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It was happening again. The walls of the lunch hall seemed to shudder as the academy groaned in the wind. The temperature dropped and the light in the hall faded to something blue. Every student stopped eating to look around, and through their confused mumbles, the academy's whispers oozed through the woodwork.

          "Why does this keep happening?" Elliot murmured quietly.

          "Maybe this place really is haunted," Clementine mumbled.

          But he thought he realized a pattern. The academy went cold a few minutes after those acid-spitting girls had killed that bully, and just now minutes after Nicolette—and he hadn't seen exactly when Molly had died, but he was certain the academy had also grown cold and vocal minutes after she had died, too. Why?

          He pondered.... Could it be happening every time a student died? No...if that were the case, why hadn't it happened when he'd killed Harrison? Was it because he'd hidden his body?

          With a perplexed frown, and as the temperature normalized, he resumed eating his salad.

          "What if its ghosts crossing the veil?" Elliot muttered.

          Clementine sighed. "Why would ghosts want to come to a place like this?" he uttered.

          "I don't know...maybe all the killing and maiming and injuring excites them."

          "Maybe it's the other way around," he muttered.

          "What?"

          He looked over at him, going over in his head exactly how he was going to say it without implying he'd killed someone, seen someone getting melted, and knew Molly had died before anyone else. "Well, what just happened in the lounge...and then this same thing happened the night Molly died—what if this happens when...I don't know, souls pass on?"

          Elliot didn't scoff at his suggestion. Instead, the spotty-faced kid's eyes widened in realization. "That...that makes sense."

          Clementine crushed a small tomato between his teeth and slurped its innards into his mouth. "It's happened three times now, so...."

          Nodding, Elliot looked down at his plate of untouched spaghetti. "Then...we can assume three students are dead already. But..." he paused and glanced around before leaning closer, "who's the third?"

          "I don't know," he shrugged. "Maybe some kid got disembowelled and stuffed into a closet."

          "Ew," Elliot grumbled. Then, he poked at his food and looked over at the door. "Do you think the others are okay?"

          "I'm sure they're fine. Just finish eating."

          But Elliot seemed to have the same idea as he did. Wait for the academy to grow cold again, signalling another death—deaths he hoped would be Frederick and Nicolette's sister. But the minutes ticked by, everything returned to normal, and Elliot's friends didn't walk through the lunch hall doors by time the clock ticked ten to two.

          "This isn't good," Elliot mumbled as they headed over to the trash bins and scraped their plates into one of them.

          Clementine placed his plate on the rack and started leading the way over to the door. "Maybe they're just laying low."

          "This isn't like them," Elliot protested, shaking his head. "They would have come to find us—they would have come to tell us—"

          "Shh," he uttered irritably. "We'll talk about it later."

          "But—"

          "I said later," he interjected.

          Elliot pouted. "We can't just...."

          His voice was drowned out the moment Clementine's eyes met with something miraculous—something...angst-inducing. There, wandering off on his own away from his group...was Ian.

          He wasn't going to miss this chance.

          "I'll catch up to you," he dismissed, immediately heading after Ian.

          "C-Clementine!" Elliot called in panic, but as the wave of students flowed out of the hall to head to their next classes, he was swept away. Thank God.

          Clementine slinked through the arch he'd seen Ian head through and then quietly followed the empty corridor. He moved a little faster, and when he reached the end, he peeked past the door. Ian was heading up the hall...and when he turned left into a doorway, Clementine hurried after him.

          How was he going to do this? Jump him, stab him—maybe choke him. He could summon a blade, subdue him against a surface with his vines—he might even have those vines pull Ian down into the floor or into the wall where he'd be trapped and left to suffocate. He wasn't sure which option he liked the most...but his hands were aching to get around his neck and choke the life out of him. He wanted Ian to suffer the same way Anette had—he wanted them all to suffer the agony his sister had been put through.

          With a scowl on his face, he approached the door Ian had disappeared into, and as he turned into it, he clenched his fist and prepared to summon his blade—

          Clementine had no time to evade the pair of hands that shot from either side and grabbed his arms.

          "There you are, you little shit," came Ian's voice.

          Trying to pull free, Clementine grunted and growled, and when he saw his captors were Connor and Horace, Ian's wolf walker friends, he understood what was going on.

          "You thought I didn't notice you stalking me?" Ian called.

          Clementine glared ahead, setting his eyes on Ian, who was standing beside the table in the middle of the miniature library he now found himself in. He tried to pull free again, but Ian's goons tightened their grip, pulling him closer to where their leader waited.

          Ian scoffed, looking him up and down as his goons stopped a few feet in front of him. "Watching me in biology, at lunch, and now following me, too? At first, I thought you were one of those sissies looking to get in with the big boys, but it's more than that, isn't it?"

          "What's the matter? Get tired of those gay seelies?" Connor asked.

          "Bored of your little ginger boyfriend?" Horace mocked, laughing.

          Clementine grunted—

          Connor crashed his fist into his side, sending a wave of pain through his entire body. He grunted and grimaced—if it weren't for them holding him, he was sure he'd have fallen to the floor.

          "What do you want from me?" Ian questioned.

          Glaring at him, Clementine huffed irritably. "Nothing," he grunted.

          Horace hit his other side, worsening the pain lingering in his body.

          "Nothing!" he insisted.

          They hit him again...and again...and again until they threw him onto the carpet. Ian stood over him as he lay there, grunting, coughing as their hits enthralled him in agony. Ian scoffed, glowering down at him as he pressed his foot onto his chest.

          "One more chance, kid," he warned. "Why were you following me?"

          "We should just kill him," Horace said. "He's alone—his little boyfriend went to class."

          Ian scoffed. He reached down and grabbed Clementine's collar—he tried to fight his hands off, but Connor and Horace's hits had drained him of enough strength to do so.

          Pinning him against the wall, Ian glared into his eyes. "Do you know about Harrison?" he asked.

          "Who?" Clementine uttered.

          "If you don't tell me why you're here, I'll make this incredibly painful for you," he warned, scowling. "Why—" he punched his stomach, "were—" he punched him again, "you—" and again, "following," and again, "me?!" he yelled, crashing his fist into the side of Clementine's face.

          Clementine groaned painfully, blood seeping through his lips. He wasn't going to break. He'd been through worse.

          But Ian was visibly growing impatient. He gritted his teeth, clenched his bloody fist, and raised it to the side of his head, ready to punch his face again—

          "Hey," came a casual, familiar voice. "What are you guys up to?"

          Ian and his goons sharply turned their heads to look over at the door.

          Clementine struggled, but he lifted his head and looked over there, too. When he saw white hair, pale skin and golden eyes, a scowl begged to make its way onto his swelling face. But all he could manage was an irritated huff.

          Sebastian. Him.

          "Who the hell are you?" Connor asked.

          "Grab him!" Ian insisted.

          Ian's wolf walker friends charged at Sebastien, but he reached out and grabbed Connor's throat and moved aside so abruptly that Horace leapt straight past him and into the doorframe.

          "You wouldn't be trying to kill this little guy, would you?" he asked, looking directly at Ian as Connor choked and gasped for breath.

          Still holding Clementine against the wall, Ian growled quietly...but when Horace went for Sebastien and was knocked out cold with a single swing of his free hand, Ian snarled in frustration and tightened his grip on Clementine's throat.

          "This is none of your business!" he shouted.

          "Can't...breathe!" Connor whimpered, trying to pull Sebastien's hand from his throat.

          Ignoring him, Sebastien's gleeful eyes shifted from Ian to Clementine. "That's my babe you got there," he said.

          Clementine would roll his eyes if they weren't already almost bulging out of his skull as his breaths became harder.

          "Babe?" Ian scoffed. "What, are you gay?"

          "Is that a problem?" Sebastien asked—his tone faded from amused to something sincere. "Because...if it is, I'd think wisely about your response; your little friend here might thank you for it," he warned, glancing over at Connor. "Unless, of course, you kill him, and then I tell the professors about what I saw—and you won't be able to catch me. I'm sure you've already worked that out."

          From what Clementine could see of Ian's face, the boy seemed to be pondering. His face journey began at frustrated, navigated to anger, took a U-turn at contemplation, and then ended when he reached revolt. His grip around Clementine's throat loosened, and with an irritated snarl, he threw Clementine to the side.

          Clementine landed on the carpet with a quiet thud. The collision sent pain through his writhing body, and as he lay there, he watched between the legs of the piano as Ian confidently approached Sebastien, who still had hold of Connor.

          "Whoever the fuck you are," Ian uttered, getting into Sebastien's smirky face, "you just made the biggest mistake. I've seen your face."

          "And I've seen yours," Sebastien replied.

          Ian scoffed. "Watch your back, fag. We'll remember this."

          "I'm sure you will."

          Then, Sebastien backed off, letting go of Ian's blue-faced goon. Then, he stepped aside, watching them both as they helped their unconscious friend to his feet. He was still out cold, so they dragged him out of the room, leaving Sebastien and Clementine alone.

          Clementine kept his eyes on Sebastien as dragged his hand over his neck—he'd been strangled so many times in the last week that he was surprised it hadn't fallen off. But as the white-haired kid headed over to him, he scrambled to his feet, forgetting that his injuries wouldn't let him stand—

          Sebastien moved forward and grabbed him—sure that he was about to finish off Ian's job, Clementine tried to fight back, and as his back hit the wall again, he grunted, groaned, and grabbed whatever of Sebastien his hand could find. But to his confusion, Sebastien didn't grip his throat. Instead, the kid stared at him...waiting to see what he was going to do with the handful of shirt he'd snatched.

          "If you're gonna rip it, be warned, this is my favourite one," he said, smirking at him.

          Clementine scowled, tightening his grip on his shirt. "Get off me," he demanded.

          "Not even a thank you?" he scoffed.

          He glared at him. "For what?"

          "Uh, saving your ass, maybe?"

          "You didn't save—"

          "You'd be dead if I hadn't heard your little whimpers from halfway across the hall," he sneered.

          "You don't strike me as the kind of guy to come running when someone's getting attacked!"

          "Well, I'm not...but it was you, and I can't let my little mousey die, can I?" he said, leaning his face a little closer to his.

          Clementine shoved him away. "I'm not your little anything!" he exclaimed, but the moment he moved away from the wall, he stumbled forward and fell—

          Sebastien stepped aside and let him fall face-first into the carpet.

          "I mean...you are a little dumb, if anything—"

          Embarrassed, Clementine rolled onto his side and tried to snatch Sebastien's ankle, but he backed off into the piano, which played a collection of notes upon collision. He snickered, watching Clementine struggle to his feet using the piano's stool, and once he was standing, he leaned his left hand on the piano, keeping himself from falling.

          "Are you done?" Sebastien asked.

          "Me?!" he exclaimed, wiping his bloody lips. "Aren't you about to strangle me again?"

          Sebastien laughed amusedly as he glanced over at the door. "No, I think Ian had that covered already. Strangling you again would be boring."

          Clementine frowned, disregarding everything else he'd just said. "You know Ian?"

          "No."

          "You know his name."

          "So? I know a lot of names."

          "What do you know about him?" he demanded.

          "Nothing."

          Clementine shook his head. "No, you know something," he accused. "If you didn't, you wouldn't have just stood there when he threatened you."

          Sebastien shrugged. "Why are you so interested in him? Have you moved on from me already?" he asked, smirking again.

          "What?" he scoffed. "The hell are you talking about?"

          Still smirking, Sebastien moved away from the piano. "I gotta get back to—"

          Clementine reached out and grabbed his arm. "You're not getting away this time!"

          With an amused laugh, Sebastien swung around on his heel, gripped Clementine's collar and pinned him back against the piano. "You don't know when to quit, do you?"

          Grunting, Clementine tried to fight him off, but in the week he'd not seen Sebastien, he seemed to have forgotten how much stronger than him he was. So, he stopped struggling and glared at him. "Why did you help me?" he grumbled.

          "Well, I can't let Ian kill you—I'm not done with you yet," he said, grinning.

          "What the hell do you want from me?!"

          "Nothing," he said with a shrug. "Not yet. But you'll see." Then, he let go of Clementine and backed off. "Don't go wandering around on your own again. He's gonna be waiting for you." And with a wink of his left eye, he turned around and headed for the door.

          Clementine stumbled away from the piano to try and grab him again, but his weakness forced him back. He slammed his hand on the keys, and as they chimed loudly, he glowered over at Sebastien, watching his every step as he reached the door...and left.

          He'd not seen him in almost a week...and he so happened to show up now? Clementine had no idea what he wanted from him, but he was going to find out. Either that...or kill him. He might not have been in his way this time, but he had still inserted himself into his business, and he was tired of it. He wanted to chase after him, but his body wouldn't let him. All he could do was stand there and huff and puff.

          Ian, though...he'd seemed almost afraid of Sebastien—cautious. The look on his face had Clementine convinced that Ian knew what Sebastien was. Why else would he have fled with his two goons? Two against one? Someone like Ian would have taken his shot...but he hadn't. And that had to mean that, whatever Sebastien was, and if Ian really had figured it out, then it had to be something dangerous. Ravenblood were formidable, and for one to back off like Ian had....

          Clementine shook his head, wiping his mouth again.

          But then, the gramophone hanging in the top right corner of the room crackled and fizzed. "All students, please proceed to the trial hall. All students, please proceed to the trial hall."

          Trial hall?

          Staring at the gramophone, Clementine frowned strangely. But as a chorus of balmoral shoes echoed through the hall outside, he did his best to straighten his clothes, wiped whatever blood was left on his face away, and headed over to the door.

          He peeked out of the door, watching as students filed through the corridor, all heading in the same direction.

          "All students, please proceed to the trial hall. All students, please proceed to the trial hall," the gramophones repeated, echoing throughout the academy.

          What was going on? He had no idea where this hall was, but everyone else seemed to know where they were going. So, as a crowd passed the doorway, he slinked within and followed.

          "What's going on?" a girl asked her friend.

          "I don't know," another replied.

          "Someone got caught," a boy whispered.

          "What? Who?"

          "I don't know."

          "Where's Mark? Was it Mark?! Mark!" a girl called out.

          "Mark's with Christine," a girl muttered to her.

          Clementine frowned, listening to their gossip. Someone had been caught—who? Doing what? Could it be Carmichael? Bernard and Stanley? He hadn't felt the academy grow cold again...and that could only mean Frederick and Nicolette's sister had got away—that was if his theory about the temperature drops was correct.

          He felt a bitter dread enthralling his heart. If Elliot's friends had been caught, did that mean this was all over? Had his face been seen?

          "What happened to you?" someone asked.

          Clementine looked over at the girl to his right.

          "Dude, you look like you got beat the hell out of," the boy beside her said, an amused smile on his face.

          He didn't know these kids. He scoffed and walked a little faster, breaking free of their gathering. And as the students started to congregate outside of a pair of towering black doors...he tried his best to remain calm. He wasn't sure what might be waiting on the other side, and if he tried to slip away, everyone would see him. So he had no choice but to stand there, wait...and hope that he wasn't about to be met with the word 'expelled'.

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♠ Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed the chapter! ♠

♣ What was your favourite part? ♣

♥ How do you feel about the characters? What do you think Sebastien wants? ♥

⤠ What do you think will happen next? Is Clementine going to pay for taking part in Carmichael's plan? ⤟

♞ Got any questions? ♞

♦ Let me know! ♦