Nevermore was in an uproar. 

Rumors swirled around the quad. Gorgons pulled their caps tighter over their heads and shot venomous glares at sirens as they scuttled past. 

Sitting on top of a picnic table, a confounded Ajax insisted that he didn't remember any of it happening, so it couldn't be true. Someone in the gathered swarm of students pointed out that that was exactly what a victim of Bianca's siren song would say. 

To which even lighthearted, well-meaning Ajax could only respond, "Oh."

You'd opted to sleep in Enid's room last night; you didn't want to listen to Xavier berate you until 2am. He would have expected an apology. But today, in the pale morning light, Xavier probably chased a different apology. 

You coasted through your Outcast Anatomy, Cultural Studies, and Herbology classes with a sense of smugness. Bianca's desk, typically surrounded by admirers clambering for her favor, sat empty. 

"Cordyceps," Mrs. Thornhill nervously tuttered in herbology class, aware of the restlessness of her students. "The zombie fungus. It releases thousands of spores." 

A few desks down, Enid wasn't even paying attention. She scrolled through the comments on her instantly popular blog post with gleeful pride. 

"The spores infect ants," Mrs. Thornhill continued, "Digging a network of roots into the ant's muscles. They drug the brain with hormones. It compels the ant to climb, then... pop!" Mrs. Thornhill clapped her hands, with an awkward giggle. "The fungus burrows through the ant's skin, killing it. It cleverly manipulates its prey to keep its power."

"Just like Bianca," Mack, the quiet, angry siren called from the back of the class. 

"Oh, dear," said Mrs. Thornhill.

You felt reluctant to tumble out of the violently exciting carousel of Bianca's downfall. But that afternoon, you tore yourself from the whirling drama of Nevermore and trekked to the Weathervane. 

𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹

You could feel his green eyes watching you.

Tyler tried to hide it. He talked to customers with that easy, soft-spoken charm. The thick, nutty aroma of coffee wafted through the Weathervane as he poured and mixed steaming drinks. But the smell of coffee wasn't the only thing hanging in the air today. 

"On your left," Tyler occasionally murmured under his breath, brushing past you. Since you'd almost kissed two nights ago, something had changed. Tyler no longer looked proud and in-control. 

Honestly, he looked scared of you. 

The sheer power of it gave you a tingly thrill; the way he winded unnecessary paths around the coffeeshop to avoid you. The way his shocked eyes darted up when your hands accidentally slid together underneath the espresso machine. The way he took a deep inhale when you touched his bare forearm to ask a question. 

You spent the day feeling like a Halloween costume. Not an ugly one, of course. It must have frightened Tyler, how his mouth had dipped toward yours in the darkness that night. Unbidden, desperate, desiring. He'd almost kissed you. 

So today, he punished you, and perhaps himself, with a vow of silence. He avoided you. And maybe, if he'd done a better job at it, you wouldn't have seen his hand. 

The last customer of the day, a haggard old man, limped up to the counter. Patches of tufty hair sprouted from his spotted, bald head. "An iced latte," he demanded, "With 7 pumps of vanilla and 2 pumps of caramel and 6 pumps of chai and cinnamon powder and coconut milk and light ice. To go." 

"Ah-" you grabbed a plastic cup, scrabbling to remember the complex order. The old man impatiently sneezed. 

"I got it." Tyler sounded annoyed as he pulled the cup away from you. With his experience, the order clearly hadn't phased him. Instinctively, you glanced down to steady the cup and froze in surprise.

"Oh." The startled noise escaped you. Tyler's gaze darkened. He quickly jerked back his hand as if stung. But you'd already seen. 

His knuckles were split, raw with fresh cuts.