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Clementine wanted to run. He had to run. But his trepidation kept him frozen. Whatever was on the other side of that door...it crept closer, a gruff, snarling-growl seeping through the gap between the door and the floor. He could hear the creature sniffing, and as sweat trickled down the side of his face, he swallowed a mouthful of pooling saliva.

          It knew he was there.

          He fought against his fear, forcing his stiff limbs to move. While his heart thumped in his chest, he hurried along the poolside as quietly as he could, and when the beast stopped sniffing under the door, he heard the handle begin to creak as it was pulled down.

          A low grow echoed through the pool room as Clementine hastily darted into the changing rooms. The sound of paws hitting the wet floor sent shivers through his trembling body, and as a rumble of thunder drowned out the beast's roar, Clementine launched himself into the closest cubicle and shut the door. He crouched up on the bench and struggled to lock the door, his shaking hands becoming numb from the cold of the room. And to his utter horror, the moment the lock clicked shut, the changing room door creaked open.

          He held his hands over his mouth, his breaths stifled, his body enthralled in a strange feeling of numbness and heavy fatigue as it grew tenser with each passing second. He needed to pant, he needed to collapse, but if he did anything but crouch on the bench and silence his breaths, it would be over.

          The creature snarled quietly, the door squeaking as what sounded like a furred body rubbed against it. Clementine stared down at the floor, watching as a large shadow crept over the tiles. Every time the beast's paws hit the ground, a shiver of terror shot through his numbing, trembling body.

          Whispers. They joined the beast's seething snarls, surrounding Clementine as he watched the shadow edge nearer. The putrid stench of sulphur and damp fur began to fill his nostrils, and as a paw twice the size of his own hand slammed down onto the tiles right outside his cubicle's door, Clementine felt he might just weep.

          The creature's black-furred paws resembled those of a wolf, its long, jagged talons shimmering in the dull light shining in through the few windows. The creature growled quietly—Clementine could swear he felt the monster's breath against his skin, and as the hairs on his body pricked up, he shivered, gripping his face so tightly that his nails cut into his skin.

          This was it, wasn't it? He had nowhere to go, and he was so overwhelmed with fear that he couldn't even try to come up with some sort of last-ditch plan to try and save himself. Whatever was on the other side of that door...it was going to kill him.

          He scowled in mortification as he watched the beast lift its paw. The cubicle door shook, the monster snarled, and Clementine felt his heart drop into his stomach—

          A bellowing roar cut through the sound of Clementine's own racing heart and the pouring rain.

          The beast's paw pressed back onto the tiles, and as the whispers grew thicker, the creature outside responded with a roar of its own. Then, with a quiet snarl, the monster scurried away from the door.

          Clementine waited. Even when he heard the changing room door creak shut, he didn't move a muscle. His heart was beating so fast he felt it might explode, and his body felt so strangely numb and fatigued that he thought he might fall into a million pieces if he tried to move. So he sat there...breathing through his cramping hands, staring down at the floor. He wasn't sure if the dampness in his trousers was from the rain or if he'd actually pissed himself—he hoped for the former.

          He tried to let his trembling limbs relax; slowly, he moved so that he was sitting and rested his feet on the floor. He exhaled deeply, lowering his hands into his lap...and when the whispers started to quieten until they were silent, Clementine's terror-enthralled body finally began to settle.

          The same couldn't be said for his thoughts, though. He couldn't keep doing this. Every time he left on his own, something happened. If it wasn't Ian, it was that creature—creatures. There was more than one. The one that had been moments from finding him and the one that had called it away. He still had no idea what they were; all he'd seen were paws just now and yellow eyes back when he'd found Molly. But that smell...sulphur and wet fur. Werewolf? Demon? Both? He could try and work out what it was later. Right now, he needed to get out of there.

          He reached for the door's lock, but he hesitated and pulled his hand back. What if they were still out there? He wrapped his arms around his chest, shivering in the cold. But it wasn't long until, like the whispers, the bitter air returned to normal, too.

          Clementine dragged his hand over his face and wiped the sweat from his forehead. He was being careless. He knew the risks and he just kept testing them. After what had just happened...he needed a new strategy—he needed his allies. He could have been discovered in that garden by those leather-footed students, and he could have just been found and mauled by the talon-pawed creature moments ago. He'd stand no chance alone against them—he didn't even stand a chance against Ian when he had his goons with him, which would be all the time now that he suspected his enemies were targeting him and his society. But how was he going to get his allies to help him?

          As he leaned his back against the cubicle wall, he bristled with frustration. He hated to admit it to himself, but he couldn't do this alone anymore, lest he risk dying before accomplishing what he'd worked so hard to get here for. He had Elliot, Mathew, and Mavis—of course, Mathew was a much more prominent focus, but the more people he had with him, the better. Just how would he rope them into helping, though? When it had been Carmichael and co, it would have been much simpler to make it seem like Ian and his society were responsible for Molly's murder, but Elliot's seelie friends were gone, and now, he had to find something to use to manipulate Mathew, Mavis, and Elliot into helping him.

          Then again, would he really have to manipulate them? What would happen if he just asked them for their help? He felt as though Mathew would agree; that kid had no problem immediately adopting the role of their bodyguard when Ian had come at them the other day outside the conservatory. If he told his allies Ian was after him...perhaps they'd just help him take him out.

          He'd think about it.

          Now, it was time to leave. The time he'd spent sitting there in silence had helped him calm a little, and once he slowly unlocked the door, he poked his head out. He checked the left and right, but there wasn't anything there. So, he stepped out of the cubicle and crept over to the changing room's door.

          He listened. Rain, swaying pool water, and thunder. No whispers, no growls. Were they gone?

          Quietly, he pulled the door open and peeked out into the pool room. He couldn't see anyone or anything. He stepped outside, gently pulling the door shut behind him so it didn't make a sound. Then, hugging the wall, he made his way around the pool and over to the open door to the conservatory. For a moment, he stood with his back against the wall, his heart thumping in his chest once again. He waited a moment, searching for the courage to peek, and when he finally peered outside the door, the glass corridors were revealed to be empty.

          With a quiet exhale of relief, he left the pool room and navigated the conservatory corridors. But when he passed the garden he'd gathered the death caps from, there was no sign of the bodies of the two kids he'd witnessed the murder of.

          He stopped for a moment and peered through the glass, but his eyes hadn't deceived him. The bodies were gone—even the blood had vanished. There was nothing but rain puddles and flower beds out there. And he wondered...had those creatures taken the bodies away?

          A rumble of thunder sent a shiver down his spine, making him flinch in startle. He shouldn't be hanging around. For all he knew, those creatures would come back.

          Clementine hurried through the conservatory. He checked to make sure the coast was clear before heading out into the gardens, and as the rain poured, he raced across the grass and towards the closest door into the creaking academy.

          He wiped his feet on the rug before rushing through the gloomy hallways, up the stairs, and through the dormitory hall. But when he reached his door...it was open. He stood there, staring at the three-inch gap between the frame and the door. He wasn't sure what he might find the moment he went in, but the idea someone had been in there burdened him with dread, something he felt he'd experienced enough of for one night.

          At first, he listened...waiting to see if whoever had unlocked it was still inside, but the only thing he could hear other than the rain was Elliot's snoring. At least he knew Elliot wasn't dead.

          Cautiously, with his right hand free and ready to summon a blade if need be, he eased the door open and stepped inside. There wasn't anyone in the lounge, nor was there a single sign that someone had been in there looking for something.

          He frowned sceptically, looking over at his room's door. It was shut, just as he had left it. He closed the door behind him, locked it, and then gripped the closet handle. With a deep exhaled, he prepared himself...and pulled it open—

          Nothing.

          Clementine closed the closet door and headed over to his bedroom. With his hand still ready to summon a blade, he grasped the door handle...and pulled it open. But there wasn't anyone in his room. He swiftly checked his bathroom, but that was empty, too. So why had the dormitory door been unlocked? In his rush to leave, had he perhaps failed to lock it completely? No...he was sure he'd locked it. Had Elliot maybe gotten up, left, and come back, and failed to lock the door properly?

          He sighed quietly and closed his bedroom door. Then, he lit the lantern on his dresser and headed over to his bed...but he stopped before he reached it. A sceptical frown returned to his face as he ever so slowly crouched down and peered under his bed. Nothing. No one.

          With a sigh of relief, he pulled his backpack off and sat cross-legged on his wooden floor. The last thing he wanted was to get mushroom residue and rainwater all over his bed.

          He pulled off his blazer and turtleneck, chucking them over to the laundry basket by his door. Then, he reached under his bed and pulled out his trunk. From within, he took a glass jar and unscrewed its lid. Once he'd placed the jar down, he unzipped his backpack and started taking the death cap caps out, transferring them to the jar. He wasn't entirely sure what he was going to do with them yet, but he'd work that out tomorrow.

          Once he'd put them all into the jar, he put it back in his trunk, closed it, and pushed it under his bed. He snatched his backpack and headed into his bathroom; he tipped his bag over the sink, shaking out any leftover pieces of mushroom, which he then washed down the drain. He threw his empty backpack out into his room, squeezed some of the blossom-pink soap onto his hands, and washed them beneath the cold, running water.

          Clementine sighed, switching the water off. He dried his hands, pulled his bathroom door shut, and pulled off the remainder of his damp clothes. As he went to turn off his lantern, though...he hesitated. Although he'd checked the room, he still felt a little paranoid. The things he'd seen tonight didn't help him calm down, and the thought of laying in total darkness wasn't exactly inviting. So, he left the lantern on and crawled into bed.

          The sight of that girl's face plagued his mind when he closed his eyes. Her struggled, pained grunts, her convulsing body, and the guilt she had made him feel. Clementine opened his eyes and glared up at the ceiling. He knew that he couldn't have done anything, so why did he feel so...so dismayed?

          Anette. Now he was thinking about her. His sister. All that blood. The tearing. The pain he'd seen in that girl's eyes. It made him think of just how much pain Anette must have been in—how terrified his sister must have been the night she'd been killed. Clementine wished he had been there to help her. If he'd persisted...if he'd gone with her...maybe she'd still be alive. But she wasn't, and he wasn't about to fall back into the despair of blaming himself. He knew who was responsible and he'd not let himself succumb to his sickness until he had wiped out Anette's murderers. He'd made sure they all felt exactly what he imagined she must have.

          He rolled onto his side and glared at the wall, guilt, hate, and sorrow fighting within him for dominance over his current thoughts. But he focused on his mission. He had the death caps, now he just had to work out how he was going to use them to kill Ian and as many of the Ravenblood as he could. On top of that, he had to decide how he was going to get his new allies to assist him. He wasn't going to risk death again.

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