The day started normal.
If you counted "almost getting trampled by a group of House boys jogging shirtless across the quad at 6AM" as normal.
"They smell like insecurity and hair gel," the wolf muttered. "I bet their leader cries when he runs out of protein powder."
Ronan kept his head down and crossed the path before anyone made eye contact. Blackstone in the morning was a flex show — power joggers, pristine uniforms, that hush-hush energy like everyone had somewhere important to be.
He was just trying not to fail algebra.
He didn't notice anything weird until lunch.
That's when he saw the crows.
Dozens of them, sitting perfectly still along the rooftop of the administration building. Like statues. All facing the same direction.
Nobody else seemed to care.
"Calla," he muttered, catching up to her outside the library. "Do crows usually do that?"
She glanced up. Her steps slowed.
"…No," she said. "They don't."
Later, the clouds rolled in.
Fast. Heavy. Too dark for a regular afternoon.
And then the gym lights started flickering.
He was walking past the science building when he saw a janitor standing completely still in the middle of the hallway. Just… staring at a wall. Not blinking. Not moving.
"Okay," the wolf said in his ear, suddenly serious. "That's not good."
"What is it?"
"I don't know. Yet. But something's off the leash."
"Off the leash?"
"Something old. Something that knows how to hide."
At dinner, the cafeteria was half empty.
And quiet.
Too quiet.
The vending machine near the back suddenly dropped every single soda at once. No one even reacted. Just one kid looked up, shrugged, and went back to their tablet.
Calla sat across from him, watching the room like it might explode.
"You feel that?" she asked under her breath.
"Yeah," Ronan said.
"It's pressure," the wolf added. "Like something pushing in from outside. Testing the edges."
"Testing what?" he asked.
"The wards."
That night, he couldn't sleep.
Something kept scratching at the back of his mind.
Around 2AM, he pulled on his hoodie and went outside. He didn't know why. He just… couldn't stay still.
Campus was empty.
Fog hugged the sidewalks. The lamplights buzzed louder than usual.
He walked toward the edge of the woods again — something pulling at him. Not like last time. Different. Quieter. Like a hum in his bones.
He stepped close enough to see the tree line.
That's when he noticed it.
A mark. Fresh. Carved into the bark of an old oak. Three lines and a circle, slashed through the middle.
"That's an opening sigil," the wolf whispered. "Someone's trying to breach the Veil."
"What Veil"
"Don't ask something you can't understand boy" The spirit herself was having headache.
Ronan swallowed. "Can we stop it?"
"Not yet."
"Why not?"
"Because we don't know who drew it."
A gust of wind kicked up.
Ronan turned around — and nearly choked on his breath.
Behind him, across the lawn…
Someone was standing completely still in the fog.
No face.
No color.
Just a tall shape in a Blackstone uniform.
Watching.
"Walk," the wolf said.
Ronan backed up slowly.
The figure didn't move.
"Now."
He ran.
Didn't stop until he was inside, door locked, back against the wall, lungs heaving.
The mark still burned in his mind.
And in the fog, he could swear he heard whispering.