The hallway outside Lorne's office blurred past Ronan in a sprint.
His breath came in sharp bursts. His pulse was roaring in his ears.
The wolf inside him was growling. Restless.
"Too quiet," it muttered. "Something's off. Not the professor. Something else."
That stopped him cold.
"What do you mean not the—"
CRACK!
Something smashed into him from the side.
Ronan slammed into the wall, shoulder-first.
A blur of movement followed—too fast, too strong.
He looked up just in time to see a familiar face twist with fury.
"No…" Ronan gasped.
It was Jackson, a senior. Quiet. Reliable. Someone Ronan had once worked with on a group project. A guy who barely talked.
Now?
His eyes were black.
Veins spiderwebbed up his neck.
"Why?" Ronan demanded, blocking another blow.
Jackson bared his teeth. "You. Ruined. Everything."
The air distorted.
The wolf roared inside Ronan's skull.
"Leech host! Full corruption—he's too far gone!"
But before Ronan could strike back, Professor Lorne's door flew open.
Light blasted into the hallway.
Not electric.
Something else.
Ronan shielded his eyes—
And saw Calla, panting, pale—but alive.
And Lorne behind her. Calm. Hands glowing faintly. Like he'd been preparing something.
"Move!" Lorne barked.
Calla reached forward and grabbed Ronan's wrist.
The shadow behind her twisted—
Then ripped away like smoke on wind.
It shrieked.
An inhuman sound.
And then it latched onto Jackson instead.
His scream nearly burst the lights overhead.
The dark mist coiled into him like worms burrowing into soil, and his body jolted backward—then bolted down the hall in a staggering run, his footsteps echoing out of sight.
Gone.
Calla crumpled into Ronan's chest.
Breathing hard. Skin clammy.
But free.
Totally free.
Lorne knelt beside her, touching two fingers to her forehead. The glow in his hands faded.
"That was the last of it," he said gently. "You're clean now."
Ronan's brain scrambled for meaning.
"You— You're not the one controlling it?"
Lorne looked up at him. His eyes were tired.
"No," he said simply. "I've been trying to contain it. For years."
"But why hide it?" Calla asked, voice hoarse.
"Because students don't listen to stories. They chase ghosts, trying to make a name. You weren't the first pair to come looking." His expression softened. "But you're the first to get this close and live."
Ronan stared at him. "You could've warned us."
"I did," Lorne said quietly. "Three days ago. Red scarf. Torn paper. I told you: Run deeper before it runs you."
Ronan blinked.
"That was you?"
Lorne nodded once.
Silence settled like dust.
Then the wolf stirred.
"He's legit," it said, almost grudging. "Strong. Old. Probably saved your asses."
They walked back to the dorms under a sky just starting to gray with dawn.
Calla leaned into Ronan, still shaky but smiling faintly.
"It's gone," she whispered.
He nodded. "For now."
"And you punched a demon-possessed student today. So that's new."
"Technically, he punched me first."
"You're still gonna be famous."
"Only if you don't tell anyone I nearly cried."
She grinned. "Too late."