose sight of her. At this point, I could write a book about the back of her head.
She walks into the lecture hall, and I slip in after her, finding a seat a few rows back. The room is already filled with students, but I don't care about them. My eyes stay locked on Rose.
And for once, she looks... unsettled.
Interesting.
She sits straighter than usual, her fingers tapping lightly against the desk. Nervous? Anxious? Is it Jonathon, or is it something else?
I rest my chin on my hand, staring at her like a man who has absolutely nothing better to do with his time.
She shifts slightly.
Oh? Did she just—?
Her shoulders tense, just the slightest bit.
I smile.
Does she know?
The thought sends a shiver of amusement through me. She's perceptive, I'll give her that. But I'm better.
Professor Jonathon enters, his presence commanding the room immediately. He scans the students, his sharp gaze cutting through the air. When his eyes land on me, there's the briefest pause. A flicker of recognition, maybe even suspicion.
I smile wider.
Jonathon doesn't react, but I see the way his fingers tighten around the papers he's holding. He knows I'm up to something. Good. I wouldn't want to bore him.
The lecture begins, but I barely hear it. I'm too busy watching Rose. Watching the way she stiffens whenever Jonathon speaks. Watching the way her fingers grip her quill just a little too hard.
Something is off.
Most people at Dicarthen have normal routines. Wake up, attend classes, complain about coursework, and maybe find time to gossip about who's climbing the social ladder and who's plummeting headfirst.
Mine's a little different.
My mornings start with avoiding Snowflake, which is an exhausting full-time job in itself. She has this unsettling ability to appear exactly when I least want her to, flashing that knowing smile like she can read my mind. Maybe she can. That wouldn't even be the weirdest thing about her.
Then there's the stalking. Rose Ravencroft has unknowingly become the center of my world, her schedule more familiar to me than my own. I've memorized every class she takes, every path she walks, every insignificant moment of her daily life.
But it's not enough.
Every day I follow her, hoping for something—anything—that'll lead me to Marienne. And every day, I come up empty-handed. It should be frustrating, but frustration implies I might give up. That's not an option.
Then, of course, there's the other thing.
The blood on my hands.
I don't talk about it. I don't think about it—not in a way that lets it consume me. But it's always there, a quiet, lingering presence at the back of my mind. Some days, it feels like a shadow stretching behind me, too faint for others to notice but impossible for me to ignore.
Dicarthen is a place of opportunity. A place where people reinvent themselves, where ambition takes precedence over morality. And me? I walk the line between both, a perfect student on one side, a monster on the other.
And that's my routine.
Avoidance. Obsession. Guilt.
Rinse and repeat.
I remained silent, lost in my own world. The weight of my thoughts pressed down like a phantom hand on my shoulder—familiar, inescapable.
Then a voice cut through the haze.
Isla: "You. Partner up."
I blinked, turning to her. She sat beside me, arms crossed, her expression as unreadable as ever.
I frowned. "For what?"
Isla: "The project."
Her tone was flat, like she was already tired of this conversation.
Isla: "Professor Jonathon wants pairs."
Fuck, I wasn't listening.
I glanced around. The class was already forming groups, hushed discussions filling the space. I hadn't even noticed.
Isla didn't elaborate. She just stared, waiting.
I leaned back in my chair.
Castor: "Why me?"
Isla: "No one else would."
There was no bitterness in her voice, no self-pity—just a cold statement of fact. She might as well have been discussing the weather.
My fingers tapped against the desk. Isla wasn't exactly wrong. People tended to keep their distance from her. She didn't go out of her way to be approachable, and most weren't brave enough to test the waters.
I exhaled. "Fine. Just don't expect me to do all the work."
She barely reacted.
Isla: "Wouldn't dream of it."
Professor Jonathon's instructions had been simple—pick a partner, choose a topic, and start researching. Of course, nothing was ever that simple.
I sat beside Isla, a thick textbook opened between us. The topic? The Industrial Revolution. Pages filled with grainy images of factories, soot-covered workers, and endless columns of text stretched before us.
I could already feel my brain protesting. But Isla? She was perfectly composed, flipping through pages with methodical ease.
I stole a quick glance across the room. Rose Ravencroft sat two rows ahead, chin resting in her hand as she listened to her partner murmur something. I wasn't sure what I was looking for—some reaction, some tell—but she gave me nothing.
Isla: "If you're going to stalk her, at least be subtle."
I froze for half a second before turning back to the book. Isla wasn't even looking at me—she was still reading. But her words had been sharp, cutting straight through my act.
I cleared my throat, shifting. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
She finally glanced at me, one eyebrow slightly raised. Isla: "Sure. And I'm the Empress of Dicarthen."
Sarcasm should actually be sarcasm, Miss Isla Vritra.
I huffed, turning a page aggressively.
Castor: "If you must know, I was just thinking about how the Industrial Revolution was a mess."
She exhaled, a faint hint of amusement in her voice.
Isla: "It was necessary."
I gestured at the page.
Castor: "Necessary? You mean child labor, tenement housing, and people dropping dead in coal mines? Yeah, very necessary."
Isla: "Progress demands sacrifice."
I snorted. Are you a dictator?
Castor: "That sounds like something a dictator would say. Are you a dictator?"
She tilted her head slightly, considering.
Isla: "Dictators understand efficiency."
I gave her a sidelong glance.
"I'm starting to think I should be scared of you."
Isla: "You should be."
For a moment, there was silence. A brief flicker of something almost like amusement danced in her eyes, but it was gone before I could name it.
I tapped the book.
Castor: "Okay, fine. It wasn't all bad. Mass production, better infrastructure, the rise of cities—"
Isla: "—which led to overpopulation, resource depletion, and wealth disparity."
I smirked. You really do know what you're talking about.
Castor: "So, you admit it was a mess?"
Isla: "I admit it was a contradiction."
She turned the page smoothly.
Isla: "But that's how the world works. Every advancement has its price. You should know that better than most."
That last sentence hit a little too close to home. My fingers tensed against the desk, but I forced a chuckle.
Castor: "Wow. This was supposed to be a history lesson, not an existential crisis."
Isla: "Then stop turning it into one."
She leaned forward, her eyes scanning the text again. But I noticed it—the brief flicker of movement as her gaze darted toward Rose. Not just once. Twice.
She had noticed.
I debated playing dumb, but something told me Isla wouldn't buy it. Instead, I exhaled and leaned back in my chair, smirking.
Castor: "What, interested in Ravencroft now?"
Isla: "No. Just interested in why you are."
I lean back slightly in my chair, keeping my eyes on Rose, but part of my attention is diverted to Isla, her voice cutting through the silence.
Me: "Do you know something about Rose?"
Isla's gaze sharpens, cold and calculating. "I might. But I don't talk about other people's business without a good reason."
I raise an eyebrow, the glint in my eyes never wavering.
Castor: "I'm guessing you'll want something in return?"
She shrugs nonchalantly, her tone uninterested.
Isla: "You're quick, I'll give you that. Tell me why you're stalking her, and maybe I'll think about it."
I scoff, my tone just shy of dismissive, though I'm already weighing her words in my mind.
Castor: "Like I'm going to just spill my reasons. That's not how this works."
Her eyes narrow for a second, the usual sharpness in her gaze shifting for a brief moment before she sighs. Leaning back in her chair, she crosses her arms, adopting an almost bored air.
Isla: "You're after Marienne, aren't you?"
My hand stills for a fraction of a second, but I quickly regain my composure and continue watching Rose. My voice drops a little, just enough for her to catch it.
Castor: "So, what if I am?"
Isla smirks, but it's not a kind expression. She watches me for a moment, as if sizing me up, before speaking again, her tone lighter, amused.
Isla: "I knew it. You're obsessed with her, aren't you? You want to find out what happened to your sister, and she's the key."
She leans forward, her voice turning cold now.
Isla: "If you think I'm going to help you just because you want to play hero, you're wrong. But... if you want my help, you'll have to show me why I should give a damn."
I keep my eyes trained on Rose, watching her every move like it's a game I need to win. Isla leans in slightly, catching my attention with that teasing glint in her eye.
Isla: "You know, Rose might have a thing for history professors."
I blink, snapping back to reality as Isla's words settle into my mind. A small smirk pulls at my lips, more out of amusement than any real interest.
Castor: "I thought you said I need to give you a reason for you to care."
Isla: "I realised that I might not like that girl, after all."
Castor: "What makes you say that?"
She shrugs casually, but there's a mischievous undertone to her words.
Isla: "I've seen the way she looks at Jonathon. Always extra attentive when he's around."
She smirks, leaning back, clearly enjoying herself.
Isla: "But then again, who could blame her? He's got that 'I'm so knowledgeable' vibe, doesn't he?"
Are you in a love triangle?
I raise an eyebrow, glancing at Isla for a second before my eyes slide back to Rose. The thought is strange, but... it's information. I can't ignore it.
Castor: "Interesting. Didn't think Rose was the type."
Her smirk deepens, and she leans back in her chair, obviously enjoying the little banter.
Isla: "Well, people are full of surprises. You think you're the only one with a hidden agenda?"
I narrow my eyes slightly. There's more to Isla's words than she's letting on, and I can't tell if she's just toying with me or if there's something deeper there.
I tilt my head, voice quieter, more thoughtful.
Castor: "What, you think that's something I should use?"
She chuckles, her gaze flicking to me before casually returning to the text in front of her. She doesn't miss a beat.
Isla: "I'm not saying anything. But... sometimes knowing what makes someone tick can be useful. Just don't get too obsessed, or you might miss the bigger picture."
I don't respond right away. I'm still processing what she's said, trying to figure out if she's genuinely trying to help me or if she's just messing with me like she usually does. I keep watching Rose, though, her presence drawing me in like a magnet. Could it be possible that she's got a thing for Jonathon? It's a strange thought, but one worth considering.
Sighing inwardly, I speak quietly, almost to myself.
Castor: "We'll see where it leads."
I can feel her gaze on me as she picks up on the change in my demeanor. Her voice shifts, quieter and almost more serious than usual.
Isla: "Just be careful. People like Rose... they don't just have one side to them. You'd be wise not to fall for the obvious."
I glance at her, surprised by the shift in her tone. Isla's sharp, sure, but there's something different in the way she's looking at me now. Almost like she's not just talking about Rose but something deeper.
I raise an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at my lips, unsure whether she's warning me or playing some kind of game.
Castor: "You think she's dangerous?"
Her expression softens a fraction, though not enough to be considered warm. More like she's indulging in some private amusement. She meets my eyes with a faint smile.
Isla: "Dangerous? I wouldn't say that. But she's got layers, Whitmore. Don't underestimate people just because they seem like an easy puzzle to solve."
I let her words settle for a moment. She's right, I know. I'm not one to underestimate people, but I'm also aware that people like Rose can be unpredictable. The way she's involved in all this with Marienne... I can't let myself get distracted.
I let out a soft chuckle, but it's not one of amusement. It's something darker, something that's been brewing for a while now.
Castor: "I'm not exactly the type to underestimate people, Isla."
And yes, I'll call you by your first name although you still call me Whitmore. You don't seem to mind either.
She smiles faintly, her lips curling into a near-imperceptible grin. But her eyes—those cold, calculating eyes—stay locked on me, assessing, as if she's studying me for something.
Her voice is barely above a whisper, her gaze turning back to the textbook in front of her, but there's a warning in her tone that's hard to ignore.
Isla: "Good. Just remember, everyone's got their secrets. And if you dig deep enough, you might find some that you don't really want to know, Castor."
A shiver runs down my spine at her words. She's not wrong. People like Rose, like anyone in this place—there are always layers, hidden truths. And as much as I want to peel them away, I know I have to be careful. Because not all truths are ones I want to uncover.
I don't respond immediately, my mind still lingering on her warning. I focus on Rose again, but a part of me can't help but think Isla's words are creeping under my skin more than I'd like to admit.
Castor: "I'll keep that in mind."
Isla doesn't say anything more, but I can feel her eyes on me. Whatever game she's playing, she's already won a small victory. For now, I'll just have to be more cautious, but I'll still keep watching, keep digging. Rose, Jonathon, the Ravencroft House—it's all part of the puzzle. And I plan on solving it, no matter what.
As classes end, I slip into my usual routine—keeping a careful distance behind Rose as she moves through the academy halls. By now, I know her patterns, her routes, the little details she probably doesn't even think about. The way she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear every time she's deep in thought, how she lingers just a second longer by the library before deciding to move on, the way she always takes the long route through the courtyard, even when it's empty.
I follow her outside, my steps light, my expression unreadable. Then I hear it.
A voice—low, slurred, and far too close.
My gaze snaps forward. A senior, his uniform slightly disheveled, eyes bloodshot, stands in front of Rose, his stance unsteady. He reeks of cheap cigarettes and something far worse.
He leans in too close, voice dripping with something vile.
Senior: "C'mon, don't be like that, Ravencroft. You're always actin' so high and mighty—what, too good to even talk to me?"
Rose takes a step back, her usual composed expression faltering slightly.
Rose: "Get out of my way."
The senior chuckles, his grin widening in a way that makes my blood boil.
Senior: "Or what?"
He reaches out, fingers curling toward her wrist.
Senior: "You gonna scream for help?"
Rose's shoulders tense.
I move before I even register the decision.
A second later, the junkie senior is on the ground, groaning in pain, his head bouncing off the stone pathway. My knuckles sting slightly, but I barely acknowledge it.
The only sound is Rose's sharp inhale as she stares at me, her violet eyes wide with surprise.
I roll my shoulders back, stepping over the unconscious idiot as if he were nothing more than an inconvenience.
Castor: "You should really be more careful about where you walk, Ravencroft."
She exhales sharply, regaining her composure as she crosses her arms.
Rose: "I could've handled it."
I give her a slow, amused glance.
Castor: "Sure. You looked like you had a great plan."
She narrows her eyes at me but doesn't argue.
I tilt my head slightly.
Castor: "No 'thank you'?"
Rose scoffs, brushing past me.
Rose: "I don't owe you anything."
I smirk. Typical.
But as she walks away, I can tell—she's still thinking about it.
I fall into step beside Rose as she strides away, her usual sharp grace returning with every step. She doesn't acknowledge me at first, but that's fine—I'm used to that reaction.
Castor: "You know..."
I start casually, keeping my gaze ahead,
Castor: "It's not every day you see a Ravencroft getting cornered by some washed-up senior."
Rose doesn't even glance at me.
Rose: "It was an inconvenience. Nothing more."
Castor: "Inconvenience?"
I let out a short chuckle. "Didn't look that way to me."
She stops suddenly, turning her piercing violet eyes toward me.
Rose: "Are you expecting something in return?"
I grin, tilting my head slightly.
Castor: "Oh, no. I was just wondering how you'd repay me."
She scoffs, crossing her arms.
Rose: "You must be delusional if you think I owe you anything."
Castor: "Maybe."
I muse, taking a step closer, lowering my voice just enough.
Castor: "But wouldn't it be nice to have someone who owes you instead?"
Rose narrows her eyes but doesn't speak. She's thinking about it. Good.
I decide to change the direction of the conversation.
Castor: "You know, I've been hearing some interesting things about you."
She exhales sharply, already irritated.
Rose: "Oh, wonderful. Do tell."
I lean in slightly, smirking.
Castor: "You have a thing for history professors, don't you?"
She stiffens, and for the first time, she actually looks thrown off.
Rose: "What?"
I watch her reaction carefully, amused by the flicker of discomfort in her eyes.
Castor: "Professor Jonathon, right? I've seen the way you watch him during lectures."
Her lips press into a thin line, and for a second, she looks genuinely creeped out.
Rose: "How do you even know that?"
I shrug.
Castor: "I'm observant."
Or a stalker.
Rose looks at me like she's trying to decide whether I'm insane or just incredibly annoying. Maybe both.
Rose: "And why exactly are you bringing this up?"
I offer her an easy smile.
Castor: "Because I can help you."
Her expression darkens.
Rose: "Help me?"
Castor: "I can be your cupid."
No brother would do the things I do for you, Marienne. Whether that includes actually murdering a man or playing cupid for miss-fucking-Ravencroft and John-Boy.
Castor: Get you closer to Jonathon, make sure things go your way. Who knows? Maybe he just needs a little push in the right direction."
Rose is silent, searching my face for any sign of deception. I don't give her much.
Rose: "And why would you do that?"
She finally asks, suspicion dripping from her voice.
I meet her gaze evenly.
Castor: "Let's just say I like making things… interesting."
She doesn't look convinced, but she also doesn't immediately refuse. That's all I need.
After a long moment, she sighs.
Rose: "Fine. But I'm watching you."
I smirk.
Castor: "Oh, I'd expect nothing less."
She rolls her eyes but—surprisingly—gives a slight nod.
Rose: "And… thanks. For earlier."
I raise a brow, mock surprise in my tone.
Castor: "Was that a 'thank you'?"
Rose: "Don't push it." she mutters, before turning on her heel and walking away.
I watch her go, amusement lingering in my gaze.
This is going to be fun.
At first, I didn't care about Rose beyond what she could offer me. She was just another stepping stone toward Marienne—an obstacle I had to maneuver around. But something unexpected happened.
She started talking to me.
It wasn't immediate. The first few conversations were shallow—classwork complaints, idle chatter about how the cafeteria food was getting worse. But people like Rose always wanted to be heard, and I was very good at making people feel heard.
I asked the right questions. I listened, nodding at the right moments. I wasn't comforting—not in the traditional sense—but I never dismissed her thoughts. And that made her open up more.
Then, one day, as we sat under the old oak tree in the courtyard, she told me.
Rose: "I think I have a thing for Professor Jonathon."
I didn't react right away. I let the words hang in the air, as if weighing them.
Castor: "Oh?"
She exhaled, running a hand through her dark auburn hair, her fingers catching in the strands as if she were debating whether to say more.
Rose: "He's… different."
I tilted my head slightly, keeping my voice casual. "Different how?"
She scoffed, shaking her head as if the answer should have been obvious.
Rose: "He actually listens. He doesn't talk down to people. He makes me feel like I matter."
Ah. There it was.
People didn't fall for others at random. It was always need-based. They latched onto those who filled a void in them. Rose's void? She wanted to be seen.
I leaned back, resting an arm over the bench. "And what happens if he doesn't feel the same?"
She looked at me then, really looked at me, her eyes narrowing as if I had hit a nerve.
Rose: "Then I'll get over it."
Her voice was steady, but there was something defensive about it. She wanted to believe she was in control of her emotions, that she wasn't already too deep in them.
I hummed, my gaze sharp. "You sure?"
She scoffed, looking away. "It's not like I'm in love with him or anything. It's just… admiration. That's all."
Admiration.
I knew better. Infatuation disguised as admiration was still infatuation. And she was already in too deep to admit it.
Then she said something unexpected.
Rose: "You should come to this house party later."
I blinked. She asked it like it was an afterthought, but I could hear the hesitation in her tone. The expectation.
Something was shifting.
I tilted my head. "You sure you want someone like me there?"
She laughed lightly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "You're not as bad as people say."
Oh, Rose.
I smiled, but there was nothing warm in it. If only you knew.
Still, I accepted the invitation. Not because I wanted to, but because this charade had gone on long enough.
It was time to end it.