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Eleven struck. Clementine sat on the edge of his bed, enthralled with anticipation. Everyone had to be asleep by now, and it was time for him to head to the teachers' lounge.

          He ensured the paper and pen he'd put into his pocket earlier were still there and then grabbed his backpack, which he'd recently emptied. Then, he crept over to his door, through the lounge, and out of the dorm. Once he'd locked the door, he silently made his way down the hall. He checked every corner and every turning, and as he headed downstairs, he did his best to be as quiet as possible.

          Clementine navigated his way through the academy, across the large hall, and up the stairs towards the teachers' lounge. When he reached the door, he pressed his ear against it, making sure there wasn't anyone inside. Then, he pushed the door open and scurried in.

          As he hurried over to the filing cabinets, he pulled out the small piece of paper from his trouser pocket, along with his pen. Then, he quietly eased the filing cabinet over and took out the first file. Kira Arlott, wolf walker. Nope. He put it back and took out the next. Marcus Atkins, seer. No again. The third, Gregory Avis, seer. Another no.

          With an irritated tut, he put the file back and placed his pen and paper on top of the cabinet—he'd get through these much faster with two hands. He took out the next file, and the next, and the one after that—wolf walker, demon, seer. He read through most of the C's until he finally found Harper Collins. The alliance section of her form read Ravenblood, and so did the species section. Finally. He glared at the blonde girl's photo, realizing that she was one of the two girls he'd seen with Ian the other day when he'd first scoped out the teachers' lounge.

          He scribbled her name onto his piece of paper, along with 'blonde hair, green eyes'. He then hastily returned the file and picked out the next, but Yasmine Cross was revealed to be a wolf walker. He sighed, moving on to the next, and soon enough, he reached the 'D' section. Harriet Darles, Elliot Davis...Elliot. At first, Clementine brushed past his file, but he couldn't help but feel curious. He wanted to know what his roommate was, and this was the perfect time to find out.

          A devious smile stretched across his face as he opened Elliot's file; his eyes immediately shot down to the species section...and it read 'dybbuk'. What the hell was a dybbuk? And why was '/Ellis Davis' written next to Elliot's name? Elliot/Ellis Davis—what did that mean?

          He didn't have time to stand there and ponder. He scribbled down 'dybbuk' and put Elliot's file back. Then, he continued searching.

          Frances Draper. Rita Dunn. Neither were Ravenblood.

          Clementine moved on to the 'E' section. He sighed, searching through the files—and finally, he found another. Owen Evans: alliance and species, Ravenblood. He wrote his name down along with 'black hair, green eyes', and put his file back.

          Then, he kept searching.

          Twenty minutes must have passed by time he'd read through half the files. His piece of paper had a fair amount of names, though. Harper Collins, Owen Evans, Reece Eygot, Benjamin George, James Grant, Jasmine Lowell, Kristen Monroe, and Lloyd McKenzie. All Ravenblood species. He'd also found three wolf walkers allied with them. But when he placed McKenzie's file back, the silence was stolen by the sound of rushing footsteps.

          He sharply turned his head, listening as several pairs of footsteps echoed through the hall downstairs. He didn't hear any voices, but his first thought was, could it be the professors? He didn't want to get caught, but it didn't sound like whoever had hurried through the hall was coming upstairs.

          Clementine put the file he just looked through back into the cabinet and took out another, but that was when the sky outside rumbled. He glared over at the window, watching as a flash of lightning broke the dark. It looked like it was soon to rain, and usually, that wouldn't bother him, but death caps because sticky when wet, and he didn't want to deal with the mess they'd make if he picked them in the rain. He'd already gotten eight names; he could come back and get the rest after.

          Swiftly, he tucked his paper and pen into his pocket. He returned the file to the cabinet, closed it, and hurried out of the lounge. As quietly as he could, he made his way downstairs and through the hall, heading for the closest door to the gardens.

          When he reached it, though, he stopped for a moment and stared outside. He could feel eyes on him again. A cold shiver shot down his spine as if someone was breathing on his neck, but when he looked over his shoulder, there wasn't anyone there. He frowned, gripping the cold door handle. His eyes shifted to the gloom outside—he squinted, glaring through the foggy glass. He couldn't see anyone or anything out there, either, and as another rumble of thunder cut through the quiet, he shrugged the dread off his shoulders and pushed the door open.

          Bitter, spiteful air slapped his face as he stepped into the gardens. The wind howled, the trees groaned, and the grass beneath Clementine's shoes rustled as he hurried across the gardens towards the conservatory. He did his best to stay low, remaining close to every bush, bench, and statue he passed by. He checked over his shoulder every few moments, unable to shake the feeling he was being watched—he would've thought he'd gotten used to such a feeling by now, but it still creeped him out.

          He grabbed the conservatory door's handle, pulled it open, and stepped inside. As he headed through the corridor, he tried to remember the route Mathew had led them along the other day. He stared through the mossy windows on the left and right, and when he finally passed a small courtyard-like garden, he hurried over to the door and headed outside.

          The four walls surrounding the garden were adorned with flower-sprouting moss and spiderwebs. The barrels and crates were old and rotten, and the putrid smell of moulded wood clung to the cold air. But the aroma from the garden's flowers made it bearable.

          Clementine wasn't there for flowers, though. He carefully moved through the garden, eying each patch of plant life. Roses, toadstools, dandelions, grim root—the place almost seemed like an alchemist garden; everything he could see was used in potion making and spell crafting. And there, in the flowerbox over by the rotting bench, was a patch of bronze and white mushrooms. Some were no bigger than his palm, while others were easily wider than his entire hand. Those were death caps.

          With an eager frown on his face, he hurried over, crushing a pair of dandelions beneath his feet. "Sorry," he uttered, but he didn't have time to fix them.

          He kneeled beside the bench and reached into the flowerbox. The honey-sweet mushrooms seemed to glower at him—of course they did. They knew he was about to pluck them from their cosy resting spot. "Sorry guys," he mumbled as he pulled his backpack off his back and placed it next to him. Then, he plucked the first death cap from the soil. He pulled the mushroom's cap from its stem, stuffed the cap into his backpack, and placed tossed the stem into a bed of flowers. He didn't want anyone discovering the stems and working out that somebody had taken the mushrooms.

          He de-capped another, and another, and another, carefully placing them into his bag. But when he reached out for the fifth mushroom, a flurry of voices cut through the silence, followed by a roar of thunder.

          Clementine sharply turned his head in the direction the voices had come from, his heart starting to race in his chest. Rain began to pitter-patter around him, and when he heard a door fly open nearby, dread and angst struck him like a blade.

          Racing footsteps echoed around him. Frantic breathing, panicked whimpers. He heard that door fling open again, and when it slammed shut, Clementine dived behind the closest rose bush and scurried beneath it like some sort of panicked hare.

          From his hiding place, he stared at the mossy windows as a pair of student-shaped shadows danced past. He hoped with all his might that whoever it was would leave, but when the garden door clicked and unlocked, he swiftly held his hand over his mouth to silence his deep, anxious breaths.

          "Through here!" a girl whispered.

          Clementine watched as two sets of shoes hurried along the path, past the flowerbox he'd been picking from, and towards the door on the other side of the garden. It looked like they were leaving.

          But his hope that that was the case shattered when the door they'd been heading towards flung open, as did the door they'd just come through. Clementine flinched, his heart pounding, his body now trembling with dread as another crack of thunder erupted above. The rain started falling harder, and the muffled cries of the girl and the boy with her were drowned out by seething snarls and intimidating growls.

          Two pairs of creature-like feet prowled past where Clementine lay; they were shaped like the feet of any normal person, but their toes were elongated and possessed talons on their ends. A claw also clung to each foot's ankle, much like a bird's hind toe, but these feet were leathery-looking and a sickly brown colour. He could see the rims of trousers on their ankles, too, so he could only assume these creatures were students.

          "Please don't!" the girl whimpered.

          A second duo of leathery feet pairs appeared from behind the flower box that had been blocking most of Clementine's left view—there were four of these things. He kept quiet, watching as the four creatures' feet prowled closer to those of the boy and girl, who were backing away. Snarls, growls, and hisses accompanied the sound of thunder and pouring rain, and when a flash of lightning lit the gloom silver, a horrific song of roars and screeches pierced Clementine's ears.

          He watched in horror as the four hissing, snarling creatures pounced at the boy and girl. Their screams were swiftly silenced by the sound of tearing flesh, splashing blood, and tearing clothes.

          And when Clementi thought it couldn't get any worse, the girl fell right in front of the bush he lay under. She lay flat on her chest, gasping, grunting, her blue eyes filled with terror. Her tears dripped onto the ground, merging with the rain, which was quickly stained red as her blood oozed from her body.

          Clementine stared right into her eyes, gripping his mouth a little harder to mask his startled breaths. Her body convulsed as the creatures tore at her back—his eyes shot to her chattering jaw, he could hear her trying to utter something to him...and all he did was lay there and hope she'd die before she could give him away.

          He scowled in revolt, watching as the life faded from her face. The puddle of her blood crept closer and closer, and when it touched his sleeve, his fear evolved into something of dismay. Her face, her eyes...the blood and rain. Anette's face flashed before him, and the memory of the morning he'd discovered her body enthralled his racing heart with grief.

          How could he ever forget the things he'd seen? And these creatures...the snarling, tearing, and ripping flesh—he'd found his sister in a state he imaged as a result of the noises he was currently surrounded by. And just as he'd not been able to help Anette, he lay there...staring at the girl before him as the savage creatures tore at her body.

          Part of him suddenly felt an urge to help—he should, right? No. It was too late. There were four of them and one of him. The kids these creatures were tearing into were dead already—he couldn't do anything. Even if he did manage to fight off four snarling creatures, he wouldn't be able to repair the wounds his ears were listening to being made.

          He couldn't save Anette, and he couldn't save them, either.

          All he could do was wait. He dared not to make a move or a sound. He remained exactly as he was, frozen, silent. His body was trembling, his instincts screaming at him to run...but he couldn't. Not yet.

          The rain poured harder, the lightning flashed brighter, and the thunder began to sound like a war happening in the distance. An assertive growl brought the frenzied snarling and tearing to an end, and as the dead girl's body stopped convulsing, Clementine watched the four pairs of leathery feet scurry over to the door and out of the garden.

          He waited.

          His heart kept racing; his body still trembled.

          Blood and rain soaked his sleeves, and as he stared into the lifeless eyes of the girl before him, guilt outweighed his fear. But he didn't have time to lay there and regret the fact he would have never been able to do anything. He'd wasted far too long of the time he had left wallowing in sorrow over the fact he couldn't save Anette, and he wasn't about to spare a moment for two kids he didn't even know.

          Clementine dragged himself out from under the bush, pulling his backpack with him. He quickly eased his arms through the straps and headed for the door...but then it happened again. Cold. Whispers. Hundreds of eyes on him.

          And a roar. That distorted, screeching roar. It echoed through the grounds, shaking the ground beneath his feet. Even the rain seemed to quiver. Clementine wasn't going to hang around.

          He bolted, rushing back into the conservatory, but another roar cut through the thunder, and as he stared outside into the gardens, a blur of something huge prowled among the fog.

          Clementine's trepidation immediately consumed him. In a panic, he turned around and raced in the opposite direction, his heart racing once again, his breaths frantic and now painful as his lungs struggled to keep up with all his fear and running. He followed the glass corridors until he set his eyes on the familiar door to the swimming pool. He hurried inside and closed the door behind him as quietly as he could. And then, he backed off, turning to face the door, listening, waiting.

          Over his own panicked breaths, he could hear the rumble of that creature's growl, the rain rhythmically falling onto the glass roof above, and the swaying on the pool's water. The cold air dropped to freezing, and the fact he was in wet clothes didn't help. He wrapped his arms around his chest, shivering, his breath visible in front of his face.

          Footsteps.

          Angst shot through Clementine's stiff body.

          The sound of feet against the stone conservatory floor edged nearer.

          A quiet, rumbling growl.

          Clementine clamped his hand over his mouth again, taking a step back. His freezing body started warming through sheer dread, and as a shadow crept under the door, he felt his racing heart stop.

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